He closed the door behind him.
Didn't lock it. Didn't need to. They both knew she wasn't getting past him.
Cora stayed on the bed, knees drawn to her chest, back pressed against the headboard. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to fight, to do something. But she'd felt that woman's grip. She'd seen how fast she moved. And this man, the way he carried himself, the way the air in the room seemed to bend around him, he was something worse.
He didn't speak.
Just stood there, a few feet from the door, and looked at her. The same way he'd looked at her in the restaurant. That steady, unblinking focus that made her feel like a butterfly pinned under glass.
The silence stretched.
Cora broke first.
"Where am I?"
Her voice came out rough. Scratchy. How long had it been since she'd had water? Since she'd spoken?
He tilted his head slightly. The movement was subtle, almost curious, like she'd done something unexpected.
"Safe."
One word. Low and quiet.
"Bullshit."
"You drugged me," she said. "Kidnapped me. Locked me in this room." Her hands were shaking. She pressed them flat against her thighs to hide it. "That's not safe. That's prison."
"Prison implies you've done something wrong."
"Then what do you call this?"
He considered the question. Actually seemed to think about it, his pale eyes never leaving her face.
"Containment."
Cora stared at him.
"Containment," she repeated. "Like I'm some kind of hazard."
"You saw something you shouldn't have."
"I didn't see anything."
"You're a terrible liar."
"I'm not—"
"Your pulse jumped when you said it." He took a step closer. Just one. "Your breathing changed. Your eyes moved left before you spoke." Another step. "Every part of your body is telling me the truth, even while your mouth lies."
She pressed harder against the headboard. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.
"How do you know that?" The question came out before she could stop it. "How can you possibly—"
"Because I can hear your heartbeat." His voice was calm. Matter-of-fact. Like he was explaining something obvious to a child. "I can smell the fear coming off your skin. I can see the vein in your throat pulsing from here."
That wasn't possible. None of that was possible. He was trying to scare her, trying to mess with her head, trying to—
He moved.
One second he was six feet away. The next he was at the foot of the bed, close enough to touch, and she hadn't seen him cross the distance. Hadn't even seen him blur. He was just there, like the space between them had stopped existing.
Cora stopped breathing.
His eyes caught the dim light from the window. Pale blue. Almost grey.
Then they changed.
The color bled away, replaced by something brighter. Silver. Actual silver, luminous and cold, like moonlight trapped behind glass. Not human. Nothing about it was human.
"What—" Her voice cracked. "What are you?"
The silver held for a moment longer. Then it faded, the blue seeping back, and he straightened.
"That," he said quietly, "is the right question."
"Werewolf."
The word hung in the air between them. Cora waited for him to laugh, to tell her it was a joke, some sick game to mess with her head.
He didn't.
"The woman who brought your food," he said. "The guards who took you from the restaurant. Everyone in this house. All wolves."
"That's insane."
"Is it?" He clasped his hands behind his back. Casual. Relaxed. Like they were discussing the weather."You know something is wrong. You just don't want to admit it."
She shook her head. Kept shaking it. "Werewolves aren't real. They're stories. Movies. They're not—"
"We've existed longer than your recorded history. Longer than your religions. Your ancestors used to worship us as gods." His mouth curved, but there was no warmth in it. "Now you put us in movies and write romance novels about us. Humanity has a talent for reducing what it fears into entertainment."
Cora's mind scrambled for something to hold onto. Logic. Reason. Anything.
"If werewolves exist, why doesn't anyone know? Why isn't it on the news, why—"
"Because we don't allow it." Simple. Final. "The supernatural world has rules. Secrecy is the first one. Those who break it disappear. Those who discover it..." He looked at her. "Become a problem."
"And I'm a problem."
"You're something."
The way he said it made her stomach tighten.
"What does that mean?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he moved along the edge of the bed, slow, circling. She turned her head to track him, refusing to let him out of her sight.
"In the restaurant," he said, "when I walked in. You felt something."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"There it is again." He stopped at the corner of the bed, near enough now that she could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the darker ring around his irises. "That little jump in your pulse. You felt something and you don't understand it. It scared you."
"Everything about that night scared me. You had a knife to a man's throat."
"Before that." He leaned closer. Not touching her. Not yet. But the space between them shrank until she could feel the heat radiating off him. "When our eyes met. Something happened. You felt it."
She had.
That strange electric pull. The way the room had tilted. The way her skin had prickled like every nerve ending had woken up at once.
She'd told herself it was fear. Adrenaline.
But that wasn't what it had felt like.
"I felt nothing," she said.
His jaw tightened. For a moment, something cracked through that cold composure. Frustration? Anger? She couldn't tell.
Then it was gone.
He straightened. Stepped back. The distance between them returned, and Cora released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"You'll stay in this room," he said. "Food will be brought. You won't be harmed as long as you don't do anything stupid." He turned toward the door. "I'd recommend not doing anything stupid."
"Wait."
He paused, hand on the door handle.
"How long?" Her voice wavered. She hated it. "How long are you keeping me here?"
He looked at her over his shoulder. Those pale eyes, human again but no less cold.
"Until I figure out what to do with you."
The door closed behind him.