The Fìdhlear ✔️

Chapter Two; "Her Cabin."

ADAIR'S sweet smile hadn't left her face as she flicked on the warm lighting of her cabin, the whole room lighting up as they stepped inside.

"It's pretty small, but I live alone." She said quietly, her smile dimming slightly as she spoke, a distant gleam in her eyes. Arlo furrowed his brows, but said nothing.

They took off their heavy winter coats and such, placing them inside the closet next to the door before Adair led him to the living room.

He observed the decorations with a small smile, seeing it resemble her adorable innocence with the decorations and paint; dark brown walls littered with drawings, paintings and maps surrounded them, the carpet a creamy white and soft under his now bare feet. 

The warm, cozy lighting gave the room a soft glow as she gestured for him to sit down at the couch as she prepared son hot chocolate.

"So. . . Who are you?" She asked, handing him a black mug with a hand-painted sunflower on the front. He inhaled softly and leaned back, his eyes trained on the carpet before they lifted and gazed into hers.

"Well, this is going to be very strange, but I suppose I do need to explain what just happened." He said, nodding his head slightly. 

"Okay, uh. . . I'm a werewolf." He stated strongly, gazing into her eyes. 

Adair momentarily paused, looking like she didn't hear a word he said, then her face slowly morphed into complete shock.

"A werewolf?" She repeated incredulously, blinking at him. He nodded.

"Yeah. You probably don't believe me." He shook his head and looked at Adair again. She was mystified.

"Wow." She finally said. "I guess those rumors were true. That crazy old boot wasn't so crazy after all." 

After seeing Arlo's lost expression, she explained.

"Conan and a few other older men love to come to the café, always retelling tales of when they were younger and how a werewolf had taken the famous Arlie Slaine, only to never be seen again after they confronted him." She continued, her expression calmer.

He felt his mouth turn into a smile, almost a grin, and he laughed. Deeply, gutturally and striking to the core.

"That werewolf was my father. Arlie Slaine is my mother." He said, his smile still there. 

"I can't believe they still tell those tales." He shook his head, gazing into the shocked eyes of Adair before his pupils dialated. His canines elongated and he felt that same sudden pressure he felt only hours before crush his chest once more.

Want.

"I ran from home last night. I was trying to find you. My mate." He said, his voice somehow deeper and more serious. It gave Adair goosebumps as she stared at the godlike man. His tussled silver hair glowed in the dim lighting, his eyes even darker with his dialated pupils and his mouth more tempting with those impossibly long canines.

She knew it was confirmed. He was a werewolf.

"What's a mate?" She asked innocently, making him release a deep, guttural groan that made her clench her legs to rid the sudden desire pooling between her thighs. He was so seductive and sensual with everything he did.

"A mate is a werewolf's destined parter. Their soulmate. They're given from the Moon Goddess to werewolves as a partner in their immortal lives. Someone that is everything to them, and someone who is their other half. That's you for me, beloved." He replied, his voice quivering with a deep desire.