Ocean Kisses

Good Boy

Doc pov

After dropping my son off at school and ensuring everything was set for my job tomorrow, I returned home, expecting Ren to still be curled up on the couch. Sure enough, there he was, sprawled out lazily, golden eyes half-lidded as he watched me move about the house.

The rest of the day followed the same pattern. Wherever I went, Ren wasn’t far behind. If I went into the kitchen, he’d shift into his wolf form and sit by the doorway, his tail flicking idly as he kept me in his line of sight. If I went to the study, he’d follow, shifting back into his human form and sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the desk like he couldn’t bear to be more than a few feet away.

At first, I thought it was endearing—like a dog who missed its owner—but the longer it went on, the more I started to wonder if something was wrong. Ren wasn’t usually this clingy. Sure, he was affectionate, but this… this felt different. There was an undercurrent of possessiveness, though not in an alarming way. It was more like he was scared I’d disappear if he didn’t keep me in his sight.

“Ren,” I said softly, breaking the silence as I sat down on the couch next to him. He had shifted back into his human form again, lounging with his head resting on the armrest. “You’ve been glued to me all day. What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer right away. His golden eyes flicked to mine, a mix of hesitation and something deeper swirling in their depths. Finally, he shrugged, the movement almost dismissive, but I could tell there was more to it.

“I just… don’t want to be alone,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t the full truth—I could tell that much—but it was a start.

I sighed, reaching over to ruffle his hair gently. “You’re not alone, Ren. Not anymore. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He closed his eyes at that, leaning into the touch like he needed the reassurance. Whatever was going on in his head, I knew I couldn’t push him to talk about it just yet. All I could do was be here, make sure he felt safe, and hope that, eventually, he’d open up.

Every so often, as we sat in the study, Ren would shift back into his wolf form and curl up at my feet, seemingly content for a while. His breathing would even out, his body relaxing like he was sound asleep. But it never lasted long. Almost as soon as he’d settle, his head would snap up, golden eyes alert, ears swiveling toward some sound I couldn’t hear.

A low growl rumbled in his throat, his hackles rising slightly. At first, I thought it might have been one of the neighborhood dogs barking or some distant noise from outside, but his reaction felt too deliberate, too focused.

“Ren?” I leaned down, running my hand gently along his back in an attempt to soothe him. “What’s wrong, boy? What are you hearing?”

But he didn’t calm down. If anything, my touch seemed to agitate him more, his growl deepening as his gaze fixed on the study door.

And it wasn’t just Ren. The other dogs I was taking care of started reacting too. They barked from the living room, their heads snapping toward the same direction, their tails stiff. It was like they all heard something—a sound just beyond my range of hearing but perfectly clear to them.

My chest tightened as I stood, glancing toward the door, then back at Ren. “Hey, it’s okay,” I said softly, though I wasn’t sure if I was trying to reassure him or myself. “There’s nothing there. It’s probably just the wind or—”

Ren’s growl cut me off. This time, he stood, his body tense, ears pinned forward like he was ready to defend the house. The other dogs continued barking, their movements erratic as they paced back and forth.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—something I couldn’t see or hear but that Ren and the dogs were all too aware of.

I rose from my chair, my heart pounding a little harder than I’d like to admit, and started toward the door. Ren’s growl deepened, a low, protective rumble that vibrated through the room. It was unlike anything I’d heard from him before—less of a warning and more of a plea.

A sharp whine escaped his throat, and when I glanced back, his golden eyes were locked on me, wide with something between fear and determination. His ears flattened slightly, and his body tensed like he was ready to lunge if it meant stopping me.

“Ren,” I said softly, trying to keep my voice calm, though I wasn’t sure it was working. “I have to check. It’s probably nothing, but I need to make sure.”

He let out another whine, this one sharper, almost desperate. It was clear he didn’t want me to go, but I couldn’t ignore the dogs’ behavior—or his. Something had spooked them all, and I couldn’t just sit back and hope it went away.

As I reached for the door, Ren stepped in front of me, his wolf form towering just enough to make me hesitate. He stared me down, his tail low, his stance protective and unmoving.

“Ren…” I crouched slightly, meeting his gaze, trying to reassure him. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just take a quick look, okay? You can stay here.”

His ears twitched, but he didn’t move. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he weighed his instincts against the trust he had in me. For a moment, I thought he might block me completely.

But then, with a reluctant huff, he stepped aside, his growl still rumbling low in his throat. He didn’t take his eyes off me as I opened the door, his body tense and ready to follow if anything went wrong.

I stepped into the hallway, the silence almost deafening compared to the noise from moments before. Every instinct told me to turn back, to listen to Ren’s warning, but I pressed on. Whatever was out there, I had to know.

Ren was suddenly at my side, his movements quiet but deliberate. The weight of his presence was both reassuring and alarming. If he felt the need to follow me this closely, it wasn’t a good sign.

I paused for a moment, my hand resting lightly on the wall as I peered toward the back door. My stomach twisted uneasily. No one ever used the back door. Anyone who needed to see me always came to the front.

The dogs, still restless, were pacing near the door, their hackles raised. Their low whines and occasional growls only heightened the tension in the air. Ren’s ears were pinned back, his golden eyes sharp as they flicked between the door and the surrounding windows.

“Ren,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. “Stay close.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His wolf form pressed slightly against my leg, his growl low but constant now. The sound reverberated through me, urging caution.

As I reached the door, I hesitated, the unease gnawing at me. The door was locked, as it always was, but that didn’t stop the sense of dread creeping up my spine.

Ren’s growl deepened, and I glanced down at him. His gaze was fixed on the door, unwavering, his tail stiff. He didn’t trust whatever was on the other side—and neither did I.

I placed my hand on the doorknob, Ren shifting closer, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. Slowly, I turned it, the quiet click of the lock disengaging echoing in the silence.

With one deep breath, I pulled the door open.