Chapter 10 Following

Novalyn's pov

The morning starts like every other one — too early, too cold, and too quiet for comfort. Mist curls low over the fields, clinging to the grass like a stubborn secret. My breath turns white in the air as I stack the last crate of eggs into the back of my truck, the wood creaking under the weight. The smell of hay, milk, and wet soil wraps around me. It should be peaceful, but it isn’t.

Peace means stillness, and stillness leaves too much room for thoughts I don’t want.

Especially him.

I shove that thought down the way I’ve learned to — by working harder. By keeping my hands busy, my head low, my mind quiet. I tell myself it’s just another day, another trip into town. The same broken roads, the same people, the same conversations.

I climb into the truck and start the engine. It groans in protest before finally rumbling to life.

“Don’t die on me now,” I mutter, giving the dashboard a firm tap.

The tires crunch over gravel as I drive out of the yard. The sun hasn’t climbed high yet, but gold light already spills across the hills, washing the fields in a soft glow. A hawk circles above, cutting through the haze. It’s beautiful — in that lonely, untouchable way things sometimes are.

Halfway down the dirt road, something flickers between the trees. Just a blur, but enough to make my wolf stir uneasily beneath my skin.

Probably a deer, I tell myself. Or your imagination.

But it’s strange how the woods have felt different lately. Still familiar, but quieter, like they’re holding their breath.

By the time I reach town, I’ve convinced myself I’m being ridiculous. The main street is already waking up — people opening shop doors, sweeping porches, greeting each other with the same predictable smiles. Normalcy wraps around me like a disguise I know too well.

I park near the market square, the old truck coughing in protest again.

Mrs. Alder from the bakery waves, flour dusting her apron. “Morning, Nova! You brought eggs today?”

“Fresh ones,” I answer, unloading a crate.

She grins. “You’re a blessing. The mayor’s wife cleaned us out yesterday — said she’s baking for some charity thing.”

“Guess everyone needs their bread,” I mutter.

She laughs, then lowers her voice a little. “Did you hear? Folks up near the ridge said they saw wolves again last night.”

My hands still for a moment on the crate. “Probably wild dogs.”

“That’s what I said,” she replies, though the look in her eyes says she’s not convinced. “But it’s strange. They said the eyes were glowing.”

I shrug, pretending it doesn’t mean anything. “People see what they want to see.”

I make my rounds — the butcher, the grocer, the little cafe that takes milk and butter every Thursday. Everyone’s friendly enough, but I keep it quick, polite, distant. It’s easier that way. The less they ask, the less I have to lie.

By the time I’m done, the sun’s higher, and I’m ready to go home. I’m loading the last crate back into the truck when a voice drifts from behind me, smooth and low.

“Need a hand, sweetheart?”

My heart jumps before my brain can catch up. I turn sharply — and there he is.

Leaning against a lamppost like he’s posing for a portrait. The sunlight catches in his hair, a few strands falling over his forehead, his sleeves rolled up, his smile lazy and infuriating.

“You again,” I mutter, setting the crate down a little harder than necessary.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is.”

He pushes off the lamppost, walking closer. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“This is a human town,” I snap. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Relax,” he says easily. “I’m not biting anyone.”

“Yet.”

That earns a quiet chuckle. “You really don’t like me, do you?”

“I don’t even know you.”

He holds out a hand like it’s an invitation I didn’t ask for. “Lazarus.”

I stare at it, then back at him. “Good for you.”

He smirks, not offended. “You’ve got a name too, I assume?”

Before I can come up with something sharp, Mrs. Alder calls from her bakery door. “Nova! Don’t forget your change!”

My stomach drops. His smirk widens.

“Nova,” he repeats slowly, like he’s tasting it. “Pretty.”

“Don’t.”

He laughs, raising his hands. “Alright. No names, no smiles, no biting. I’ll try to behave.”

“I’m sure you’re terrible at that.”

He picks up one of the crates before I can stop him. “Let me help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, setting it in the truck anyway. “You keep saying that.”

Something about the way he says it — like he’s not talking about crates anymore — makes my chest tighten. I look away.

Then it happens — a distant, bone-deep howl cuts through the air. Too far to be near, but close enough to make my pulse quicken.

Lazarus goes still beside me, head tilted slightly, his expression shifting from teasing to sharp focus.

“You heard that?” I whisper.

He nods once. “That wasn’t a deer.”

For a moment, neither of us moves. The street is normal — kids running, shop doors open — but underneath, something feels wrong.

He looks at me again. “You shouldn’t drive back alone.”

“I’ve been doing it for years.”

“Still,” he says. “Let me follow you.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

His grin returns, faint but real. “Fine. Then I’ll just happen to take the same road.”

“You don’t even have a car.”

“Guess I’ll run fast then.”

I roll my eyes and climb into the truck. “You’re insane.”

He leans his arms on the open window. “Maybe. But I’m persistent.”

“Persistent gets people hurt.”

“I’ll risk it.”

The words hang there between us — heavier than they should be. He steps back, letting me drive off, but when I glance in the side mirror a few minutes later, I swear I see him at the edge of the street, watching.

The road home feels longer than usual. Every rustle in the trees, every shadow across the road, makes my pulse jump. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just my imagination again.

But when I pull into the farm and step out, the air feels too still. Too quiet.

I unload the last of the crates, trying to shake it off, but something moves near the tree line — a flicker of motion, quick and low.

“Lazarus?” I call, half annoyed, half hoping.

No answer.

Then I see them — two red eyes glowing faintly in the dark, unblinking.

And this time, I know it isn’t him.