The cabin was too quiet.
Lena had been back from town for hours, but Rowan's words clung to her like a second skin:
"Don't call the sheriff. Don't run. Come to me."
He hadn't said it like a suggestion. It had been a command—dark, possessive, and pulsing with something that made her core tighten. The man had looked at her like he knew her... like he already owned her.
Ridiculous.
Still, when the power cut out at dusk, she jumped.
Outside, the wind had picked up, rustling through the trees like whispers too low to catch. The temperature dropped fast, and the moon began to rise—full again, impossibly large, casting a silver glow across the forest.
The woods called to her.
That's what it felt like. Not fear. Something else.
Curious. Drawn.
She pulled on her boots, grabbed a flashlight, and stepped out onto the porch. The silence was thick. The kind that pressed against your chest and made your breath sound too loud. Her flashlight beam bounced weakly off the trees, and she had only taken a few steps before she paused.
There. A sound.
Low. Almost like—
A growl.
Her heart stuttered. She swung the flashlight toward the tree line, but it cut out.
Dead.
The darkness swallowed her whole. But she wasn't alone.
A rustle behind her. She spun.
"Who's there?" she called, voice unsteady.
A low snarl echoed—closer now. Then a shape moved, impossibly fast. She stumbled back as a massive wolf stepped from the shadows, its coat a blend of dark ash and silver, eyes glowing with unnatural light.
It stared at her.
Lena's breath caught. She should run. She should scream. But something in her froze—because those eyes...
She knew those eyes.
"Rowan," she whispered.
The wolf's body tensed, lips curled slightly in something that wasn't quite a snarl. It stepped forward, slow, deliberate. She backed up until her spine hit a tree. Her pulse thundered. Not just fear—desire, thick and primal, stirred inside her.
And then, right in front of her, the wolf shuddered—twisting, bones cracking, fur rippling like waves. The transformation was violent and beautiful.
And suddenly, he stood before her. Human again.
Naked.
Rowan's chest heaved, sweat glistening along his broad, sculpted frame. His hair was tousled, his hands curled into fists at his sides, and his gaze locked on hers with raw hunger.
"You followed the call," he growled.
"What... what are you?"
His lips twitched. "You already know."
Her throat went dry. "You're a werewolf."
He stepped closer. "And you're not just a girl in the woods, Lena."
She swallowed hard. "What do you mean?"
But he didn't answer.
Instead, he closed the distance between them in a breath. His hand came up, cupping her cheek, rough thumb brushing over her bottom lip. Her eyes fluttered shut, heart slamming against her ribs.
"Tell me to stop," he said, voice hoarse. "Say the word, and I'll walk away."
She couldn't.
His scent, his heat, the way his presence filled every inch of space around her—it was too much. She was shaking with it. Not from fear, but from want.
"Rowan…"
That was all it took.
He crashed into her mouth with a growl, all heat and fury and need. His hand tangled in her hair, the other pressed her back against the tree, pinning her with his body. She gasped against his lips, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss until she was dizzy with it.
His teeth scraped her neck, lips grazing the shell of her ear.
"I've waited a long time for you," he whispered.
She trembled. "You don't even know me."
"I know your scent. Your blood. Your soul." He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "And I know you're mine.