Chapter 2

Riley’s POV

“Okay, I have so many questions,” I said, tightening my grip on the armrest like it was a lifeline. “First: why did you kidnap me?” My heart hammered so loudly I was pretty sure the van’s suspension could hear it.

Ahead, the guy in the back—Noah, or Matcha Guy—was mid-transformation, fur sprouting in awkward patches across his arms. His face was caught in that horrific-but-kind-of-hot wolfishly handsome phase, like a werewolf version of a Justin Timberlake waxwork gone rogue.

Seatbelt Guy shot me a sympathetic look. “You’re his mate,” he explained, voice rushed as if checking off items on a to-do list. “When a wolf finds his mate, he goes wolf and hunts until she’s his.”

Fairies might exist, the moon might be made of cheese, but this “mate” business was textbook kidnapspeak.

I raised an eyebrow. “And staying with him will… buy me more time?” Because this sounded like something out of an overdramatic teen fantasy novel, not real life.

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Until he either changes you into one of us or… you know, kills you. You’re the she-wolf he wants, so he won’t back down. He’ll probably try to get you to volunteer—ask him to bite you. But he can’t shift back until he either ‘mates’ you or you’re a goner.”

I chewed my lower lip. Great. If I was “weak,” according to Seatbelt Guy, I was officially screwed—I hadn’t set foot in a gym since before I discovered binge-watching was a sport.

“But if I stick by him, it’ll keep him from going full-on beast mode?” I tested, already drafting a mental resume for the role of “patient hostage.”

“Exactly,” Seatbelt Guy confirmed. “He wants the hunt to feel rewarding.”

Right. Because nothing says “romantic evening” like a mid-van date with a confused captive.

The van whipped around a bend so sharply my head smacked the window. A deliciously savage snarl tore from Matcha Guy’s throat, and I yelped.

“Sorry!” Seatbelt Guy called out. “He’s, uhh, a little sensitive right now. Transition phase—not easy on the nerves.”

Transition phase? The man-beast looked like he’d just lost a battle with a lawn mower. His muzzle was forming, teeth sharpening into lethal points.

Then someone barked, “We’ll be back soon!” and the harsh click of a seatbelt turning off—thankfully not mine—signaled that half of this fur-clad posse had bolted.

The van jolted onto a dirt road: cue that delightful carotene crunch under tires. My chest—still bruised from the last explosion of gravel—demanded a scream. Naturally, I complied.

“Faster!” Someone shouted from the back, like speed would help.

I screamed.

“How about you don’t scream, Miss Sunshine,” another snarled, “or he’s gonna… you know.” Cue dramatic chomping noises. They clearly needed to take a workshop on hostage psychology.

I let out another scream. But this time it was strategic: if they thought killing one of their own was an option, maybe I’d earn a shot at the door handle.

“Brakes! Now!” snarled a third. The driver slammed them, tires screeched, and the van swayed like a very angry turtle.

Five guys—okay, four guys and one mid-shift werewolf—leapt out in one fluid motion. Doors flew open, slammed shut, and I was left alone with the furry mass that had once been a dude I’d casually said hi to in the quad. I wrestled the seatbelt, but it was a stubborn tin trap.

Matcha Wolf—still hovering around the size of my mom’s German Shepherd, Winston—bounded past the driver’s seat and plopped beside me. I squeaked, opening my mouth to scream, only to have him shove his furry snout into my face.

I tried for stern. “I am not your puppy.” He wagged an imaginary tail, licked my cheek. I sniffed. Not dog. Definitely wolf. Definitely attractive in an oh-god-why way.

I shoved his broad, fur-covered shoulder. “Get off me, you oversized fluffball.” He just pinned me with those gold-flecked eyes—like nothing was more important in the world than blocking my exit.

Fury bubbled up. “Fine, then help me with this seatbelt—unless you want me to chew through fabric for you!” I jabbed at the strap. He tilted his head. “C’mon, show me what premier wolf service looks like.”

He flexed a paw, claws extending with a satisfying ‘shkrrrk,’ and neatly severed the seatbelt. The strip of nylon snapped toward the retraction mechanism.

I exhaled. “Wow. Handy.”

But then I remembered what Seatbelt Guy had ominously stated: he wouldn’t stop hunting me until I was either bitten or beaten. Adrenaline spiked. “Stay back.” I scooted sideways, hand on the handle. He froze, as if we’d paused a movie.

“Cupcake, I’m serious,” I whispered. His ears twitched. I flicked the handle. It unlocked with a click that sounded far too polite for my taste.

“Don’t do anything abrupt,” I warned—partly to myself, partly to him. If he was… somehow… listening, I’d milk it for all it was worth.

I nudged the door open with my foot. Cold night air hit my toes in my battered red Converse. Bliss. I started to step out. One foot. Pause. Two feet. Pause. It was like crawling out of an awkward first date—everything slow and awkward, ensuring no one freaked out and spilled the drink.

A voice from the bushes: “What is she doing?” I suspected one of the leftover non-furies, hidden behind a cluster of moonlit pines.

Another voice chuckled, “Guess she’s trying to escape.”

Someone else added, “He hasn’t tried to stop her yet.”

A fourth murmured, “He doesn’t want her to fear him.”

Ha. If they only knew. If I’d had a megaphone, I would’ve sarcastically yelled, “Please, also pipe down—makes my escape attempt so much easier!”

I tiptoed back from the van, every muscle screaming. The dirt road stretched out like a runway of hope. At this point, my dorm room’s stained rug and twenty-dollar pizza could have been a five-star resort. Freedom was scented in mildew and warmed by the glow of my sad desk lamp.

I reached about ten feet from the open door when Matcha Wolf sprang out in one fluid, supernatural arc. My internal scream hit octaves I didn’t know possible, but this time, no one was around to judge my pitch. “Eep!”

Pure survival kicked in. I vaulted forward, hitting full sprint down the uneven track, moonlight flashing off my Converse as I tore toward the only safety I’d ever known: civilization. Behind me, I heard the soft thunder of paws on dirt, and then…

I sprinted down the dirt road.