Chapter 3

When they entered the kitchen and he sat on a chair, Monica halted next to the fridge. She was lost. “I got you some of the best beef in the neighborhood. If you don't want that, then I don't know what you're going to eat.”

She glanced at him and saw that he was shuffling uncomfortably in the shirt. How did he even put it on? It looked like it was going to rip at the seams. And it did. With a small jerk of his arm, the man ripped the sleeve, and a big hole opened in it.

He frowned and swiftly took it off, remaining only in his jeans. His eyes found Monica and she shut her gaping mouth, swallowing. He sighed and stoop up, getting to the fridge next to her.

She removed her hand from the handle at the last second before the man almost grabbed it with his bigger palm. He examined the fridge and when his eyes found the box of pizza, he took it and tossed it on the table.

The werewolf sat back on his place and opened the box, starting to eat.

Seeing her back-up food being munched away, Monica gingerly sat on the chair in front of the male and stared at him. He knew what clothes and pizza were. So he knew the human society. He didn't live in the wilderness.

After a few minutes of silence, the man looked up at her and lightly pushed the box towards her, signaling for her to eat. Monica's eyes widened in surprise, but she still reached for one of the pieces.

What was their relationship going to be now? Master-servant? Hostage-abuser?

Her skin prickled at these thoughts, and suddenly, her favorite pizza wasn't so tasty.

“What do you want from me?” she asked. Knowing the truth, no matter how cruel, was better than wondering what the next second held.

Leaving one more pizza slice in the box, probably for her, the man leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He examined her, his dark blue eyes engulfing her, and Monica squirmed. Why was he triggering such a reaction in her? She was afraid, yes, she was an adrenaline junky, yes... But getting a tad bit hotter because of the gaze of the wolfman she had saved... that was absolutely ridiculous.

“I need a place to stay for a while. Somewhere, disconnected from the rest of the world. Somewhere I can think and decide what to do,” he explained, and Monica raised her brows. This was the most he had spoken until now.

“And you want this place to be here?” she confirmed, her heart dropping.

“Yes.”

Crap.

“And where do I come into all of this? You... won't kill me, right?” she uttered, her body filling with fear.

The man gave her a long look, one she couldn't really understand. What was he thinking?

He stood up, went behind her, and opened the drawer with the gun. When Monica saw he reached inside and took the weapon, examining it in his hand, she stopped breathing. Her head grew so heavy, and her whole body ached with dread.

“If you keep my secret, no. I won't hurt you.” His gaze turned to her, and he narrowed his eyes. Every shift of his body and his muscles reminded her of the strength and abilities he probably had. He could kill her with a single punch.

Putting the gun on the counter, but still holding it under his palm, he said, “And trust me, hiding me here and keeping the fact I'm a werewolf hidden, will benefit your safety too.”

Monica felt a shiver run up her spine. It will benefit her safety? What had her curiosity gotten her into?

...

The few next hours, the man remained deep in his thoughts, gazing at the ravaging storm that hadn't stopped for hours. What was Ms. Carrera doing now, all alone in her house, without electricity or human company? She was as afraid of thunders as Monica.

“Mister...” she ventured uncomfortably and the man's eyes snapped to her. The gun glistened on his lap. “I don't know how to call you. Do you have a name?”

“No...” he trailed off and looked outside again.

No? And here she had thought he had come from the civilization.

“How do I call you then? In our world, we use names to turn to each other and—” A small growl made her stop talking, and he glared at her.

“I. Am. Not. Giving. It!” he grumbled angrily, and Monica almost yelped.

Okay, she didn't know what to do with him. How to react or behave. He obviously had a name but didn't want to share it with her. Her opinion about him was changing so drastically every few minutes. First, he had asked for permission to use the clothes. Well, kind of. Then, he had left her some of the pizza. Even though she had bought it. And now he almost made her pee her pants in fear. She had spent the last few hours on the armchair in front of him, holding it in! But her bladder has its limit.

“Okay then...” Monica begrudgingly continued. “I will call you 'Beast'. You didn't seem to mind when you were in your werewolf body.”

His eyes whipped to her again, and she squealed, jumping on her feet.

“Okay, I'm sorry! I don't know what you want, but I really need to go to the restroom! So, please, if you let me...”

Beast's brows arched, and he motioned for her to leave. As if she could do what she pleased. As if. Monica was sure if she made one wrong step, he'd eat her and spit her bones out. She had seen his long canines.

When she got out of the powder room, she found the man standing up in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. His body posture was tense and his fists—clenched. What was bothering him? What was messing with his mind so much? The people that had caused these scars on his body? The people that had tried to kill him? Or were they all the same?

“What?” he suddenly barked without turning around.

Monica jumped.

“It's time to sleep. It's past midnight. So I'm going to make the beds upstairs.”

Beast turned around, a lightning striking behind his back, and Monica squealed again, shrinking in fear. The light from the windows endorsed and pointed at his taut body and scary muscles. It pointed at his haunting hard blue eyes. She quickly straightened her back, mad at herself for showing she was that afraid. But he really looked like a demonic creature. He was frightening.

Beast made a few steps towards her and said, “Let's go.”

...

“Do you like this room? It's the biggest in the house.” Monica pointed at the room in the further corner of the hall. It was the farthest from the stairs, while her room was the closest. Maybe she could think of a way out.

“Clever.” Beast smirked. “But no.”

He lifted his hand, and Monica gasped when she saw the fob of her car between his fingers. The gun had disappeared, and now he had her means of getting out. How had he found it? She was doomed.

“I'll take the one on the other side of yours.” He headed to Monica's door, and when he reached it, he pushed it open with a grim smirk. “Don't close your door.”

The redhead gaped at him when he entered the room he had chosen on his own. She was screwed. So damn screwed.