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Chapter Text

Gwen couldn’t sleep, and something was pawing at the door. 

She had tried to ignore it, to dismiss the nagging noise as her rampant imagination and runaway mind. There’d been too much talk of wolves and strays lately. Between Bela and Jenny’s death, her mind had been frazzled. Since that moonlit night, Gwen found it difficult to sleep soundly. Perhaps that’s why she was awake in the first place, mentally parsing through the events of the past days. 

Her thoughts had wandered, as they often seemed to do now, toward Lawrence. Despite their hesitant beginnings, something about him was endearing. He could be so bold, yet there was a bizarre bashfulness to him that had Gwen smiling into her pillow. However fraught that the recent times had been, his strange presence was welcomed. He was an American enigma, and the more time she spent with him only deepened his mystery. Before their impromptu night together went wildly wrong, it had set her heart aflutter… and their kiss—-!

With a flustered head and heart, Gwen could almost fool herself into thinking she’d sleep soundly that night. 

Which made it all the more alarming when the scratches started. 

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Gwen’s breath hitched, body tensing from where she lay under the covers. Sound traveled from the streets with ease, even with the closed windows, and there was the possibility that it was coming from any of the other storefronts. Still, with all the focus on wolves lately, it alarmed her. The scratches were slow-paced, stopping for short moments before continuing. These inconsistent arcs were just enough to make it impossible to get used to. Heaving a sigh, Gwen sat up, fumbling for the lamp by her bedside. Since she couldn’t sleep, she might as well do something with her time. Gwen would investigate the noise. If only for a moment, she promised herself,

Oddly, there’s always been an imagined air of danger in being awake when you’re not supposed to, and although Gwen was long past the age of childish notions, the slow and quiet breaths through her mouth came unconsciously. As she tiptoed downstairs in her bedrobe, clutching an oil lamp, the chill seemed to pierce into her chest, wrapping cool tendrils around her heart. She wrapped the robe ever tighter around herself. At the last step, Gwen paused, heart ramming in her throat.  

The scratching sounded centralized around their door. 

Perhaps it wasn’t too late to go back to bed. 

But the longer she stewed in her nervousness, listening with bated breath to each steady rasp against the door, Gwen realized something. She was tired of being shunted around, of feeling afraid and being treated like glass. All this ashamed blustering about, of jumping at shadows, clinging to another’s arm. Gwen had already made it this far, she wouldn’t let this canine anxiety send her back to bed with her tail between her legs. The comparison prompted a nervous smile to shine through the worry pulling at her features. She could do this. 

Taking that last step onto the main floor of the shop, Gwen moved ever cautiously around the web of displays in her father’s store. The scratching was much more noticeable at this distance, and yet Gwen batted down her heart’s erratic thumping. She could laugh at herself later, for feeling so scared towards a simple stray dog or cat. 

Gwen couldn’t… wouldn’t allow herself to think the source could possibly be a wolf. In fact, she noticed, with a growing lightness to her shoulders, a large shadow could be seen in the doorway. Certainly not an animal, then. But what else? Even if it was merely a drunkard in the street, they shouldn’t be out in these conditions. There was the slim possibility it was someone too delirious to speak. Through the dark of the night outside, the figure appeared to sway unsteadily. Gwen cursed herself for taking so long in this queer situation, hurrying to the door and depositing her lamp on a nearby table. 

With the noisy storebell clutched in one hand, the other on the doorknob, she opened the door inwards. 

The whispered “Sir?” died on her lips when the shadow stumbled forward.

This was no drunkard.

Gwen’s gaze traveled upwards from a muddied shirt to a great, furred muzzle and fangs framing two piercing brown eyes looking right at her.

She took a step backwards, the world blurring at the edges. At this, the man— wolf- responded, nosing indoors with outstretched, dirtied claws. With every uncertain step that Gwen managed, the werewolf (for that was what it was, her brain supplied) hobbled in advance with her. Her voice was lost somewhere by the still-open doorway; she could only hang her mouth agape. One hand was flung behind her, fumbling for purchase of anything it could take ahold; Her right hand reached shakily for the pendant Larry had given her. Gwen hadn’t taken it off since the other night, and the thought weakly granted her grace through the foggy haze that her brain was short-circuiting in.

