The man in the alley catches Nell’s attention the moment she turns the corner. Unshaven and in tattered clothes, he sits on the pavement, completely drenched from the rain.

No umbrella, no shelter, just cardboard beneath him that has long since turned to mush in the downpour.

Nell’s heart gives that familiar pang of sympathy. This morning is a cold, gray wash of misery that seems to seep into her bones.

But she is already 15 minutes late for her job interview at Morrison and Associates, clutching her worn portfolio against her chest.

She can’t afford to be late. Not when her rent is already 3 weeks overdue and her landlord has started leaving increasingly threatening voicemails, so she has to hurry along.

Except something about the man makes her pause. Most people in his situation would be hunched over, trying to make themselves smaller, invisible.

This man sits as if he owns the alley. Even sitting on wet pavement in the pouring rain, there is something almost regal about his posture.

His spine is straight, shoulders squared with a dignity that seems completely at odds with his circumstances.

And when he looks up and their eyes meet, Nell’s breath catches in her throat.

His gaze is unsettling, not threatening, but aware. Too proud for someone who should have been broken by whatever circumstances have landed him here.

Mostly though, they are the most unusual shade of amber she has ever seen. It makes her stumble.

Her foot catches an uneven stone and suddenly she is falling forward. Her portfolio flying from her grasp.

The contents of her purse scatter across the wet pavement. Her wallet. The carefully wrapped sandwich that is supposed to be her lunch.

Her ancient Walkman. Every pen she owns. Not again,” she whispers, scrambling on her hands and knees to collect everything before it is ruined or blown away.

That’s when she sees the strange man’s hands moving alongside hers. Nell tenses, expecting him to pocket the money.

She wouldn’t even blame him if he did. But instead, he gather her scattered belongings with careful precision, holding everything out to her with a gentleness that takes her completely off guard.

“I believe these are yours,” he says in a deep voice. He doesn’t ask for anything in return.

He just settles back against the wall with that same inexplicable composure. “Thank you,” Nell manages, accepting her things with hands that tremble slightly.

The money in her hand represents her bus fair home. The small buffer that might let her eat dinner tonight if the interview goes as badly as she expects.

And yet, without letting herself think too hard about it, she presses the crumpled bills into his palm.

For you, she says softly. Get yourself something warm to eat. The way he looks at her then makes her chest tight with an emotion she can’t identify, as if she has just done something extraordinary instead of simply human.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. Nell nods and is about to hurry away to rush toward what might be her last chance at financial stability.

But then she notices the dark stain spreading across the wet pavement where the man is sitting.

Blood. She stops, her heart hammering as she looks closer. How had she missed it before?

The man may be composed, but now she sees what the rain and shadows had hidden.

His jacket hangs open slightly, revealing a dark, wet patch along his ribs where blood seeps through his torn shirt.

Your hurt, she exclaims. The man glances down at his side as if surprised to find it bleeding.

It’s nothing, he says. He’s too pale, Nell thinks, and his lips have taken on a bluish tinge that has nothing to do with the cold rain.

That’s not nothing, she says firmly. You need to get that looked at. She bites her lip.

He obviously can’t afford a doctor or hospital. That much is clear from his circumstances.

She thinks of the interview waiting for her, of her overdue rent and dwindling options.

Then she looks at this mysterious man who helped her, all the while bleeding in an alley with nowhere to go.

“Come with me,” she says, extending her hand. “I can clean that wound and bandage it properly.”

Something flickers across his face. Yet he remains perfectly still, staring at her outstretched hand without responding.

The silence stretches uncomfortably. My name is Nell, by the way. Nell days. Nell tries a gentle smile, hoping to encourage him.

What’s yours? I He starts, then stops. His amber eyes meet hers, and for the first time since she’s seen him, he looks truly lost.

I can’t remember, he murmurs. The rain continues to fall between them as those words hang in the air.

Chapter 1. You can’t remember? Nell repeats, staring at him in confusion. What does that even mean?

His name. The last few days. She wants to ask more, but something in his expression, lost and almost fragile, stops her from pushing.

Maybe it’s shock from blood loss or trauma from whatever gave him that wound. Either way, standing here interrogating an injured man in the pouring rain isn’t helping anyone.

It’s okay, she says gently. We can figure that out later. He looks at her extended hand for another long moment before slowly reaching out to take it.

His fingers are cold despite the earlier warmth she’d felt. And she can see the effort it takes for him to pull himself upright.

There’s a pharmacy just around the corner, she says, leading him out of the alley.

I need to get proper supplies to clean that wound. The pharmacist, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, immediately springs into action.

Deep cut? She asks, pulling items from the shelves. You’ll need antiseptic, gauze, medical tape, and these waterproof bandages.

Very important to keep it dry once it’s cleaned. Infection sets in fast with wounds like that.

Nell nods, watching the growing pile of medical supplies. What should he watch for? Redness spreading from the wound, red streaks, any unusual smell.

The pharmacist rings up the total. That’ll be $43. Nell’s stomach drops. She opens her wallet, counting the meager bills inside.

$18. That’s it. I She starts, heat flooding her cheeks. I’m sorry. I don’t have enough.

The pharmacist’s expression softens with understanding. Do you have anything at home you could use instead?

I have hydrogen peroxide, Nell says quickly. And rubbing alcohol. That’ll work. Just take the bandages then.

$12. Relief floods through her as she hands over the money. Back outside, the nameless man is leaning against the pharmacy wall, his face even paler than before.

“My apartment’s only a few blocks away,” she says, clutching the small pharmacy bag. “I have everything else we need there, and it’s warm and dry.”

He looks at her with those unsettling amber eyes, and she can see the internal struggle playing across his features.

“It’s okay,” she says. You’re hurt and I’m offering help. That’s what people do. Something in her tone seems to decide it for him.

He nods once, a sharp, grateful gesture. Chapter 2. Nell’s apartment building is a tired three-story structure that’s seen better decades with peeling paint and a front door that sticks in humid weather.

As they climb the narrow staircase to the second floor, she’s acutely aware of her mysterious companion behind her.

The quiet way he moves, how he seems to take in every detail of their surroundings with those unsettling amber eyes.

On the landing, they encounter Mr. Hoffman from 1B, standing in his pajamas and slippers.

“Oh, hello, dear,” he says to Nell, blinking owlishly. I was just I need to get milk for my coffee, but I can’t remember where I put my keys.

Nell’s heart sinks. This is the third time this week she’s found him like this.

