The village of Drevan Hollow sat nestled at the base of Blackthorne Ridge like an old secret — quiet, winding, and shrouded in mist even after sunrise. Elena's boots crunched against the gravel path as she made her way into the heart of it, notebook tucked under her arm, curiosity sparking like static in her veins. The air smelled of damp earth and woodsmoke. Quaint cottages with steep roofs lined the crooked streets, ivy creeping up their sides like fingers. The villagers glanced at her as she passed — not rudely, but warily. She was new. An outsider. And worse, one from his house.
She felt their eyes even when their backs were turned.
She kept walking. Her destination was a weathered inn with a crooked sign swinging in the breeze: The Silver Fang. A woman with graying braids stood behind the counter polishing a mug. She looked up as Elena entered and narrowed her eyes. "You're from the estate."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes. I'm staying there for a story," Elena said carefully. "Lucien Blackthorne invited me."
The woman's hands stopped moving.
"He never invites anyone," she said quietly, before setting the mug down. "What do you want here, girl?"
"To understand." Elena stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I've seen things. I've heard things. About him. About the forest. I know there's more."
The woman's eyes darted around the empty room, then gestured for Elena to follow her into the back. They entered a narrow kitchen where an old iron stove hissed and simmered. A man with hunched shoulders stirred something in a pot but said nothing.
The woman — Maira, introduced herself wiped her hands on her apron. "There's always been Blackthornes in that manor. Always will be. The forest bends for them. The wolves listen to them. But it's not a gift. It's a curse."
Elena leaned in. "A curse?"
"They say the first Blackthorne made a deal," Maira said, eyes distant. "Centuries ago. Gave his soul to the moon for power. Built that house on sacred ground. And every heir since carries the weight of that deal. Some lose their minds. Some lose their lives. All lose their hearts."
A chill crept down Elena's spine.
"What does that mean—'lose their hearts'?"
"Love makes them weak," Maira said. "And weakness gets punished."
The man stirring the pot finally spoke, voice like sandpaper. "The last woman he brought close died screaming in the woods. You'd do well to leave, girl."
Elena swallowed hard. "What was her name?"
Maira shook her head. "Doesn't matter. The forest forgets."
But Elena wouldn't.
She spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through the village, gathering bits of conversation, half-whispered warnings, and lingering stares. An old man offered her a charm made of wolf bone and herbs. A child pointed to the woods and said, "Don't go there at night. The howlers come out." Even the chapel bore strange carvings — moons, claws, and crescent symbols hidden in the wood. By dusk, Elena's notebook was filled with ink and unease. When she returned to Blackthorne Manor, Lucien was waiting. He stood by the fireplace in the grand hall, dressed in a dark, high-collared shirt, his expression unreadable.
"You went to Drevan Hollow," he said, not asking.
"Yes."
"You talked to them."
"Yes."
He crossed the room slowly, stopping just a few inches from her. "They think I'm a monster."
"They think you're cursed," Elena whispered. "Are they wrong?"
Lucien's jaw clenched. "They know fragments of old stories. Half-truths and superstition."
"But you didn't deny it."
He didn't.
Instead, he said, "There are things in this world that are older than science. Stronger than reason. Some bloodlines carry that burden. Mine does."
"And the woman who died?"
Lucien's eyes flared hurt, anger, memory. "Her name was Mira. She loved me. And she died because of it."
Elena's heart twisted.
"I'm not him," he said softly, "but the curse doesn't care. It only knows hunger. If I care too deeply… if I love…"
He stopped.
She reached for his hand. "You're afraid."
"Yes."
A silence passed like a storm cloud.
Then he said, "You shouldn't have gone there. Kael is watching."
Her breath caught. "He was in the village?"
"Worse. He's near. He wants to unsettle the pack. Make you feel hunted. Isolate you."
"It's working."
Lucien brushed a lock of hair from her face. "I won't let him touch you."
"And if he already has?"
His eyes turned gold.
"I'll tear him apart."
That night, Elena couldn't sleep.
She sat by her window, candlelight flickering beside her, watching the woods breathe. Every shadow seemed to move. Every gust of wind felt like a whisper.
Her mind was a storm of wolves, curses, and golden eyes.
She knew now that Lucien was both protector and danger.
That the villagers feared him for a reason.
And yet… she wanted him. Needed to understand him. Even if it destroyed her.
Down in the lower halls, Kael stood in the shadows of the wine cellar, speaking to a figure cloaked in gray.
"She's seen too much," the figure said.
Kael smiled. "That's the point."
"What do you want, Kael?"
He leaned against the wall, casual and cruel. "To burn the legacy. To rip the moon from his hands. To make him feel what it's like to lose."
"And the girl?"
He shrugged. "She's leverage. Or bait."
The figure nodded. "Then the games begin."
Kael's smile widened.
"Let's see how long Lucien can protect what he refuses to claim."
Elena awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of footsteps outside her door.
Slow. Deliberate.
She reached for the fireplace poker and edged toward the door.
The steps stopped.
Then a soft knock.
"Elena," came Lucien's voice, raw and quiet.
She opened the door.
He stood there, shirt half-unbuttoned, shadows under his eyes. "I couldn't sleep. Not with you out of my sight."
She stepped aside, letting him in.
He moved like a storm barely restrained, and when he pulled her into his arms, she melted into the warmth and danger of him.
"I don't know how to do this," he whispered. "How to want you and protect you at the same time."
"Then stop trying to do both," she murmured, pressing her forehead to his. "Just be here."
And he was.
For that night, they were neither curse nor prophecy.
Only a man and a woman, tangled in fear, fire, and something dangerously close to love.