The Werewolf I Love

xtbook she'd ever read in the city. The next morning, the cabin was filled with the smell of frying bacon and the sound of her dad humming to the radio. "You're up early," Sloane sai

d, the shape shrunk, and within seconds, the boy was back. He was slumped against a tree, clutching his shoulder. He was wearing tattered jeans, but no shirt, and his skin was deathly pale. He groaned, his head lolling back against the bark. "Hey, stay with me," Ivy said, rushing to his side. She didn't care that he was a monster, or a myth, or a stranger. He was bleeding, and he had saved her life. She ripped the flannel shirt she was wearing over her t-shirt and pressed it against the deep gashes on his shoulder. He flinched, his eyes snapping open. "Go," he rasped, his voice sounding like it hadn't been used in years. "You shouldn't... be here." "I'm not leaving you," Ivy said firmly. "My parents' cabin is just over the ridge. They have a first aid kit. Can you walk?" Silas looked at her, truly looked at her, for the first time. He saw the smudge of charcoal on her cheek and the fierce determination in her eyes. He nodded weakly. Ivy draped his good arm over her shoulder, bracing herself against his weight. Together, the human girl and the bleeding boy began the slow, painful trek back toward the world of fences and rooftops. The walk back felt like it took hours, though it was likely only ten minutes. Silas was heavy, his heat radiating off him in waves that felt almost feverish. Every time he stumbled, Ivy braced her feet in the dirt, her heart hammering against her ribs. When the wooden frame of the cabin finally appeared through the trees, Ivy didn't hesitate. "Mom! Dad!" she screamed, her voice cracking the morning quiet. The porch door flew open. Liam ran out, still holding a dish towel, with Sloane right behind him. They stopped dead at the edge of the steps, staring at their daughter, who was covered in dirt and blood, propping up a half-conscious, shirtless stranger. "Oh my god," Sloane gasped, rushing down. "Ivy, what happened? Are you hurt?" "I'm fine," Ivy panted, her voice urgent. "A bear-he saved me. He's hurt really bad. We have to help him." Liam didn't ask questions. He saw the deep, jagged red lines on the boy's shoulder and immediately stepped under Silas's other arm. Together, the two of them hauled him up the stairs and into the small living room, laying him out on the oversized plaid sofa. The Recovery The next hour was a blur of warm water, antiseptic, and hushed whispers. Ivy watched from the corner of the room as her mother-who had been a nurse before moving into hospital administration-worked with steady hands. She cleaned the wounds on Silas's shoulder, her brow furrowed in confusion. "These are deep," Sloane muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "But the way the skin is already... it's like he's clotting faster than anything I've ever seen." "He saved her, Sloane," Liam said, leaning against the kitchen counter, his face pale. "The kid took a hit from a grizzly for our daughter. We owe him everything." Silas didn't wake up while they worked. He stayed in a deep, heavy sleep, his breathing ragged at first, then smoothing out into a low, r