It was when she finally bumped into a table, rattling the antiques, that Gwen’s brain came rushing back into her body. Her long-withheld scream came out as nothing more than a slight intake of air. 

The Wolf Man loomed over her. Even with his head bowed, he almost reached the rafters of the ceiling, and towered above Gwen. Hot breath panted out of his opened mouth in short intervals, brushing her hair back. With white knuckles, she brought out the pendant from the folds of her bedrobe. Mentally rushing through a thousand different prayers, Gwen blinked away stubborn tears. Curse her fickle curiosity, her resolute unwillingness to give in. Above all, curse… curse—-

Her wandering eyes caught the glint of the pendant.

“Lawrence,” she breathed out.

He was the one bitten.

Oh, god. 

As if confirming her belated realization, the creature before her cocked his head, bobbing even closer to Gwen. He grumbled, a low thing that she could practically feel vibrating from his barrel chest. This— he—- christ . Gwen could scarcely keep up with the sheer adrenaline her body was providing. The edges of her vision dipped into alarming darkness, her knees threatening to buckle as her chest heaved without retaining air. 

Before she could faint, however, a steady grip kept her from falling. Lawrence, the wolf , the damned werewolf , had taken an arm around her waist; she could feel the indent of claws through her robe. In her blurred recollection, Gwen remarked that it was done in very much the same manner as he’d done the night before, only not as tight and not nearly as sharp.

He whined, a reedy but quiet thing, filling up the coldness of the room. The sound coaxed Gwen back into the present moment. He inched his head to hers, as if to meet her eye, closing that impossible height gap that felt like miles. In a daze, Gwen glanced up to match Larry’s attention… Despite his unfamiliar features, the sheer aching worry in his dilated pupils made her heart sputter. He didn’t look at her like prey.

At last, air found its fickle way back into Gwen’s lungs.

“Oh, Lawrence,” she choked up.

“What on earth has happened to you?” 

Hand shaky, but motive resolute, Gwen slowly brought her left hand to his chest. He watched her intently, a naïve confusion across his furrowed brow. Beneath the dirtied shirt, under the fiercely warm expanse of fur that she could feel through the fabric, was a constant, thudding heart. She wondered briefly if its intense pattering matched hers. But as Gwen held her touch, the beat began to slow… and the firm grasp on her waist slackened. Gwen caught Larry’s eyes again. Their intensity had glazed over to a content dullness. 

They both remained there in the dusky quiet of night, two figures caught in the other’s gaze. The world around them had gone still. In some small tremble in the furthermost corner of her mind, Gwen dimly realized that she was in love with Lawrence. And, with a muted sense of dread, he, with her.

It was the howling of dogs that snapped the pair awake. Gwen’s companion jolted up instantly, snarl bleeding into the distant echoes as his body turned towards the moonlighted gloom outdoors with hackles raised. Through the still-opened door, Gwen could see light from other shops dispelling nightly shadows. Oh christ , the door! Gwen bolted towards it on shaky legs, barely darting past Larry’s tense form on the way. 

“We need to get you somewhere hidden,” she whispered to him over her shoulder. Gwen had scarcely enough mind to stifle the door’s jingle a second time. She turned to face Larry, whose flinty eyes shone with a wild glimmer, lower fangs jutted in a predatory snarl. But Gwen knew wolves, and despite the wishes of everyone, Gwen knew Larry. 

He wouldn’t hurt her.

At least, not with the pendant.

At once, everything felt so much clearer than they were a mere thirty minutes ago. 

But as if God wanted to spite Gwen’s clarity, Larry growled low, head tilting towards the stairway. Gwen strained her ears, and her gut dropped at the sound: Her father’s door creaking open, with heavy steps getting closer. 

