This is exactly what I needed, she thought, hugging herself against a flicker of peace.
The bay curved like it was designed for healing: golden light, the hush of surf, no city noise to chase her down. She closed her eyes and believed, if only for a moment, that life was in its proper place.
But when she opened them again, something broke the horizon.
A dark head. Then broad shoulders.
Someone—or something—emerged from the surf.
Her heart jumped, then eased. Probably a husky, she told herself. Upright ears, thick coat. It even shook water from its fur like sled dogs she’d seen at festivals.
People let their pets run near the beach all the time.
Yet this one was…big.
She scanned the shore. No leash. No owner. No voices calling a name.
The animal advanced with sleek confidence, tall at the shoulders, chest broad, its gait primal, not playful. No collar. No hesitation.
An unease brushed her skin. Maybe it slipped its collar. Maybe the owner was just behind the dunes.
She raised a hand, calling lightly, “Hey, buddy. Where’s your family?”
The wind stole her voice.
The creature lifted its head, water dripping from its jaw. Its eyes met hers—pale gold, burning like embers beneath ice.
Not husky eyes.
The stare was ancient, steady, unblinking. Something deep in her bones recognized it. Instinct. Cold and sharp.
This wasn’t a pet.
The wolf padded closer, leaving black marks across the sand. Its long stride devoured the distance, each step a reminder of its power. The square muzzle, the heavy ruff, the straight, low tail—everything about it shredded her earlier assumption.