Mr. Hoffman, you’re not dressed. Let’s get you back inside. I’m not. He looks genuinely surprised.

The stranger steps forward, gently taking Mr. Hoffman’s other arm, helping guide the elderly man back toward his apartment door.

“Strange?” He murmurs so quietly only Nell can hear. “What’s strange?” She whispers back. “The smell?

Can’t you?” He trails off, shaking his head. “Never mind.” Nell doesn’t smell anything unusual, just the typical musty odor of an old building.

Once they’ve settled Mr. Hoffman safely in his apartment, Nell leads her guest down to her own door.

Her hands shake slightly as she fumbles with her keys and suddenly the reality of what she’s doing hits her like a physical blow.

Her apartment suddenly feels impossibly small. The stranger seems to fill the entire living room just by standing there.

This tall, broad shouldered man with dirt under his fingernails and stubble that could hide any number of scars.

What if he’s dangerous? What if helping him was the stupidest thing she’s ever done?

The stranger seems to sense her sudden tension. He stops just inside her doorway, keeping his distance, his hands visible and open at his sides.

I can go, he says quietly, his voice gentle, unthreatening. The way he’s giving her an out makes her feel guilty.

A dangerous man wouldn’t do that, would he? No, she says, shaking her head firmly.

You’re hurt, and there’s a storm coming. She opens the door wider, gesturing him inside.

Her apartment is small but clean, a living room that doubles as her workspace, a tiny kitchen, and a bedroom barely big enough for her twin bed.

But before I look at that wound, she says, taking in his rain soaked, dirty clothes that are leaving wet spots on her hardwood floor.

You need to clean up. If I bandage you like this, you’ll definitely get an infection.

She disappears into her bedroom and returns with an armful of men’s clothing, jeans, a sweater, clean underwear, and socks.

These belonged to my ex-boyfriend, she explains. He left them here when he moved in with our colleague.

His loss is your gain, I guess. The stranger takes the clothes with a grateful nod.

Bathrooms through there, she says, pointing. There’s shampoo, soap, clean towels. I even have an unused razor and shaving cream if you want them.

While he showers, Nell listens to the sound of running water and trs not to think about the fact that there’s a naked stranger in her bathroom.

She tries calling Morrison and associates to reschedule her interview, but the receptionist barely lets her finish explaining before hanging up.

Well, that’s that job opportunity gone. 20 minutes later, the bathroom door opens with a soft click, and when Nell turns around, her breath catches.

Clean shaven and fresh from the shower, the stranger is stunning, breathtaking in a way that knocks the air from her lungs.

How had she not noticed before that he has features like something out of a Renaissance statue?

She stares a moment too long, heat creeping up her neck. Right, she says, voice a little horse.

Let’s get that cleaned up. The wound is worse than she thought. A deep, clean puncture with bruising around the edges.

This looks like a stab wound, she says, keeping her voice steady as she applies hydrogen peroxide.

When did this happen? She asks, blotting the blood with a cloth. A couple hours ago, he replies, voice tight with controlled pain.

Some men were displeased that I’d chosen their spot to wait out the rain. One had a knife.

Things escalated quickly. Nell pauses. They stabbed you over a place to sit. When territory is all you have, he says quietly, eyes steady on hers.

No matter how small you defend it, the wound is finally clean. She applies antibiotic ointment.

Careful and slow. He flinches slightly. You should really see a doctor. This will have to do, he says simply.

Outside, the storm swells. He glances at the window, then at her. Stay, she says firmly, smoothing down the last strip of tape.

At least until the storm passes. He studies her amber eyes unreadable, then nods. Just until the storm passes, he agrees.

As if on Q, thunder rolls overhead like a freight train and the lights flicker.

Chapter 3. That night, Nell lies awake listening to the storm rage outside. Every creek of the old building makes her hyper aware of the stranger sleeping on her couch.

Sure, he looks like a fallen angel, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t strangle her in her sleep.

She must eventually drift off because she finds herself dreaming of padding to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

And instead of the stranger, there’s a massive wolf stretched across her couch. The creature is enormous, sleeping peacefully with its head resting on the armrest.

Even in sleep, there’s something majestic about it, something that seems both wild and strangely familiar.

She wonders distantly why she’s not afraid of finding a giant wolf in her living room.

What a weird dream. The next morning, the storm is still battering the windows when Nell emerges from her bedroom.

“Good morning,” her guest says, turning to offer her a steaming mug. “I hope you don’t mind.

I made coffee.” “No, that’s great,” she says, accepting the cup gratefully. “You didn’t have to do that.

She studies his face in the morning light. Clean shaven and rested, he looks even more striking than he had the night before.

There’s something almost aristocratic about the way he holds himself, even in her ex-boyfriend’s borrowed clothes.

“Are you hungry?” She asks. “I could make breakfast.” As she moves around the kitchen pulling out eggs and bacon, she notices him examining her small bookshelf.

Her collection isn’t extensive, mostly secondhand paperbacks. The brother’s Karamazoff, he says, touching the spine of one book.

Nell pauses, spatula in hand. Have you read it? His brow furrows in concentration. I think so.

I remember enjoying it. So, you do remember some things? Nell observes carefully. The question seems to pain him.

Not really. Nothing beyond waking up alone in an alley about 2 months ago, he says.

I don’t know how I got there. Maybe a head injury, Nell suggests gently. I had no injuries when I woke up, he replies.

Just emptiness. He looks back at the book. This is the first thing that feels a bit familiar to me.

I remember particularly liking one of the characters, Dimmitri. He was passionate, conflicted, but ultimately redeemable.

Nell’s heart aches for him. Then that should be your name, she says impulsively. Until you remember your real one.

Dimmitri. Dimmitri, he repeats slowly. That’s acceptable, I suppose. Nell can’t help but laugh at his prim expression.

Dimmitri suddenly goes rigid, his head snapping up like he’s heard something. “What’s wrong?” Nell asks, turning off the burner.

He doesn’t answer, instead rising and moving to the center of the room, nostrils flaring slightly as he sniffs the air.

“Can’t you smell that?” He asks urgently. Nell inhales deeply. “Smell what?” “The bacon.” “No,” he says.

“Something’s wrong.” Before she can respond, he bolts for the door. “What the heck?” Nell mutters, following him into the hallway.

She spots from halfway down the stairs, trying to force open a door on the ground floor.

