Chapter 3

Last fall, I was helping a friend from NYU film her short movie project.

One scene required borrowing the school's medical clinic.

For better filming quality, we specifically picked the quietest time slot—a Wednesday afternoon.

In the empty examination room, I lay on the exam bed, frowning as I delivered my lines.

Getting into character, I even reached my hand up into the air, trying to convey a sense of weak helplessness.

Then my hand was suddenly caught by a warm, dry palm.

Thinking my roommate was improvising, I kept my eyes closed and leaned toward that hand, continuing my performance:

"Doctor, am I... am I dying..."

Then I heard a low laugh above me, magnetic and tinged with helplessness:

"Miss, you seem perfectly healthy right now, but if you keep this up, I might need to refer you to psychiatry."

My eyes flew open. I was completely dumbfounded.

Standing before me was a man in a white coat—broad shoulders, narrow waist, refined features, eyes full of barely concealed amusement.

He was still holding my hand firmly, and I was practically pressed against him.

My roommate behind me had nearly dropped the camera in fright, shrinking into the corner, not daring to move.

My mind went blank. My first thought was:

I'm screwed. We got caught using the exam room without permission, and by a ridiculously handsome doctor no less.

I scrambled off the exam bed in a panic, my face hot enough to fry eggs, stammering out apologies.

I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

Later I learned his name was Kane Cullen, NYU's youngest medical professor.

To make amends, I brought him food every day, making constant trips to the medical clinic.

Though I claimed it was to apologize, my eyes couldn't help but wander all over him.

Kane was gentle and handsome. The more I looked, the more my heart raced. The more I visited, the more frequent my trips became.

That Friday, I was taking my usual route with coffee and pastries, cutting through the quiet alley behind the medical school.

The setting sun painted the brick walls on either side a warm orange. I hummed a tune, my mind full of the way Kane's lips curved when he accepted my coffee.

Then three men turned the corner and blocked my path.

The one in front had a cigarette dangling from his lips. He looked me up and down with a gaze so slimy it made me sick:

"All alone? Why don't you have a drink with us?"

I instinctively took a step back, my mind racing.

"Don't be scared. We won't eat you." Another one grinned and stepped forward, reaching for my wrist.

I turned to run, but the third one blocked my escape route.

Just as that dirty hand was about to touch me—

The three men went flying.

Their bodies slammed into the brick walls on either side with dull thuds and screams.

And Kane stood right in front of me.

He turned around, those amber eyes looking straight at me.

"Are you hurt?" His voice was lower than usual, like he was struggling to suppress something.

I shook my head blankly, staring at the three men's pitiful state, my brain completely blank.

He'd sent three grown men flying with his bare hands?

"You... how did you..." My voice trembled.

Kane took a deep breath.

"Willow," he said, his voice soft. "There's something I was planning to wait a bit longer to tell you."

He took a step closer to me.

"But now, I don't want to hide it anymore."

The next second, a massive black wolf tail emerged from beneath his white coat.

His eyes turned completely golden.