Without a word, she stumbled back to Lawrence, clutching his right arm without a hint of caution and dragging him towards the side sitting room. Although he huffed at this, Larry awkwardly shambled after her hurried gait. Gwen nudged him into the room’s center, drawing the curtains that lined the unfavorable windows. She was pulling together the final section when her father’s voice rang out. 

“Gwennie?” Her childhood nickname was laced with concern, and Gwen could hear him taking steps downstairs. Taking one last glance at Larry, who was sniffing the air determinedly, Gwen rushed back into the main drawing room, heart yammering in her chest. She closed the hallway’s veil behind her as she exited. 

Charles Conliffe stood tall on the stairs, as though he hadn't just woken up in the dead of night. His eyes flickered from Gwen’s undoubtedly flushed face to the lamp still flickering on the table. Gwen, still panting, brushed her robe down, not trusting herself to speak through her exhilaration. 

He took another step down. “Is everything alright?”

Good god, what a question. Gwen nearly snorted out of sheer absurdity. She ran a hand through her hair, tears pricking her eyes. 

“Truthfully, father, no.” 

Her father’s face fell almost imperceptibly, and he rushed to connect the gap between them, enveloping her hands in his own. His voice was a soft murmur.

 “Oh, my poor, darling girl.”

A much younger part of Gwen wanted to stay like this, father and daughter quietly comforted in each other’s company. And yet the present-day Gwen, the Gwen who now knew of monsters and curses and horrors in the night, she had other things to do. She was no longer dependent on the fortitude of the men in her life. And, regrettably, as Gwen broke free to wipe her damp eyes, she knew that her father would never understand. Not with Lawrence. Nor the full moon.

And so she began her careful story. 

“It was the dogs,” Gwen said, glancing to the windows. “They woke me, and I couldn’t get back asleep, so I thought I would go see.” She sighed then, with a trembling breath. “But I couldn’t do it, father. Please, if it isn’t too much, please do it for me. If only for a moment.” Gwen swallowed past a lump in her throat.

“Just let me know there is nothing to fear.”

She needed him out of the shop. 

Her father cast a stolid look over her wavering eyes, the tremble in her hands. His eyes shifted to the windows, the flickering of lamplights visible through them. He nodded, slowly, running a careful hand down Gwen’s arm.

“...Okay.” Charles Conliffe fastened his bedrobe about him, patting his daughter on the shoulder as he set off to the door. 

He glanced back at her, glasses glinting off of the light from the table’s lamp, one hand on the doorknob. “Shall I send for Frank?” 

Gwen’s heart sputtered. She scampered to find an excuse to avoid her betrothed. 

“No- no, really, I’ll be fine soon enough,” God , this was taking too long– “In fact, I-I’ll likely be back in bed by the time you return!” Her lips quivered into a small, grateful smile.

“Thank you, father.” 

The last words were genuine. Her father meant well enough. That made it all the worse. 

But he did leave with a tight smile, and that was all that Gwen needed then. 

The door didn’t complete its jingle before she scrambled to the side room.

She sounded too desperate for her liking as she called Lawrence’s name. Gwen had no basis of understanding what Lawrence would do alone; she scarcely even knew what had brought him to her door in the first place. But when she hurried inside, the room was intact. Lawrence was snuffing about the room, looking entirely out of place as he paced carefully. Perking up when Gwen walked in, he took a delicate step in her direction. 

Relief flooded over Gwen, even upon seeing the garish muddy tracks spoiling the rug. However, this lightness curdled in her stomach when Lawrence drew closer with a limp, visibly favoring his right leg. 

Gwen couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her. “Your leg !” She cried out, reaching towards him. Lawrence startled at the sound, flinching backwards with a grimace, almost losing his footing. Gwen halted before him, gaze flickering from Larry’s guarded expression to the favored leg. Barely visible in the dim light, the fur around his right ankle was mottled with ruddy streaks, tangled curls dirtied with leaves and blood. It didn’t look like anything natural… the poor thing must’ve stumbled upon one of the hunting traps in the woods. 

