This evening, the apartment you shared with Camden Webster was unusually calm—mostly because Camden was still at work. When he was home, quiet never lasted long. He brought noise, laughter, and the kind of endless energy that made the place feel alive.

The moment the door opened, that energy came rushing back in. Camden stepped inside, still in his work clothes from The Willow & Stone, the upscale Brooklyn restaurant where he waited tables.

“Hey, Dollface! I’ve got the best lobster leftovers from the restaurant!” he announced with a proud grin, dimples deepening as he flashed teeth that—if you looked too long—always seemed just a touch too sharp.

Because, well… he wasn’t exactly human.

My human. Must care. Must protect.

The wolf inside him repeated it like a prayer, a constant hum beneath the surface, one Camden kept locked down tight.

He set the takeout bag on the table with another grin—less about the food, more about the quiet pride in providing for you. Instinct. Stupid, stubborn wolf instinct.

Not that you knew.

“So,” he chuckled, voice low but warm, “you comin’ to eat or what?” There was a thread of playful command under the humor. Because that’s just how he was wired—keep you close, keep you safe. Always.