It’s locked, she calls down to him. It leads to the boiler room. Dimmitri ignores her, throwing his shoulder against the door.

“Stop,” Nell says, hurrying down the stairs. “You need a” The door gives way with a loud crack, and Dimmitri disappears inside.

Nell stares at the broken door frame in shock. “What are you doing?” She calls, following him into the basement.

“I’m going to get in trouble with my landlord.” The basement is dark and cramped, filled with the building’s ancient heating system.

She can see Dimmitri near the boiler, examining something with intense focus. “Seriously, you can’t be here.”

She tries again, starting down the stairs. Stay back, he orders. There’s a leak. You can’t stay in here.

It’s dangerous. What? Nell lets him drag her back up the stairs. What kind of leak?

Carbon monoxide, Dimmetry says, pulling her toward the building’s exit. We need to call 911 now.

Okay. I have a phone upstairs. No, it’s not safe. He’s already dragging her outside into the storm.

Rain immediately soaking through their clothes. The nearest cafe is half a block away, but Dimmitri seems to know exactly where he’s going.

Emergency. He tells the barista tursley. We need to use your phone. 20 minutes later, Nell watches from across the street as firefighters stream into her building.

The fire chief confirms a significant gas leak in the basement and carbon monoxide has been seeping into the building for weeks.

Don’t know how you figured it out. One of them tells Dmitri. Carbon monoxide has no smell.

Dmitri looks like he’s about to disagree when Nell’s landlord, Mr. Ke, arrives looking harried and annoyed.

“What’s all this about?” He demands, glaring at Nell. Did you cause this mess? There’s a gas leak, Nell explains.

It could have killed people. The ventilation system just needs a good kick. Keep mutters, then catches himself.

I mean, you’re all overreacting. Dimmitri steps forward. You knew. His voice is cold, precise.

You knew there was a problem with the ventilation and you did nothing. Keep takes a step back.

Now see here. You have a responsibility to maintain safe living conditions. Dimmitri continues, his tone sharp.

The lack of proper gas detection and ventilation maintenance is a clear violation of housing codes.

People could have died. Mr. Hoffman has been getting confused and sick. Nell interrupts, the pieces clicking together.

That’s why he’s been so disoriented. He’s been slowly poisoning himself. Keeps face goes pale.

Look, nobody needs to make this into a big deal. You’re going to be hearing from my attorneys, Dimmitri says flatly, his voice carrying a threat that makes even Nell shiver.

Negligent endangerment, violation of housing codes. Wait, Keep says desperately. Maybe we can work something out.

How about three free months rent? You’re joking, Dimmitri cuts him off, his amber eyes blazing.

You endangered lives through criminal negligence. Dimmitri, Nell says quietly, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

Can I talk to you for a minute? She can feel the tension radiating from him, but he allows her to pull him aside.

Look, she says in a low voice, “I appreciate what you’re doing, but nobody here can afford lawyers.

Certainly not you.” Dimmitri mouth opens like he’s about to protest. Then it closes and he blinks like he’s only just remembered that fact.

“That’s not the point,” he says eventually. “He can’t be allowed to get away with this.”

“He’s not getting away with it,” Nell says firmly. He’s offering 3 months free rent for everyone.

That’s real help right now. Everyone is safe thanks to you. That’s what matters. She watches him wrestle with this.

Sees the moment when his rigid posture starts to relax slightly. The hard edges of his authority soften and he looks almost vulnerable again.

Who are you really, Dimmitri? Nell wonders, watching him stare pensively out at the storm.

Chapter 4. Later that evening, when the fire department finally gives the allclear, Nell and Dmitri climb the stairs to her apartment in companionable silence.

“Let me check your wound,” Nell says once they’re inside. Dmitri nods, settling onto the couch and lifting the borrowed sweater.

Nell kneels beside him, her fingers working to carefully peel back the bandage. Then she freezes.

That’s That’s not possible, she whispers. Where the deep puncture wound had been just the night before, there’s now only smooth, unmarked skin.

Not even a scar remains. I don’t understand, Dimmitri says, staring down at his own torso with the same bewilderment she feels.

Nell runs her finger lightly over the spot where the wound had been. I was worried about infection, about you needing stitches, she murmurs more to herself than to him.

Maybe it wasn’t as deep as we thought, Dimmitri suggests, but his voice lacks conviction.

Maybe, Nell agrees. They stare at each other in the lamplight, sharing a moment of mutual confusion.

But the confusion fades, and as the silence stretches between them, Nell becomes acutely aware of how close they are.

How she’s still kneeling beside him on the couch, her hand resting on his bare chest.

Her breath catches when he lifts his hand, his fingers hovering just above her cheek.

Then reality crashes back in. I should go. Dimmitri pulls his sweater back down, standing abruptly.

Go, she repeats. I’m better, he says. You’ve been more than kind, but I should give you your space back.

Nell feels a strange urge to protest, to find reasons why he should stay. But none of them make sense.

He’s right. He’s healed. The crisis is over and she has no real reason to ask him to stay.

“Of course,” she says instead, forcing a smile. “Let me pack you some food.” When she returns to the living room, Dimmitri is folding his old clothes.

“Keep those,” she says, nodding toward the clothes he’s wearing. “They fit you better anyway.”

“Are you sure?” “Trust me, I never want to see them again. The bitterness in her voice surprises them both.

Dimmitri takes the bag of food, his fingers brushing hers as he does. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“For everything, your kindness, your home. I don’t know how to repay you.” “It was nothing,” Nell assures him.

“No,” Dimmitri tells her. And there’s something almost fierce in his voice. It wasn’t nothing.

You helped a stranger when you had every reason not to. You shared your food, your home, your safety.

He pauses, troubled. I don’t remember who I was before, but I don’t think I was kind.

I don’t think I would have done what you did. And then he’s gone, leaving her standing in her suddenly too quiet apartment, staring at the empty couch where he’d slept.

Chapter 5. Two days pass in a blur of ordinary routine that somehow feels completely wrong.

Nell goes to job interviews, comes home to her empty apartment, and tries to pretend she doesn’t keep glancing at the couch where Dimmitri had slept.

She tells herself it’s ridiculous. She knew him for less than 48 hours. People don’t form attachments that quickly to complete strangers.

But then the storm hits. It starts as heavy rain around noon, the kind that makes the city’s inadequate drainage systems overflow and turn streets into rivers.

By evening, it’s upgraded to something apocalyptic. Howling winds that rattle her windows, hail the size of golf balls, and rain so heavy she can barely see the building across the street.

