A faint scratching echoed from downstairs. Gunnar’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the pre-dawn gloom filtering through his bedroom window. Six o’clock. Too early for anything but the persistent tick of the grandfather clock in the hall. Another series of light, rhythmic taps, this time accompanied by a muted thud. Someone was at the door of his sprawling mansion. Annoyance tightened his jaw. Who dared disturb him before the sun fully committed to the day? He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool marble floor a stark contrast to the warmth of his sheets. A shiver ran down his spine, unrelated to the temperature. A scent, faint but unmistakable, prickled at his senses. A wild, earthy aroma, like pine and damp soil, laced with something musky, primal. Wolf. His brows furrowed. Impossible. He lived in the heart of Florence. Not a forest. Yet, the scent clung to the air, an invisible, intangible presence that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. He pulled on a silk robe, cinching it tightly. His bare feet padded softly down the grand staircase, each step a testament to the mansion’s silent grandeur. The wolf scent intensified, growing stronger with every step toward the massive oak front door. He reached for the ornate brass handle, his heart thudding a strange rhythm against his ribs. The scent was almost overwhelming now, stirring something deep within him, a memory of cold eyes and dark fur. He hesitated, then pulled the door open. A mountain of brightly wrapped packages greeted him. Boxes of every size, bows of every color, piled high on the doorstep, spilling onto the polished stone path. No wolf. Only gifts. So many gifts. His initial confusion twisted into a bewildered snort. “Huh!” he mumbled, scanning the absurd display. “Who brings this much gift?” His phone vibrated in his robe pocket, a jarring intrusion into the silent morning. He pulled it out, squinting at the caller ID. Tyra. He should have known. “Tyra, long time no see,” Gunnar said, a note of surprise in his voice despite his exasperation. He hadn’t spoken to his cousin in months, not since his self-imposed solitude had grown heavier. “How are you?” Tyra’s voice crackled through the speaker, a bright, energetic burst that felt too loud for the hour. “Doing… I don’t know,” he admitted, rubbing a hand over his temples. The sheer volume of gifts and the lingering wolf scent had thrown him off kilter. “Common, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!” Tyra screamed, her voice exploding in his ear. Gunnar winced, yanking the phone away, holding it at arm’s length. He could practically hear the echo of her enthusiasm. “Thank you!” he grumbled, bringing the phone back. “It doesn’t mean you should block my ears with your scream. By the way, it is too early.” He glanced at the antique wall clock in the foyer, the hands pointing to a little past six. Tyra laughed, a high, melodic sound. “I just want to be the first to call. So… have you seen gifts?” “Yeah, they are too much,” Gunnar said, casting a weary eye over the burgeoning pile. It looked like a small department store delivery. “Yeah, for my little brother,” Tyra retorted, a playful sarcasm lacing her tone. “Please stop calling me that, I’m your cousin for crying out loud,” Gunnar complained, his voice taking on a childlike whine he hadn’t used in years. His lips twitched, fighting a smile. Tyra laughed again, a genuine, joyful sound. “At least, you should be happy that I’m calling you brother because you are the only child and son of your parents.” “I know. Even you too,” Gunnar mumbled, already beginning to haul the smaller packages inside, stacking them haphazardly on a nearby console table. The wolf scent still lingered, a subtle undercurrent beneath the sweet smell of wrapping paper. “It’s been long I see you smile, loving animals,” Tyra said, her voice softer now, almost wistful. He could picture her smiling, a knowing, slightly mischievous look on her face. “Please, sister, stop it,” Gunnar said, a touch of annoyance creeping into his voice. He didn’t want to discuss his past affections, not now, not ever. “Now, you are calling me sister, I love it!” she crowed, reverting to her teasing self. Gunnar just sighed. He felt a familiar irritation bubble up. “You know, can I rest without being disturbed?” His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Hehehe!” Tyra mimicked his sigh, her laughter light and airy. “Stop it, Tyra.” His voice was sharper than he intended. “Okay, I will.” But her tone still held a hint of amusement. “It’s not funny.” His words were clipped, his voice dropping, a dangerous edge appearing that hadn't been there moments ago. The venom was activating, a dark, simmering heat beneath his skin. “Geez, Gun… what is wrong?” Tyra’s playful tone vanished, replaced by genuine concern. He took a breath, forcing himself to calm. “Nothing, I’m fine.” The lie felt heavy on his tongue. “Are you sure? You usually used to be jovial, but now…” Her voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken observation hanging between them. “I’ve grown up, okay?” Gunnar retorted, his hand resting on the heavy door, ready to close it and escape the conversation. He didn’t want to dissect his current state with anyone, especially not Tyra, who saw too much. “Okay, so how is your girlfriend, Emma?