Josie
I heard it—a sharp, distant sound—just as my breath caught in my throat. Kiel's gaze still lingered on me, heavy, too much, and yet not enough. And then, like a match blown out before it could burn, the moment shattered.
He stepped back, quiet and smooth, like nothing had almost happened. Like I hadn't just been staring up at him, my lips tingling with the echo of a kiss that never came.
The rustle of leaves beyond the veranda made my heart thud faster, though it had nothing to do with the wind.
Kiel looked toward the source of the noise, eyes scanning the shadows with a sharpness that reminded me—beneath his music and soft sarcasm, he was still dangerous. A weapon wrapped in poetry.
He turned back to me a second later. "No one," he said simply, the edge of tension leaving his shoulders.
I nodded, forcing myself to settle deeper into the lounge chair. The cushion barely eased the heat still crawling across my skin. Every part of me was alive in the worst and best ways, and it was unbearable how close we'd been to something real—something reckless.
If not for that sound…
I swallowed hard and blurted, "Where do you think it came from?"
He shrugged, already heading for the little table beside his chair. "No clue."
His fingers brushed over a book—old, thick-spined—and I watched as he flipped it open and began scribbling furiously, as if something inside him had to be poured out or it might destroy him.
I tilted my head. "What are you writing?"
He didn't look up. "What, are you gonna diagnose me now?" His voice was laced with mockery, but the bite wasn't playful—it was defensive. "Because I write and sing? If you think something's wrong with me, Josie, just spit it out."
I frowned, sitting up straighter. "What?"
"You heard me."
A rush of confusion—and something colder—twisted in my chest. "I never said that. I never even thought it."
He finally glanced at me then, his expression unreadable. "Right. Of course."
"What is that supposed to mean?" I snapped, because I was already embarrassed about what had almost happened, and now he was acting like I judged him?
He didn't answer right away. Just kept writing, his fingers pressing harder into the page.
"Seriously?" I demanded. "Where is this even coming from? We had a nice conversation earlier. You were... I don't know, human. Real. And now you're back to this?"
He snorted without humor. "Maybe I changed my mind about how 'real' I should be. Especially after watching you walk out of the forest like it meant nothing."
I froze.
Oh.
So that was it.
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly very aware of how cold the night had gotten. "I didn't mean to do that," I said quietly. "I panicked. I… I just needed air."
His silence filled the space like smoke.
"I wasn't ashamed of you," I added, cheeks burning. "If that's what you think."
Kiel didn't look convinced.
I stood. Slowly. My legs weren't quite steady, but I crossed the space between us anyway and stopped just in front of him. "I never should've walked away without doing this."
And before I could second-guess myself, I wrapped my arms around him.
His body tensed—only for a second—but then he melted into it, arms hesitantly circling me like he didn't trust this to be real.
I felt everything.
The heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. The rhythm of his heartbeat, steady and strong. The faint scent of pine and smoke clinging to him.
But what startled me most was the way my own body reacted—like it had been waiting for this, like it had known.
Every nerve lit up. Every breath felt too full.
I pulled away quickly, flustered and burning, ducking my head so my hair could fall like a curtain over my face.
Stupid, stupid—
"Josie," Kiel said, voice low. Not teasing anymore.
I peeked up, and he was watching me with an unreadable expression.
Then he reached out—slowly—and tugged gently at my wrist, pulling me closer. Not too close. Just enough.
"You want to see?" he asked.
My eyes flicked down to the book. "It's not a song?"
He shook his head and turned the journal toward me.
The page was covered in dialogue—not lyrics, not poetry—but a conversation.
But only one side of it had a name.
Mine.
I blinked. "You… were writing to me?"
"Sort of." He scratched the back of his neck. "It helps me think."
"You're weird," I said, but it came out soft, without bite.
He smirked. "You're not the first to say that."
I studied the handwriting—messy, urgent, full of emotion. My name appeared again and again.
"But wait… who's the other half?" I asked, pointing.
His expression shifted. Almost hesitant. "The forest."
I blinked at him. "Excuse me?"
He gave a crooked smile. "I have this… gift. I can speak with wolves. The ones in the forest. They don't use words exactly, not like we do. It's… more instinctive. But sometimes, if I'm quiet enough, I can hear them. Talk back."
I stared at him.
He said it so casually, like he wasn't unraveling the seams of reality in front of me.
"You're serious?"
He nodded. "Always am."
"That's—" I paused, trying to find the right word. "—incredible."
"Most people think it's creepy."
"Well, most people are idiots."
He laughed at that—really laughed—and I couldn't help but smile too.
"What do they say?" I asked, moving to sit beside him. "The wolves."
"Depends on the night," he said. "Sometimes they warn me. Sometimes they just... talk. Or howl."
"Do they ever… ask about me?"
He looked at me, eyes suddenly too intense. "All the time."
A strange warmth filled my chest, and I didn't quite know what to do with it.
So I leaned back, letting the silence return—not awkward this time, just comfortable.
The wind whispered through the trees, and somewhere far off, a single wolf howled.
The fireflies blinked lazily in the grass beyond the railing.
My eyes were getting heavy before I realized it.
I stifled a yawn, but Kiel noticed.
"Tired?" he asked, his voice gentler now.
"A little," I admitted, rubbing my eyes. "But I don't want to move yet."
"Then don't."
The chair creaked as he shifted beside me. I didn't realize I was leaning into him until my head found his shoulder.
"Sorry," I murmured, but he didn't move.
"Don't be."
His warmth seeped into me, slow and steady.
My last thought before sleep dragged me under was how dangerous this was.
How dangerous he was.
And how, despite everything, I didn't want to pull away.