Nell paces her apartment, checking the weather reports obsessively. All she can think about is Dimmitri somewhere out there in this nightmare weather with nothing but the clothes on his back.

By 10:00, she can’t stand it anymore. She pulls on her heaviest coat, grabs an umbrella, and ventures out into the storm.

The wind nearly knocks her over the moment she steps outside. The streets are almost completely deserted, except for the occasional emergency vehicle racing past with sirens wailing.

Water rushes down the gutters like rapids, and she has to hold on to building walls to keep from being swept away.

She makes it to the alley where she first found him. Empty except for debris blown in by the wind.

Where would he go? Where could anyone go in this? She’s about to give up, soaked to the bone and shivering violently when she spots a figure huddled in a narrow al cove between two buildings.

Dimmitri, she calls out, fighting to be heard over the wind. He looks up and even through the rain, she can see his surprise.

“Nel.” They share a look across the storm lashed space between them. “You’re still here,” she says, gesturing to the area near where she’d first found him.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Well, I thought just in case.”

The way he says it makes her chest tight. Just in case of what? In case she came looking for him.

The possibility that he might have been hoping sends warmth flooding through her despite the cold rain.

Come back with me, she says impulsively. Please, you can’t stay out here in this weather.

Nell, what if there’s another gas leak? She interrupts. What if I need someone with a super smell to save the building?

Super smell. Dimmitri looks like he’s fighting another smile. A particularly strong gust of wind sends debris flying past them.

His hand comes up to steady her, fingers gentle but firm on her arm. The storm’s getting worse, she says quietly.

I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re out here. He looks at her for a long moment, rain dripping from his dark hair.

“You don’t even know me,” he says. “That’s not true,” she protests. And the admission feels heavier than it should.

“You’re you’re my friend.” “Come home with me, Dimmitri,” she says softly. Just until the storm passes.

He nods finally, and she feels relief flood through her so strongly it’s almost dizzying.

Just until the storm passes, he agrees. Chapter 6. Back in her apartment, they stand dripping in her small entryway.

“I should get you a towel,” Nell says, accutely aware of how his wet clothes cling to his frame.

That would be good, Dimmitri agrees. She bustles around, gathering dry clothes and towels, trying to ignore the way her pulse quickens.

I’ll just You can change, she says, gesturing toward the bedroom. I’ll go get some sleep.

You should, too. It’s late. Yes, he agrees, but makes no move toward the makeshift bed.

All right. They stand there in her small living room, the weight of unspoken things pressing down on them.

“Well,” Nell says finally, “Good night.” She escapes to her bedroom, but sleep is impossible.

Not with him on the other side of the wall. Every creek, every shift of the couch, every breath he takes sounds like it’s right next to her.

After what feels like an hour, she gives up. Barefoot, she creeps to the door and presses her ear against it.

Silence. She eases it open and peaks out. The living room is washed in moonlight.

Dimmitri is sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, staring out the window, still watchful, like he’s hunting something in the shadows.

Can’t sleep either, she whispers. He turns his head toward her voice. Even in the dark, his eyes gleam.

“No,” he says softly. She steps out, suddenly too aware of her thin night gown and bare legs.

“The air feels colder, her skin tighter.” “I thought maybe I’d make some tea.” “Camomile,” she says, trying to sound casual.

“It helps sometimes.” Help,” he repeats, and there’s something darkly amused in his tone. She clears her throat.

“Would you like some?” She’s already reaching for the kettle when she hears him stand.

Footsteps behind her, slow, controlled, not loud, but present. And when she turns, he is here.

She backs up instinctively, the counter pressing into her lower back. He follows, stopping just shy of touching her.

“Nel,” he murmurs, his voice like smoke, rough and intimate. She wets her lips. His head dips lower, and she feels the brush of his nose against her throat.

“I don’t want tea,” he murmurs, lips grazing her skin. She swallows. “No,” she asks.

Her hands fly to his chest, meant to push, but they don’t. They curl into his shirt instead, pulling him closer.

You smell like rain and heat, he replies. And something sweeter underneath, Dimmitri, she breathes, her whole body thrumming.

You’ve been so kind to me, he whispers. Let me make it up to you.

The kiss crashes over them like the storm outside. Hungry, reckless, overdue. He kisses her like he’s remembering something with his body before his mind can catch up.

Like her mouth is a secret he’s known in another life. And the tea is forgotten entirely.

Chapter 7. Nell wakes to the low clink of ceramic and the soft hiss of a stovetop flame.

She pads barefoot into the kitchen, the cotton of her night gown clinging to sleepwarmed skin.

Dimmitri stands at the stove barefoot. When he turns to look at her, his amber eyes glow in the morning light, and his slow, lazy smile nearly brings her to her knees.

“Morning,” he rumbles, voice still thick from sleep. “Morning,” she says, suddenly shy. He hands her a mug, fingers brushing hers, and her stomach flutters.

A soft, nervous excitement she hasn’t felt since she was a teenager. The storm’s over, she murmurs.

So it is, he says, eyes focused on her. You could stay another day. She hesitates just to be safe.

The forecast mentioned possible aftershocks. A beat of silence, then his mouth twitches. Aftershocks, he echoes, stepping forward with a glint in his eyes.

I see. You’re just being responsible. I am extremely responsible, she replies, chin lifting. Yes, he agrees, his voice rough as his fingers tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

You are. When he kisses her, it’s slow and warm, tasting like coffee and something deeper.

Something unspoken. Her body leans into him before her mind catches up. Just one more day, he murmurs against her lips.

But one day becomes two, then a week, then more. They fall into an easy rhythm, except nothing about it is easy.

Every brush of skin feels electric. Every look lingers a beat too long. I am just grateful,” he says one afternoon, backing her against the counter, his mouth ghosting her jaw.

“You saved my life. Let me show my appreciation.” “This is appreciation,” she pants as his fingers tease the edge of her waistband.

“Deep, soultering gratitude,” he confirms solemnly before kneeling to demonstrate just how grateful he can be.

They joke about their arrangement. Nell calling him her kept man. Dimmitri insisting he’s earning his keep in increasingly creative ways.

But underneath the humor is something deeper, more intense, like the way his eyes go flat and predatory when another man flirts with her at the corner store.

Or the way he growls low and quiet when he kisses her neck just where her pulse beats loudest.

