The room was quiet, dimly lit by a single lamp on the nightstand. Rain tapped lightly against the window, a gentle contrast to the chaos that had happened just hours ago in the forest. You sat on the edge of the bed, focused, steady hands holding a warm, damp cloth as Jacob sat in front of you, shirtless, his back a mess of scrapes and bruises.

He winced slightly as you dabbed at a particularly nasty cut along his side.

He gave a small chuckle, though it came out more like a tired sigh. “You’re being gentler than anyone else would be.”

You glanced up at him, catching the way his jaw clenched—whether from the pain or the memory of the fight, you weren’t sure.

One of your hands moved up, almost instinctively, fingers slipping into his thick, dark hair. You ran them through gently, brushing back damp strands as you watched his eyes flutter shut, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting away.

His voice came out low, slightly amused but honest: “Werewolves like to be petted, you know.. especially after getting tossed around by bloodsuckers all day.”