I'm staring at the ceiling when the morning light starts filtering through my bedroom window.
I didn't sleep well. Kept waking up every few hours, my wolf restless beneath my skin, pacing and circling like something's shifted that he can't quite settle.
It's been twelve hours since Emma left. Twelve hours since she stood in my living room, looked around the apartment with those careful eyes, and said she'd take it.
I should feel relieved. Rent problem solved, financial crisis averted, simple transaction between two people who need something from each other.
Except my wolf won't shut up about her.
I roll out of bed and head to the kitchen, pulling open the fridge without really looking at what's inside. Leftover Thai food. Energy drinks. Some vegetables I should probably use before they go bad.
I grab a bottle of water instead and lean against the counter.
The apartment feels different this morning. Not physically, everything's exactly where it was yesterday. But there's this awareness now, this knowledge that in two days, someone else will be living here. Sharing this space. Filling the silence that's been my only company for three weeks.
Emma Carter.
Twenty-four years old. Works in marketing. Raised by a single mother. Practical, cautious, clearly desperate for affordable housing.
Human. Completely, thoroughly human.
And my wolf recognized something in her the second she walked through that door.
I set the water bottle down harder than necessary.
No. Absolutely not. I'm not doing this.
Alpha-born wolves are dominant by nature. We notice things other wolves don't. Territorial instincts run deeper, protective urges trigger faster. It doesn't mean anything. It's just biology, just the way I'm wired.
She smelled like stress and exhaustion and something floral, probably her shampoo. That's it. That's all it was.
My wolf disagrees. Loudly.
I ignore him and pull out my phone. Three missed calls from Ryan. My Beta, my oldest friend, the one person from the pack who won't lecture me about duty and responsibility.
Except lately, even Ryan's been pushing.
I scroll through the voicemails without listening to them. I already know what they say.
Kai, the council's asking questions.
Your dad wants to know when you're coming home.
They're talking about setting a deadline. You need to call me back.
I delete them all.
My phone buzzes immediately. Ryan again.
I stare at his name on the screen, thumb hovering over the decline button.
Against my better judgment, I answer.
"Finally," Ryan's voice comes through sharp with relief and frustration. "I've been calling you for three days."
"I know."
"And you've been ignoring me for three days."
"I know that too."
He's quiet for a second. When he speaks again, his tone is softer. "Kai, we need to talk about this. You can't keep avoiding it."
"Watch me."
"The council's losing patience. Your father's losing patience. They want a timeline."
"They can want whatever they like."
"Kai—"
"I'm not coming back, Ryan. Not yet. Maybe not ever."
Silence on the other end. I can picture him running his hand through his hair, the way he does when he's trying to figure out how to say something I won't want to hear.
"You know it's not that simple," he says finally.
"Why not? I didn't ask to be Alpha heir. I didn't choose this life, why can't I choose a different one?"
"Because that's not how it works."
"Maybe it should be."
Ryan sighs, long and heavy. "Look, I'm not calling to fight with you. I'm calling because I'm worried. You left six months ago saying you needed time to think. Fair enough. But you're not thinking, Kai. You're hiding."
"I'm not hiding."
"You're living in a city where no one knows what you are, working freelance jobs that keep you isolated, and refusing to talk to anyone from home. What would you call it?"
I don't answer.
"Just tell me you're okay," Ryan says quietly. "That's all I need to hear."
"I'm okay."
"Are you?"
Am I? I'm paying rent on an apartment I can barely afford. Avoiding my family. Lying to everyone around me about what I am. Inviting a human woman to move in because I'm too stubborn to ask my father for help.
"I'm fine," I say instead.
Ryan doesn't believe me. I can hear it in his silence.
"The council meeting is in two weeks," he says. "Your father's going to ask about you. What do you want me to tell him?"
"Tell him I'm alive and that's all he needs to know."
"Kai—"
"I have to go, Ryan."
I hang up.
The apartment feels too quiet now. Too empty. My wolf is agitated, pushing against my control, wanting to shift, to run, to do something other than stand in this kitchen pretending everything's fine.
I set the phone down and press my palms against the counter, breathing slowly.
I should call Emma, tell her I changed my mind. Make up some excuse about finding another roommate, someone less complicated, someone who doesn't make my wolf react like she's important.
But I won't.
Because I need her. Or more accurately, I need her rent money.
And that's all this is. A financial arrangement. A practical solution to a temporary problem.
My wolf growls disagreement.
I shove him down hard and grab my laptop from the coffee table. I have work to do. A client presentation due by Friday. Emails to answer. Normal, human things that have nothing to do with pack politics or council meetings or the fact that I'm lying to everyone about everything.
I settle onto the couch and open my email.
Forty-three unread messages. Half of them are spam. A quarter are from Ryan and other pack members. The rest are actual work.
I start sorting through them, deleting the pack emails without reading them, responding to clients with the careful professionalism that keeps the money coming in.
Two hours pass. The sun climbs higher. The apartment warms up.
I'm halfway through a proposal when my phone buzzes again.
Not Ryan this time. My father.
I stare at his name on the screen.
Alpha Marcus Ashford.
The man who raised me to be his successor. Who trained me from childhood to be strong, controlled, dominant. Who has never once asked me what I actually want because it never occurred to him that what I want might be different from what he wants.
The call goes to voicemail.
Thirty seconds later, the voicemail notification appears.
I don't listen to it.
Instead, I set the phone face-down on the couch and go back to my laptop.
But I can't focus. The words on the screen blur together. My mind keeps drifting back to yesterday. To Emma standing in my living room, asking careful questions, evaluating whether she could trust me.
She was nervous. I could smell it on her, that sharp edge of anxiety beneath the floral scent of her shampoo. But she didn't let it show in her voice. Kept her chin up, her questions direct, her boundaries clear.
I liked that.
Most humans are intimidated by me without knowing why. They pick up on the dominance, the predatory edge I can't quite hide, and they adjust their behavior accordingly. Become deferential. Cautious. Small.
Emma didn't.
She looked me in the eye and asked what she needed to know. Didn't try to please me or charm me or play games. Just honest, practical questions about rent and schedules and whether I was going to be a decent roommate.
My wolf liked that too.
No. Stop it.
I close the laptop and stand up, pacing to the window.
The street below is quiet. A few cars passing. Someone walking a dog. Normal weekday morning in a normal human neighborhood.
This is what I wanted. Distance from the pack. Space to figure out who I am when I'm not being groomed for leadership. A life that's mine, not something handed to me by birthright.
So why does it feel so empty?
My phone buzzes again. Text this time.
I grab it, expecting another message from Ryan.
It's Emma.
Hi Kai. Confirmed with my friend. Moving in Saturday morning around 9 AM. Does that work?
I stare at the message for a long moment.
Saturday. Two days from now.
I could still back out. Tell her something came up. Find another roommate, someone less complicated.
My fingers move before I can overthink it.
Saturday works. I'll be here to help with boxes.
My wolf settles slightly, satisfied in a way that makes me deeply uncomfortable.
This is just a roommate situation. Nothing more. She needs affordable housing. I need help with rent. Simple transaction.
I repeat it to myself like a mantra.
But deep down, beneath all the logic and justification, there's a growing certainty that inviting Emma Carter into my apartment may have been the most complicated decision I've made in six months of bad ones.
And I have no idea what I'm going to do about it.