Lena didn't remember walking back to the cabin.
All she remembered was Rowan's mouth on hers, the press of his body, the way her blood had roared through her like wildfire. And then—nothing but the sound of her name in his voice, low and reverent, like it was sacred.
Now she sat on the edge of her bed, wrapped in a blanket and confusion. Her lips still tingled. Her body ached in places she hadn't known could ache. And beneath it all was a steady thrum—a pull.
He was a werewolf.
It should've terrified her.
Instead, it made something deep inside her wake up.
She hadn't imagined the way he'd changed. The creature he'd become. But she hadn't felt fear—not even when she should have. No, what she'd felt had been... hunger.
Lena stood, heart racing, and moved to the bathroom mirror. She tilted her head, running her fingers along her neck. Her skin looked the same, but it didn't feel the same.
There, near the curve of her shoulder—something faint. A mark. Not a bruise. Not quite a scar. It shimmered faintly, just under the surface. Like heat.
She touched it.
It burned.
Not with pain. With recognition.
A knock shattered the silence.
She froze.
Another knock—harder.
Lena threw on a robe and padded barefoot to the front door, her pulse stuttering.
She opened it.
Rowan stood there, clothed this time in a black t-shirt and jeans that clung to his powerful frame like a second skin. His hair was damp, his eyes unreadable. Controlled. Barely.
He didn't ask to come in. He just stepped over the threshold like he belonged there.
And maybe, in some twisted, inexplicable way... he did.
"I marked you," he said quietly.
Her breath caught. "Is that what this is?" She pulled the robe down, revealing the faint shimmer on her skin.
He stared at it, jaw clenched. "It was instinct. I didn't mean to—"
"But you did."
He looked up, met her eyes. "Yes."
She took a step back. "What does it mean?"
"It means you're mine." His voice was guttural. "Claimed. Protected. Watched by every wolf for miles."
Her heart pounded. "That's not how this works. I didn't agree to be yours."
He took a step closer, crowding her space. "But you feel it. Don't lie."
The air thickened between them. Lena's body betrayed her, leaning ever so slightly toward him, craving his heat, his scent.
"I don't understand," she whispered. "Why me?"
Rowan's expression cracked. For just a moment, she saw something vulnerable there. Ache. Awe.
"Because I've been dreaming of you since I was seventeen. Your voice. Your face. Your scent." He touched the mark on her shoulder, fingers trembling. "You're not just some woman who stumbled into my territory. You're the one. The Moonbound. My fated mate."
Lena's knees nearly gave out.
"No," she breathed. "That can't be real."
But it felt real.
The way her skin burned where he touched it. The way her body responded like it had known him for lifetimes. The way the night whispered secrets she couldn't yet hear.
"I'm not one of you," she said, voice shaking.
His eyes darkened. "Not yet."
"What does that mean?"
But he didn't answer.
Instead, he leaned in, his lips barely brushing her ear.
"They're coming," he whispered. "The others. They've caught your scent. They know I've marked you. Some will challenge me. Some will try to take you."
Her stomach twisted.
"I won't let them," he growled, pulling back. "I'll kill every one of them before I let them touch what's mine."
Her pulse thundered. Her body trembled. And even as her mind screamed to resist, her heart whispered one undeniable truth:
She didn't want to run.