“You’re insatiable,” she gasps one night as he presses her into the couch cushions. “For you,” he breathes, voice rough with need.

“Only ever for you.” Dimmitri isn’t content to simply live in her space. He approaches her apartment’s problems with systematic efficiency.

He doesn’t just fix the cabinet door. He reorganizes the entire kitchen for optimal workflow.

You don’t have to do all this. Nell says she’s holding a screwdriver he handed her without explanation, standing on a chair to reach a light fixture.

It’s inefficient to let problems accumulate, he says matterofactly. Small issues become systemic failures. Soon, Dimmitri’s organizational skills extend beyond her apartment.

He creates schedules for building maintenance, rotation charts for helping Mrs. Chen that somehow get implemented without anyone quite remembering agreeing to them.

You have a way with people, Nell observes one evening as they climb the stairs.

It’s like you always know how to get them to do what you want. Dimmitri stops so suddenly she nearly collides with him.

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks, genuinely curious. “No,” she says, accutely aware of his fingers on her elbow.

“It’s just unusual.” Later, when they’re tangled in bed, he kisses down her neck with barely restrained hunger.

She feels his teeth graze her skin, sharper than they should be. Something in his voice is trembling.

I shouldn’t. Instead, he sinks his mouth into her skin and leaves bruises shaped like his hunger.

One afternoon at their usual coffee shop, Nell excuses herself for the bathroom. When she returns, she finds a woman leaning against their table talking to Dmitri with obvious interest.

The surge of possessiveness that hits her is so powerful it stops her midstep. The woman laughs at something Dimmitri says leaning closer and Nell feels like she can’t breathe.

What right does she have to feel jealous when they’re just roommates with benefits? But watching the stranger flirt with him, seeing the easy charm in Dimmitri’s polite responses, Nell realizes with startling clarity that she doesn’t want to be just anything to him.

She wants to be everything. The thought hits her like a freight train. She’s in love with him.

When did that happen? When did the mysterious man she’d rescued become the person she can’t imagine living without?

Her mind is reeling with the magnitude of her realization. She’s in love with a man whose real name she doesn’t even know.

A man who might see her as nothing more than temporary shelter and convenient sex.

You’ve been somewhere else since the coffee shop. Dimmitri observes on the way home, his nostrils flaring slightly as if he’s reading her mood through scent.

I’m fine, just thinking. He studies her face for a long moment, then nods. Tell you what, let me cook tonight.

You don’t have to. I want to, he says firmly, cupping her face in his hands.

Let me take care of you. His thumb brushes across her lips and she finds herself leaning into the touch like she’s drawn to him by some magnetic force.

Okay, she whispers. He smiles slow, sharp, full of promise. Good. I’ll be back in an hour.

She’s still standing there smiling to herself when a harsh voice cuts through her thoughts.

You should be ashamed of yourself. Nell spins around to see a well-dressed, middle-aged man striding toward her, his face twisted with disgust.

His expensive suit and confident bearing scream money, but his expression is filled with rage.

“Excuse me,” Nell says, taken aback. “Being with that man,” he says, his voice getting louder.

Do you conveniently ignore all the lives he’s ruined because he buys you nice things?

I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Blake Storm, the man spits. CEO of Storm Industries.

Nell’s frowns in confusion. Don’t play dumb with me. I saw you with him. Wait.

Nell shakes her head. Are you talking about Dimmitri? Dimmitri? The man scoffs. You think I wouldn’t recognize the man who forced me to sell my company, then gutted it, sold off the profitable parts, and threw away the rest.

Hundreds of people lost their jobs because of him. I think you have the wrong person.

Nell protests. He’s not some He’s homeless. He has amnesia. Amnesia? The man laughs harshly.

The man’s worth millions. He’s probably working some elaborate scheme. Tax evasion, hiding assets, who knows what.

Nell remembers Dimmitri’s wound, the poor condition he’d been living in, and above all the lost looks he’d get whenever he tried to remember his past life.

You’re wrong, she insists, but doubt is already creeping in. All those contradictions about Dimmitri, his refined speech, his business knowledge, the way he commanded situations like he was used to being in charge.

I have to go, she whispers. Look, kid, the man says, his anger fading into something like pity.

Maybe you truly didn’t know, but now you do. If I were you, I’d keep away from this man.

Chapter 8. Nell sits at a wooden table at the library surrounded by stacks of old newspapers and magazines.

She’s been at it for 2 hours combing through back issues of the Wall Street Journal, Fortune, and Business Week.

Every search for Blake Storm brings up the same impossible truth. There he is on Forb’s 40 under 40.

On a New York Times cover story, America’s Youngest Billionaires, with a photo that makes her stomach twist.

Dimmitri in a sleek suit, standing in a glasswalled office high above Manhattan, accompanied by photos of his sprawling estate in the Hamptons, his Manhattan penthouse, his fleet of luxury cars.

Nell stares at the images, feeling smaller and more insignificant with each one. The man in these photos belongs to a world so far removed from her cramped one-bedroom apartment that they might as well be different species.

The article describes his ruthless business acumen and aggressive acquisition strategies. Storm Industries is based in Manhattan, nearly 3,000 miles from Seattle.

She buys the magazine and stumbles home. Dimmitri is in the kitchen wearing borrowed clothes, stirring a pot like he belongs there.

The sight guts her. Him barefoot in her kitchen playing house like it’s real. Like any of this is real.

Nell throws the magazine at him. It hits his chest and falls to the floor, pages spllaying open to reveal his face staring up from the glossy cover.

The silence that follows is deafening. Dimmitri stares down at the magazine and Nell sees the exact moment recognition flickers across his features.

“Have you been lying to me?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is this all some kind of joke?”

“No,” he protests immediately, shaking his head. “Nell, I Blake Storm,” she reads from the cover.

“Net worth 2.8 billion. CEO of Storm Industries.” That’s you, isn’t it? Dimmitri’s mouth opens and closes like he can’t find the words.

I I don’t remember any of that. He ends up whispering. A man came up to me today.

Nell continues. He knew you. He said you destroyed his company. That’s not Dmitri looks up from the magazine.

I would never. Look at yourself, Nell says, gesturing to the open pages. Look at that house, that office.

You could buy my entire building with pocket change. The photographs mock her with their opulence.

She thinks of her own reflection in the bathroom mirror this morning. Tired eyes, secondhand clothes.

I don’t remember being that person, he insists, desperation in his voice. It doesn’t matter, Nell says, turning away from him because looking at his face hurts too much.