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly. “She is fine,” Gunnar said grumpily, shrugging his shoulders. Fine was an overstatement. She was… present. Sometimes. “Just fine…? Is she not romantic enough to give you happiness?” Tyra pressed, her concern evident. “Please,” Gunnar pleaded, rubbing his temples again. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss Emma or his lack of happiness. “What? I’m serious, your anger is getting out of hand.” Her voice was firm now, no longer teasing. It sliced through his irritation, momentarily sobering him. “I’m fine, besides she went home yesterday, I don’t know why.” He genuinely wondered, though a part of him didn’t care. Her absence was a relief, not a concern. Tyra sighed, a long, drawn-out sound. “Well, maybe she went to prepare your birthday gift,” she offered, a touch of hopeful optimism in her voice. Gunnar just shrugged. He doubted it. Emma was not one for grand gestures, unless they involved her own comfort. “I will be coming around 8:00 AM to see you,” Tyra declared. “Okay, no problem,” Gunnar said, a faint sense of dread settling in. More company, more scrutiny. “Okay, How about Dia?” Tyra asked, her voice light once more. “Why will you be asking me questions about that silly cat?” Gunnar scoffed. His previous affection for the tabby felt like a distant memory, replaced by a vague resentment. “You love animals, that’s why.” Tyra sounded genuinely surprised by his reaction. “Not anymore.” The words came out sharper than he intended, echoing in the cavernous hall. “Dia is respectful to you,” Tyra insisted. “But not to when a female enters the house.” Gunnar’s lip curled. Dia’s possessiveness was legendary, a constant, annoying barrier between him and any potential romantic interest Emma notwithstanding. “What do you mean by ‘female’ Gunnar! Are you cheating on your girlfriend?!” Tyra’s voice rose, a sudden spike of alarm. He heard the indignation, the shock. “No, besides I’m not ready for any relationship now.” Gunnar started climbing the grand staircase, leaving the door ajar, the gifts still scattered, the wolf scent fading slightly. He just wanted to be alone. “Why?” Tyra asked, her voice softer again, a genuine question this time. “I’m not just ready. Emma only cares of her Dia, creams, wigs, makeup, only herself and asks less of me.” He voiced his long-held frustrations, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. The line went silent. He paused on the third step, waiting for her reaction. Nothing. Utter silence. “What?” he asked sarcastically. “Did a cat cut your tongue?” “I’m… em… well, never mind. Okay, till 8:00 AM then.” Tyra sounded flustered, her usual bravado gone. Gunnar chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “Running away so soon?” he drawled, pushing. He knew he was being unkind, but her sudden awkwardness was almost amusing. “Stop it, Gunnar!” Tyra grumbled, a hint of her old self returning. “Ha, you have been looking for my trouble since,” Gunnar said, his muscles tensing, a weary frustration seeping into him. “Never mind, and bye. Wait, if you see any animal, don’t chase it away, okay?” Tyra said cautiously, her voice dropping, almost a whisper. It was an odd request, an unusual warning. “WHAT ANIMAL?” Gunnar’s voice boomed, shocked, torn between anger and a sudden, inexplicable urge to laugh. What kind of animal would be among his gifts? “Among the gifts,” Tyra clarified, her voice now a playful giggle. Gunnar snapped his head around, his eyes darting to the pile of packages he’d left on the floor. An animal? Here? He rushed down the staircase, not caring if he stumbled, his gaze fixed on the gifts. The wolf scent, which had seemed to dissipate, suddenly surged back, stronger, closer. It wasn't fading at all; it was concentrated. “Just guess it,” Tyra giggled, clearly enjoying his confusion. “I despise guessing games, Tyra!” he growled, already rummaging through the larger boxes, tearing at ribbons and paper. His heart hammered against his ribs. He felt a strange mixture of dread and anticipation. Then he stopped. A gift box, larger than the rest, covered in shiny silver paper, moved. Just a slight shift, a subtle tremor. His breath hitched. He lost the bow tie, fumbling with the tape, his fingers clumsy. He ripped open the lid, his eyes wide, expectant. Inside, nestled on a bed of shredded tissue paper, was a gray puppy, curled up, fast asleep. Its fur was soft, a muted charcoal, and its tiny paws twitched in what looked like a dream. *So this has the mind to…* His thought was cut short. “Gunnar, can you hear me?!” Tyra’s voice snapped him back to reality, pulling him from the mesmerizing sight of the sleeping creature. He looked at the puppy, then back at the phone then back at the puppy again. “It’s you!” Gunnar barked loudly at the sleeping puppy who didn't bother to wake up. - - - “HEY, THIS IS MY MANSION AND YOU SHOULD NOT BE ROAMING ABOUT, WHAT IS YOUR NAME?” Gunnar growled.

Chapter 5: A Scent of Wolf