Page 10 of My Shy Alpha

With his nose huffing against the forest floor, Noah finds a scent and breaks into an even deeper sprint.

“Noah, where are...?” I trail off, recognizing the mossy landmark tree I always pass when taking the long way home. “Wait, are you taking me home?”

Wind rushes my ears as we fly, forcing me to bury my nose into Noah’s dense fur to keep my eyes from watering. His thick paws beat the earth, spraying dirt in every direction as we bound through the forest. It feels like I could fall off if I don’t squeeze him with my entire body, jostling in this direction and that as leaves blur past my peripheral vision.

We’ve traveled at least a mile within minutes with how fast Noah claws across the forest floor. Noah’s slinking figure slows, and I dare to look up.

My parents’ old cottage rests in our land’s small clearing, freshly trimmed roses lining the pathway to the chipped wooden stairs. Like always, my eyes catch on the half-painted number “1” on the weathered, baby blue siding, the only house Westfield developers had to number for miles.

“No way! You did bring me home!” My laughter makes Noah taller. “You’re amazing!”

Noah’s pant widens as he approaches my house, wagging his tail again. Circling my front porch with expert weaves through the roses, Noah kneels to the ground, helping me safely step off.

At least, I try to. I stumble on shaking legs from all the adrenaline, catching myself on poor Noah with his massive snout against my belly.

Hugging his snout, I’m face to face with him again. The urge gluing me to him bursts inside my chest once more, forcing me to suck in a shaky breath. When I look into his golden eyes, I can’t convince myself to stop hoping he might be different from the rest.

This has to be a dream. All I’ve felt for years in my real life is hurt or fear.

Wait, what am I saying? He’s a wolf!

As if I’ve tempted fate, I’m crushed to see Noah scurry into the woods the second I’m upright. His black fur blends into the night’s blanketing darkness, and my heart snaps.

No matter how scared, confused, and exhausted I am, my words come out as a desperate scream. “Wait! Come back!”

5

Ihold my breath, aching for a response. When Noah peeks from behind a tree, my eyes have to zip down to his human height.

He changed back.

There’s no way this is real life. And if this isn’t real, I might as well follow my heart.

Noah fidgets behind the tree, clearly uncomfortable. I can practically see his wolf ears slinked back to his head, but all that’s left of his black fur is his dark, artfully messy hair and scruffy jawline.

His deep voice surprises me with how delicate it is. “Sorry, I– I had to shift, and...”

When he steps out a bit more, a flash of his bare, golden thigh catches my eye. My heart rate kicks up for a different reason, and Noah must notice, clearing his throat.

“I-I... I accidentally ripped my clothes.”

“Oh! You’re not leaving?”

“No... W-well, unless you want me to.” His heart-crushing puppy dog eyes still appear in human form.

I bite back a smile. Is this the same wolf from earlier that made our attacker crumble into a shivering ball? He’s so shy. He reminds me of my little preschooler students on their first day. And after teaching for three years now, I know the shy ones always end up being the silliest.

I dart up the porch steps. “Hang on, I’ll find you something to wear.”

Rushing through my front door, I quiver through every exhale. None of this feels real, but my body says otherwise – my hands and knees sting from falling, my feet kill, and my chest burns from leftover life-threatening stress. A part of me hopes my pain is proof this isn’t a dream. I want Noah to be real.

Rifling through my drawers for the largest clothing I can find, covering Noah’s bottom half seems trickiest. Poor Noah might have to squeeze in no matter what. Even in his human form, he’s twice my size in width and a head taller.

I never let strangers touch my late father’s clothing, but the gym shorts Dad gave me over twenty years ago have the least sentimental value. They don’t even smell like him anymore. I bet Dad wouldn’t approve of me lending these to a man I like, though.

I laugh, imagining Dad’s stern worry-face that used to scare everyone but me. “Sorry, Dad.”

Darting back down the hall, a part of me is terrified to open the front door and find Noah gone. If I want to protect my heart, I’ll have to accept that possibility. It’s true - he could leave, anytime. Of all people, I should understand that.