She feels like she’s losing him, like he’s already slipping away into that glittering world where she could never follow.

“Now that you know who you are, you can go home,” she murmurs. Nell, you’re not going to stay here now, are you?

She flips to the photo spread of his Hampton’s estate. Look at this. You could be living in a mansion instead.

Come on. Dimmitri’s voice becomes strained. We don’t even know if that’s really me. Could be a lookalike.

Nell shakes her head and moves past him toward the kitchen. Let’s have dinner then, shall we?

Oh, wait. Why would you have dinner here when you could be dining at some Michelin starred restaurant within the hour?

Blake, that name means nothing to me. He snaps. That man said you were lying.

Nell continues that you’re probably evading taxes or hiding assets. And you believed him? Dimmitri’s voice cracks.

Just like that, some stranger on the street. The pain in his voice makes her want to take it all back, to apologize and pretend none of this ever happened.

But she can’t. The photographs are right there, proof of a life so far beyond her reach, it might as well be fantasy.

No, Nell says, her voice small and broken. I know you didn’t lie about the amnesia, but the truth is it doesn’t matter.

It’s over this. She waves between them. Can’t go on anymore. And why not? Dimmitri challenges, tone quiet.

Because why would it? Why would you choose this? She gestures around her tiny apartment when you could have that.

She holds up the photo of his estate, the image blurring through her tears. Because you’re not in there, Dimmitri whispers, pointing at the pictures.

You’re here. They stare at each other across the small space, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging between them.

Nell’s heart cracks a little more with each passing second. Look, you should go, she says finally.

Call your your company or something. I don’t want to. Yeah, well, I want you to.

You’re in my home. Dimmitri’s eyes flash gold. Actually flash like light reflecting off metal.

“You want me to leave?” He asks. Nell doesn’t reply. Can’t trust her voice. She’s afraid if she speaks, she’ll take it all back.

Beg him to stay. “Nell.” His voice is rougher now with an edge she’s never heard before.

It’s almost a growl. Yes, she whispers, the word tearing something vital inside her chest.

I want you to leave. Dimmitri looks like he might argue, shoulder tense with tension, and then he winces, his face contorting in pain, and suddenly he stumbles, one hand going to his chest like something inside is trying to claw its way out.

“What’s wrong?” Nell asks, alarm cutting through her anger. He doesn’t reply, just makes a sound that’s part gasp, part moan.

His breathing becomes labored and sweat beads on his forehead despite the cool evening air.

Dmitri. Fear replaces her anger as she watches him struggle. What’s wrong? He crouches down, his whole body trembling.

His hands are clenched into fists. Dimmitri. Nell’s voice comes out as a whisper, terror replacing every other emotion.

He makes a sound that’s part grunt, part growl, and then his bones begin to crack and stretch audibly.

Dark fur sprouts across his skin as his clothes tear and fall away in tatters.

His hands become claws. His teeth become fangs. And his spine curves and extends until where Dimmitri had been crouching, there’s now a massive wolf with glowing amber eyes.

Nell screams, the sound ripping from her throat involuntarily. The wolf, Dimmitri, looks at her with those familiar eyes for one heartbreaking moment.

Then he turns and leaps through her window, shattering the glass as he disappears into the night.

Chapter nine. Nell stands frozen in her wrecked apartment, surrounded by shattered glass and torn fabric, staring at the broken window where Dimmitri disappeared.

The silence after the chaos is deafening. First, gentle, mysterious Dimmitri is actually a ruthless billionaire CEO, and now he turned into a wolf right in front of her.

“I’m losing my mind,” she whispers, running her hands through her hair. “I’m actually losing my mind.”

She sees his face again right before the shift. The confusion, the pain, and afterward the way the wolf had looked at her with such heartbreak.

She replays it again and again, the soft whine when she screamed, the way he flinched like her fear physically hurt him.

“And now he’s alone out there,” she says. The thought jolts her. Dimmitri Blake, whoever he is, had been confused and scared and she sent him away.

The guilt hits hard. She breathes, grabbing her jacket. She has to find him. Explain something.

She can’t leave it like this. Not when she’s in love with him. Not after the way he looked at her.

The streets are eerily quiet for early evening. Nell hurries toward the area where she first found him, scanning every alley, every shadow.

Dimmitri, she calls softly, not wanting to draw attention, but desperate for him to hear.

Dmitri, please. She’s halfway down the block when hands grab her from behind. What? She starts to scream, but a rough hand clamps over her mouth.

She’s yanked into the narrow space between two buildings. Her heart pounds as she struggles, biting the hand, kicking wildly.

But there are at least two men, maybe three, and they’re stronger. Morrison, someone says behind her.

Is that her? Through the panic, she sees the man who’d recognized Dmitri earlier step from the shadows.

Yes, he says, eyeing her with something close to pity. One of the men shoves a watt of cash into Morrison’s hand.

Payment as agreed. Nell’s eyes widen. She thrashes harder, tries to scream, but someone presses a cloth over her nose and mouth.

The chemical stench makes her gag. “Don’t worry,” Morrison says, his voice fading as the drug takes hold.

They won’t hurt you. They just need bait to draw out Blake. Chapter 10. Nell wakes to a pounding head and the bitter taste of chemicals in her mouth.

She’s zip tied to a metal chair in an abandoned warehouse. The air thick with rust and rot.

Yellow street light filters in through broken windows high above. Three men circle her like predators.

Big, muscular, too still. Something about their movements reminds her of Dimmitri. She’s awake, one says.

Good. Another crouches to her eye level. Now we wait for the alpha to come running.

The leader pulls a knife, testing its edge on his thumb. Either way, she’s done her job.

Morrison said to make sure Blake suffers, didn’t he? Terror grips her as the blade comes closer.

Please don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll make it quick. Then comes the growl. Low, primal, inhuman.

It vibrates through the floor and up her spine. The men freeze. I thought you said he didn’t shift anymore.

One whispers. Shut up. Get ready. From the shadows, a massive wolf steps into the light.

Bigger than before. Dark fur like smoke. Amber eyes locked on the knife near her throat.

Well, well. The leader sneers, not lowering the blade. Look what crawled out of the gutter.

The wolf steps forward. The men move, surrounding her. You remember how this works, don’t you?

One more step and she dies. Dimmitri stops, eyes locked on the blade. Three shifters, one human shield.

Here’s what you’re going to do. You shift back slow. Then we talk payback. Nell sees the tension in his body.