“Is that why you came here, Lawrence?” Gwen asked, although she knew not to expect a proper answer. If anything, talking out loud rationalized the scene. Before her, Lawrence huffed and straightened his posture. Those eyes that regarded her so familiarly, yet belonged to a being yet unknown, lost some of their animal iciness. Lawrence gave a slow, innocuous blink, and altogether, Gwen realized just how tired he looked. Past the fangs, furred claws, even the imposing height, there was a visible ache across every harsh line and shaggy bulk. 

Larry was tired and hurt, and so he came to her.

Maybe that was why he didn’t shy away from her hand taking careful hold of his arm, or why he followed her back to the main room without protest. When she grabbed her lamp from the table, still left there from her earlier rush, and led him to the stairs that she’d never invited another up to, he trailed behind her with nothing more than a quiet snuff of air. Her door was ajar, and pale moonlight illuminated the room with an eerie quality. A foolish voice from the back of her head was struck with the possibility that this whole night could be a dream; The woman in her swiftly dismissed this.

“How strange to think, you being welcomed into my bedroom this way,” Gwen turned to look at Lawrence, an unwarranted, bashful smile gracing her features. If Lawrence could understand her, perhaps he’d find it funny, but at the moment, he only cocked his head innocently. 

“Ah well,” Gwen sighed, shutting the door with her foot. “I can tell you come the morning.” 

“Speaking of which—” She brought him to the bed; At her prompting, Larry sat down without complaint, the bed creaking under his weight. Gwen remained standing, even after returning the lamp to the bedtable. “I do hope that you won’t…” 

Won’t, what? Mind the scandalous circumstances? Remember how her hand had touched him so gently? Ask why she had done everything in her power to protect him?

“Oh, forget it.” Gwen joined him on the bed, sitting by his left. Her traitorous hands fell dejectedly in her lap, engagement ring burning a hole in her vision. At Gwen’s side, Larry’s stare remained unshakeable. To her surprise, he whimpered, nudging his head down to Gwen’s own. She shied away from him at first, her heart a bundle of feverish tissue as she held worried eye contact with him. But ever the persistent Lawrence, he bobbed closer, bumping a gentle nose against her forehead. So close to his protruding jaws, his blackened jowls, Gwen’s body buzzed with an electricity that made her feel lightheaded. His warm breath wafted in slow, consistent arcs.

With only a dim collection of her actions, Gwen’s hand seemed to move on its own accord, settling neatly in the furred crook under Larry’s chin.

Lawrence’s eyes slipped shut. His whole body relaxed in one great sigh. 

“Here,” Gwen murmured, centering herself to the bed’s middle while coaxing Larry in the same movement, settling herself on crossed legs and inviting him to rest his head upon her. Larry seemed to understand her gesturing, as he curled up onto the bed without hesitation, tucking in his furry legs close to his chest and laying his head across her knees. He let out another heavy sigh as he settled in. 

The sight made Gwen smile, before the urge to yawn took her by surprise. Stretching, she reached across the bed to turn off the oil lamp. The room grew dim, only lit by the full moon’s glow through the curtains.

She could live with this. Not with the engagement ring, still blighting her finger with its weight, but nights like these with a familiar soul keeping her company. Even on a full moon, they felt much more bearable. Gwen adjusted lower into a resting position, fingers splayed casually on Lawrence’s tangled curls, making small petting motions as her mind drifted. 

Larry dozed contentedly beneath her, chest rising and falling in routine. His presence, even like…this, was natural, was good, to Gwen. This was what she wanted. This is what she chose. 

For the first time in days, Gwen found it easy to sleep.

Chapter Text

Larry woke up in a fog, fists clenched in sheets from a bed that wasn’t his. There was an unnervingly familiar confusion prodding the back of his mind. The ceiling was… different; His clothes —-his day clothes—- were unkempt… he wasn’t wearing shoes. He shook his head sharply, shoving away the last dredges of a horrible nightmare when the room around him began to look awfully familiar; Larry had seen it through a telescope in what felt like years ago. 