Rage fighting restraint. Dimmitri, don’t. The man backhands her. Her head snaps sideways. Shut up.

That’s when Dmitri snaps. He lunges. Not at the leader, but the man to his left.

The element of surprise gives him the edge. Teeth clamp down. Blood sprays. Chaos erupts.

The leader turns, knife forgotten for a breath. It’s enough. Dimmitri releases his first target and pivots toward Nell.

The third shifter starts to shift, but Dimmitri barrels through him like nothing, focused only on her.

The leader lifts the blade, but Dimmitri slams into him. They crash into crates, the knife clattering away.

All three men shift now, bones cracking, bodies stretching. But they’re smaller. Dimmitri fights like something possessed, wild, and precise.

They come at him in tandem, snapping at his legs, trying to bring him down.

The floor runs with blood. Some his, most theirs. One by one they falter, limping, beaten.

Only the leader remains. He snarls, backing toward the window. He vanishes into the dark.

Dimmitri sways. Blood mats his fur. He takes one step toward Nell and collapses. Dimmitri.

Nell breaks free from the damaged restraints and drops to her knees. His form begins to shift.

Moments later, he lies naked and bleeding on the concrete, pale, still. “Dimmitri,” she whispers, cradling his head.

Her hands press uselessly against the worst of the wounds. “Wake up!” His eyes flutter open, unfocused.

He looks at her, dazed. “Nell, what happened to me? I remember being angry and then ou didn’t know she asks stunned about the wolf thing.

You really didn’t know. He groans trying to sit then collapses again. Those men they knew me.

They said you’re bleeding too much. Nell interrupts. I need to get you help. Nell, he whispers, his hand finding hers.

What if they’re right? What if I really am a monster? No, she says fiercely.

The man I know is good. He’s kind. You just risked everything to save me.

Her voice cracks. I love you, Dmitri. Whoever you were, whatever your name is. His eyes widen slightly at her confession, but before he can respond, they roll back and he goes limp in her arms.

Help! Nell screams into the empty warehouse. Somebody help us. That’s when she hears the sound of expensive cars pulling up outside, followed by rapid footsteps.

He’s here, a voice calls out. Three figures in tailored suits burst through the warehouse entrance, moving with the same predatory grace as the men who’d attacked them.

But these newcomers scan the space with professional efficiency, their eyes immediately locking onto Nell.

Alpha, the largest of the three, a man with silver hair and cold blue eyes, rushes forward, dropping to his knees beside them.

Blake, can you hear me? Please help us. Nell gasps. He’s bleeding out. We need to get him to a hospital.

Hospital. The woman in the group, blonde and sharp featured, sneers at Nell. What for?

What do you mean what for? Nell asks. He’s dying. The alpha doesn’t need your human hospital.

The third man, younger with wire- rimmed glasses and a leather briefcase clutched in his hands, says dismissively.

Nell tries to reach for Dmitri again, calling his name, but the silver-haired man moves her aside.

Though, the one with the briefcase continues. Maybe we could accelerate the process a bit.

If he could make it to tonight’s board meeting, that would save us considerable time.

The shareholders are getting restless. “These people are crazy,” Nell mutters. But then the woman produces a syringe from her jacket and plunges it directly into Dimmitri’s chest.

“No!” Nell yelps, but suddenly Dimmitri gasps and sits upright, his eyes snapping open with startling clarity.

The three newcomers immediately incline their heads in perfect synchronization. “Alpha,” they say in unison.

Welcome back. The one with the briefcase says, pulling out documents. If I could just get your signature on this merger agreement really quickly for crying out loud.

Nell explodes. He’s wounded. Leave him alone. But Dimmitri blinks, takes a quick look at the document, and his entire demeanor shifts.

What the Malcolm? He snarls, ripping the papers to shreds. This contract’s absolute What did I tell you about doing business with the Ford’s group?

You’ve got to hold them by the balls, otherwise they’ll bleed you dry. Malcolm blinks back what might be tears of relief.

Oh, thank God you’re back, Alpha. We’ve been so lost without you. You’re an incompetent git, Malcolm.

Dimmitri continues coldly. But sir, where have you been? What happened? We’ve been searching for months.

None of your business. Dmitri cuts him off with icy precision. Isn’t it your job to know these things beforehand, not ask stupid questions afterward?

The woman sniffs delicately. Alpha, now that you’ve dealt with those three, what should we do?

Do we retaliate? Make an example. We need to send a message. The silver-haired man agrees.

Show the other packs what happens when they target us. Nell feels like she’s watching strangers.

And she is because this cold, calculating man giving orders is not someone she recognizes.

Where is the gentle person who read to her in the evenings? “What do we do about the human?”

The woman asks suddenly, pointing at Nell. Dimmitri’s gaze snaps to her and for just a moment, half a second, something flickers across his face.

“But then escort her home,” he says flatly. “Make sure she signs the NDAs.” Wait.

Nell starts reaching for him, but hands are already pulling her to her feet. As they lead her toward a waiting car, Nell looks back desperately.

The man she fell in love with, gentle, lost Dimmitri, who made her coffee in the mornings and worried about Mr.

Hoffman, might as well have never existed at all. Epilog 2 weeks feels like 2 years.

Nell stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the woman looking back.

Dark circles, limp hair, an extra few pounds. The whole building has been trying to feed her since since he left.

Even Mr. Ke brought cookies hovering awkwardly in her doorway. “We miss seeing you and Dmitri together,” Mrs.

Chen had said gently. “Such a nice young man.” Nell swallowed the lump in her throat.

How do you tell someone you’re mourning a man who might never have existed? He disappeared without a word.

Just a team of lawyers at her door the next morning, armed with NDAs and confidentiality agreements.

Sign here and here. Initial here. A thank you for your discretion deposit appeared in her account.

Useful, yes, but it made her feel cheap. Erased. Not a word from him. The one silver lining, her job.

Thanks to Blake’s resume overhaul, she landed a position at a prestigious marketing firm. But success feels hollow when you have no one to share it with.

Her days blur into meetings and emails. And tonight, walking home from another long day of pretending to care.

The sky opens up. Rain pours in relentless sheets, the same kind that brought them together.

Without thinking, her feet lead her somewhere else, not home. To the alley. It’s smaller than she remembers, dirtier, just a narrow passage between buildings, unremarkable, except that it changed everything.

She stands in the exact spot where she found him. Rain soaks through her jacket.

How could she have known that the man slumped here, lost, vulnerable, was a corporate shark, a supernatural being?

And yet even then she’d felt something a pull like he was already important. Whereas she is just Nell dies ordinary.

The girl who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and had her heart completely broken.

The rain suddenly stops hitting her, though she can still hear it pattering around her.

She blinks confused. There’s an umbrella over her head. She turns slowly, afraid of what she’ll find, or worse, what she won’t find.

But he’s there, holding a black umbrella over them both. His hair is shorter, expertly styled.

He’s clean shaven, dressed in a charcoal suit that probably costs more than her rent, but his eyes, those unusual amber eyes with flexcks of gold, are exactly the same.

You’re still here?” He says softly, his voice achingly familiar. She shrugs, throat tight. “Yeah, well,” she murmurs, “just in case.”

Something like hope flickers across his face, but she steals herself against it, against him.

The last time she saw this man, he walked away without a backward glance. “So,” she says, finding her voice.

You remember everything then? He hesitates. Yes, he admits after a beat. I do. Good.

She gives him a small tight smile. Convenient, I mean, for all those business deals your associates seem to need you for.

His smile tightens into something nervous. Yes, he says. I suppose so. Rain drums against the umbrella, creating a private world around them.

He looks at her carefully. “How have you been?” He asks. “Well, I haven’t been kidnapped in a while, so there’s that.”

She replies, making him wse. Now, I am so deeply sorry for what happened that night.

It was entirely my fault you got hurt. If I had known. You know what hurt more than being grabbed by those men?

She interrupts. The fact that you just disappeared afterward without a word, without so much as a goodbye.

Pain flashes across his face. “I’m sorry,” he says again. And she believes he means it, which somehow makes it worse.

“When I woke up with all my memories intact, I was concerned, alarmed, actually. How had I forgotten everything?

Who had done that to me?” He runs a hand through his hair. I don’t have many friends, Nil, but I have plenty of enemies.

I wasn’t even sure I could trust my own pack. I needed to understand what had happened before I saw you again.

And I He breaks off, reaching toward her face before pulling his hand back. I wanted to get you away from all of it.

I was afraid that if anyone suspected I cared about you, they’d try to use you against me again.

The sincerity in his voice touches something in her, but she’s been hurt too badly to let her guard down easily.

You could have called. She sigh and risk someone listening in. When he sees her surprised expression, he adds, “Yes, turns out I’m a bit paranoid with my memories back.

I mean, comes with being on top.” “Right on top.” She shakes her head. So, you got your memories back and remembered you’re some big corporate.

I remembered I’m a lot of things, he interrupts, and none of them particularly good.

His eyes darken. All those things you heard about me that night, they’re true. She reaches for him without thinking.

Her hand on his arm seems to calm him, and he looks surprised at the contact.

It’s how I got cursed, he explains. Cursed? To lose my memories. It was a curse.

Like, magic? Nell asks. When he nods, she adds, “Magic is real.” His lips quirk in a small, almost amused smile.

“Well, how did you think I turned into a wolf?” “Yeah, about that.” She hesitates.

“Is that a regular thing you can do?” His smile falls again. “Yes,” he says carefully.

I’m a shifter. I’m a man, but I’m also not. Or part of me isn’t.

Nell thinks back to all the things that had puzzled her about him. His acute sense of smell.

The way he’d sometimes growl when frustrated. “Yeah,” she says slowly. “That kind of checks out.”

He watches her reaction closely. “Does it bother you?” Nell scoffs. “Is that why you’re here?”

She snaps, worried I’ll tell someone your secret. No, Dimmitri says quickly. I’m not worried about that.

I trust you. Then what are you worried about? He takes a deep breath. You have to understand that I’m not a good person, Nell.

Not really. That’s why I got cursed in the first place. He continues before she can interrupt.

My ex- fiance, who I should confess I only got engaged to in order to pressure her family into signing a massive business deal, cursed me after I broke things off.

She had me kidnapped and dumped in this city so no one would find me.

Nell makes a face and he pauses. Sorry, she says. I’m just debating whether you deserved it or not.

A surprised laugh escapes him. I probably did, he admits. After getting my memories back, I tracked down what Sheila had done.

The curse was designed to only break if someone truly fell in love with me.

Me without my money or power or influence. She was convinced it would never happen, that I’d be stuck like that forever.

Nell feels heat rise to her cheeks. “Oh, when I was lying in this alley and you found me, you said I remember what I said.”

She interrupts, sighing. He looks dejected at her tone, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Right,” he says carefully.

He hesitates, then asks. “And now, do you think perhaps in time you could still love me now that I’m this?”

He gestures to himself. “This?” Nell repeats. “I’m still all those terrible things I was before,” he says.

Words coming faster now. I still run a cut-throat company. I still make decisions that hurt people.

I’m still surrounded by others just as ruthless as I am. But the thing is, Nell, that I now remember what I was like when I was with you.

And I liked that person much more. Feeling herself blush, Nell snorts. So what? You want me to be your moral compass?

No, Nell. His voice drops. I want you to love me still. I’ve missed you.

I can’t go back to how things were before. Not anymore. Not when I know what it feels like to be loved by someone like you.

You mean poor and average? She jokes weakly. I mean selfless, he says, reaching up to brush rainampened hair from her face.

And brave, kind. His thumb traces her cheekbone. And very, very beautiful. Nell feels tears building behind her eyes, and she blinks them back furiously.

“Look,” she says, voice unsteady. “We started this thing when you weren’t yourself. But your memories are back now, and eventually you’ll realize you belong in that sparkly world of yours.

And I There’s nothing sparkly about it,” he interrupts. “Not without you.” His lips find hers, warm and familiar and desperate all at once.

He kisses her like a drowning man finding air, like someone coming home after a long absence.

I love you, he whispers. The curse broke because you loved me when I had nothing to offer but myself.

Now I have everything and the only thing I want is you. She looks up at him.

This man who is both Dmitri and Blake, both the lost soul she found in an alley and the powerful creature who stands before her now.

Give me a chance, he pleads softly. Just one more chance. And despite everything, despite the pain of the past two weeks, despite the complications that loving him will bring, Nell rises on her tiptoes and presses her lips to his again.

The rain continues to fall around them, but neither notices. In this moment, in this unremarkable alley where their story began, they are the only two people in the world.

The girl who found a wolf and the wolf who found his heart. Thanks for watching everyone.

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