His throat went dry, and with a cold douse to his psyche, Larry Talbot flung himself off of Gwen’s bed, breaths quickening to a whimper. The other night was a full moon. If he had done something to Gwen—- He gazed at his hands in horror, a gripping panic rising in his chest. Christ , he couldn’t remember. Trembling hands rose to clutch his skull as an overwhelming sense of growing grief threatened to flood Larry’s psyche. 

A soft voice broke through his anguish.

“...How’s your leg?” 

Larry froze, lowering his hands slowly. Gwen was in the doorway, unmaimed. Something of a hesitant smile on her face. 

Larry staggered backwards onto the bed. Gwen gasped, hurrying forward from the doorframe. She stopped before him, otherwise composed hands and expression twisted with an uncertain waver.

“Gwen?” Larry whispered. He wasn’t certain he had said her name; The sound didn’t register to the roaring in his ears. Looking up at Gwen, studying her taut brow and her wide eyes, Larry watched numbly as her expression shifted to pity.

She joined him on the bed, head tilted at a slight angle.

“You… don’t remember, then, do you?” Her lilt had a hesitation to it, yet to Larry it was stressed, vitally important. He gave a short, quick shake of his head, not trusting himself to speak.

To his surprise, Gwen laughed. A short one, set loose with a smile, but a laugh nonetheless. Whether out of surprise or relief, Larry didn’t know. Rather than easing his worry, it only added to his aching confusion. She seemed to have picked up on his fraught expression, however, as she quickly spoke again. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Larry,” Gwen faltered in reaching out to him, hands fiddling before her. 

“It’s nothing you did, it was only a passing thought.”

“But Gwen,” Larry’s voice was shaky with desperation, “What did I do?” 

Gwen did grasp his quaking hands then, and Larry almost pulled away on fearful instinct. 

“Nothing!” She cried. “You did nothing but sniff about. You did nothing , Lawrence. I think you only came here because you were hurt, that’s all. Please, will you let me see your leg?” 

As Gwen spoke, tears blurred Larry’s vision, even as relief grappled against his tortured confusion. His shoulders trembled of their own accord. Gwen’s surprising humor left her immediately at the sight, and she strove to comfort him, cupping his head in her hands. Larry was too drained from all this to protest, and he shut his eyes, letting tears escape down his cheeks. He could feel Gwen wipe the cool tracks away with care. When she next spoke, her words were chosen with a delicate deliberation.

“I’m sorry, Larry. I didn’t fully realize how confused you must be.”

She brushed his unruly hair back with one hand. Such a careful gesture threatened a new wave of tears. Larry opened his eyes miserably.

“I can tell you everything that happened last night.”

Larry’s plea came out as little more than a sad rasp.

“ Please. ”

And when Gwen described that night, although she may have skimmed over her woozy terror, or neglected to mention the sheer size of Larry’s claws and fangs and how she had touched him with little reservation, her companion nevertheless grew pale as she continued, practically shaking out of nerves. With his blanched face and trembling fists, Larry looked like he would be sick. Whether as a result of his sickly demeanor, or in the anxiety of the retelling, Gwen restrained her fidgeting hands to herself.

As she recounted their escape upstairs, Larry crumbled upon himself, head in his hands with a low groan. And after Gwen rushed through their sharing of her bed with the bare minimum of detail, cheeks burning, Larry looked out at her from his hands with one anguished, tearful eye. His voice shook with emotion.

“You put yourself in danger.”

Gwen withdrew back for just a moment. 

“You weren’t going to hurt me.”

“But I could’ve!” Lawrence whipped up, gripping his shirt tightly. 

“I’m a murderer , Gwen, I’ve killed before and I could’ve killed you!” A searing bolt of fear, or maybe self-loathing, lanced through his chest. Larry angrily swiped at the tears obscuring his vision.

The guilty look on Gwen’s face only made his gut twist even more. She faltered for words, avoiding his eyes, before reaching for the chain that dipped into her shirt. With it, she brought out the pendant he had given her, showing it to him. 

“You trusted me to wear this, and it protected me. You trusted me enough to come here when you did, and I protected you. So, please, Lawrence, just trust me with this choice that I made.” 

Staring at the spattering of tears on her eyelashes, heaving deep breaths, Lawrence wondered bleakly if Gwen felt as sorry as he did. With a sinking feeling, he realized that there was truly no reason for her to. It wasn’t Gwen’s fault that he came to her… it wasn’t her fault that he was like this… or that . His outburst was the last thing either of them needed. Lowering his head, Larry blinked away more tears; They fell onto his scuffed pants.

From his side, Gwen dropped the pendant back to her robe. She stared at his broad, defeated form, biting the inside of her cheek. Lawrence was just as anxious as she had been since the attack, but relief yet eluded him— She felt terribly sorry for the man. Gwen sighed, moving closer. After a moment of hesitation, she reached to put a hand on his shoulder. 

With red-rimmed eyes, Larry turned to give a weak smile at her. It was pained, and he still looked bloody awful, but it was a smile nonetheless. 

In a spur of boldness, Gwen leaned forward to wipe the extra tears off of his face. Her hand lingered on his cheek. 

Larry mumbled, “...Thank you.” 

Did she know how much he completely and utterly cared for her? In all the ways that he shouldn’t, given her engagement. 

But here he was; Here they both were. And she really did protect him last night.

“So,” Larry sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “We shared a bed?”

Gwen looked mortified, and her face turned pink with unwanted blush. “That part isn’t important,” she huffed, avoiding his playful eye and dropping her hand. “Could you please show me your leg? 

Larry obliged, with another weak smile, leaning over to roll up his pant leg. As he did so, looking at her, he asked where her father was. 

“Oh, after scaring him away last night, I discovered in the morning that he became quite invested in the search. He was gone by the time I…” She trailed off then, and Larry glanced down to where she was looking. 

His leg was unblemished without even the slightest indication of a wound, something which Larry regarded with bitter dullness, whereas Gwen had her mouth agape. He was disappointed, but not surprised.

“Ah.” He let the pant leg fall back into place. “Remember my bite from the wolf? It healed… fast. Just another side effect of—-” The dismal perpetuity of the whole affair gave Larry pause. “...the whole thing…”

Larry neglected to mention the disconcerting, wolfish urges that would sometimes strike him, or the way that animals seemed to viciously shy away within his presence. 

Gwen paused to fully soak in his words, and Larry could practically see the wheels turning in her head. All at once, an embarrassment churned in his gut. While it was hellish to have no one believe his circumstances, somehow having Gwen, of all people, as his sole confidant made him feel ill. It wasn’t what she deserved, and he was still dangerous to be around, even without harming her last night.

“Well,” To Larry’s surprise, she lightened up, bumping into his shoulder delicately with her own. “It’s good to know that you aren’t hurt, at least. I would hate for you to have a bum leg.”

Even stranger, Larry found himself smiling back at her. 

“Ha, small favor, I guess.”

There was a warmth in her eyes that made his heart skip.

He averted his gaze to glance around the room, rubbing the back of his neck. “I really oughta get out of your hair, though.” 

He got up from the bed with only a faint pang to his leg. 

“I’ll… I’m not sure if I’ll change again tonight,” Larry fought away a shudder, “...and I need my father to believe me.” A heaviness came upon his frame.

“I can’t stay here anymore.”

Gwen stood up slowly, reaching out to Larry. 

“Here, as in…?”

He avoided her eyes. 

“Anywhere.”

Gwen startled, grabbing his arm, “Lawrence!”

“There’s no use in arguing, Gwen,” Larry, pulling gently out of her hold, went for the door.

“My father can help me get outta here, and maybe there’s someplace quiet I can go. Where I don’t hurt anyone else.”

“You’re thinking too far ahead, Lawrence,” Gwen said, barring the door with her body. “You have me tonight, and for the rest of the month, you’ll be a completely normal man who hardly deserves to live alone!”

Her expression was stern, but Larry noticed her trembling hands.

“I’ll help you convince your father, and then we’ll get that old woman’s help— Maleva.” She took a step towards him.
“I simply won’t allow you to be alone. Not anymore.”

Some lonesome, desperate creature that took solace in Larry’s chest cried wretchedly at this. The claws it had seized tightly around his heart, and Larry could only draw in a ragged breath as he shifted completely into head-over-heels loyalty for the woman in front of him. 

Without thinking of the consequences, he blurted an “--Okay.”

To Gwen’s credit, the only indication of her surprise was the minute raise of her eyebrows. She pondered for a brief second on how easy that was, then straightened up.

“Okay!” Her bright smile was infectious. She opened the door behind her, gesturing politely to Larry, who hadn’t moved. He was still struggling to come to terms with the totality of what he just agreed to. Gwen noticed his blank expression. 

“Larry?”

If he had a tail then, it would’ve been called to attention. Larry sprung his head up, eyes wide. He blinked, bewildered, before the scene made sense. 

“Oh- yes. Yes, alright.” Larry hurried from the room with a heavy dusting of blush coloring his cheeks. Gwen gave her bedroom one last embarrassed glance-over before following after the man. 

Larry was already on the ground floor by the time she caught up. He spoke with a quiet haste. “I’ll leave before your father gets back, then we can meet later at the estate.” He glanced at her. “The important thing is to get there before the moon rises.” 

Gwen nodded, but there was a hesitation. “But you’ll be okay before then?”

Larry stammered. “Wha-what d’ya mean?”

“Well, I only mean that you had an awfully rough night of it last night.” She brushed off some grit from his sleeve. Larry nearly short-circuited. “If you need someone to help you get back on your feet, then I’m sure I can leave the shop alone for today, at least until my father’s return.”

Such a prospect made Larry’s head spin. But he mentally shooed it away.
“No, no, I-I’ll be okay. You’re already doing more than enough…” 

Although his heart raced, he took a step closer to Gwen. 

“I… Thank you for last night. For taking care of me.”

Gwen’s face flushed. She stared up at him with the prettiest blue eyes that Larry had ever seen. 

If Larry was as bold as he was that evening at the fair, he might’ve chased after a stolen kiss from her. But things had irrevocably changed between them, a shift in such a way that gave Larry uncertain pause. Where could they go from here?

So Larry only nodded lowly to her, turning back to take his leave with a familiar tightness in his chest.

Gwen’s hurried “Wait—” barely gave Larry warning before she swiftly wrapped her lithe arms around his broad waist. Her body pressed snug against his own. For a moment, Larry could hardly think; His whole body froze on an inhale.

Gwen let go as swiftly as she had come, her face tinted with a dusting of blush. Not that Larry could focus on her. His brain was still reeling.

“You’re welcome, Lawrence,” she said, and after a pause, added, ”I’ll see you tonight.”

Larry nodded absently, mouth agape. It was all he could do. Like a man in a dream, he walked out the door, head in the clouds and heart in a tizzy. 

Ain’t that something.

On the other side of the door, maybe Larry has half the mind to exhale, rubbing a hand over his ramming heart. He might slide down against the shop’s frame, smiling in a way he hadn’t since… well, maybe he couldn’t remember when. As the fresh morning air teases a promise on its cool breeze, Larry might just make his way down the street with a lightness to his shoulders. 

Of course, if those things did occur, they would’ve been watched by Gwen, biting the inside of her cheek with a still-warm face. She might’ve run a thumb over the empty expanse where her engagement ring was currently missing from. With a sigh, maybe she turned back to the shop’s interior, stomach in a knot about what to do next.

Who’s to say, though? 

She’s to be married, and he’s a werewolf.