POV: Samantha
I slow the car to a stop and pull up right in front of the gates. My eyes widen as I stare up at them. They're tall—far taller than any gate has a right to be—and solid, heavy-looking things made of dark wood reinforced with ornate black iron. They feel ancient, like they've been here for hundreds of years, guarding something they don't want the world to see. The carvings across the archway look vaguely Celtic, maybe? Or possibly Slavic. I wouldn't know—I barely passed high school art history.
They're grand, no doubt about it. And very, very obviously meant to keep people out.
Unfortunately for me... I'm people.
This can't be the place. There's no sign, no name, no cute little chalkboard with "Welcome Wedding Guests!" scribbled in curly writing. Not even a discreet plaque to suggest this is, in fact, a functioning business and not the start of a horror film. I peer through the windshield, frowning, trying to spot any indication of where I've ended up, but nothing jumps out at me.
There's no number. No lighted path. Just the gate. And a whole lot of thick, shadowed forest.
Then, without warning, a deep, mechanical rumble startles me so hard I let out a shriek and nearly choke on my own tongue. My hands fly to the steering wheel, white-knuckling it as I watch the gates begin to open on their own with an ominous groan, revealing nothing but more darkness and a continuation of the dirt road beyond.
My breath is loud in the small space of the car. I glance around wildly, searching for cameras, lights, anything to explain how the hell someone knew I was here.
But there's nothing.
No person. No intercom. Just the wind and the trees and the eerie silence of the night.
"How...?" I whisper aloud, heart now hammering somewhere behind my ribs like a trapped bird.
It feels like there are eyes on me. Dozens of them. Hundreds maybe. Pressing against the glass of the car, whispering from the trees.
"Okay, Samantha. Chill." I speak to myself, trying to slow my breathing. "You're tired. Emotional. Sleep-deprived. Your brain is doing that thing it does where it fills in the blanks with terrifying crap."
Maybe there's a motion sensor. Or some ultra-high-tech camera hidden in a tree. Maybe they're watching from inside the house, and saw me pull up.
Yeah, let's go with that.
That makes more sense than haunted woodwork.
I inch the car forward and drive through the open gates, my eyes flicking nervously to the rearview mirror as they close behind me. They shut with a deep, final clang that echoes in my chest.
This was probably a mistake.
As the forest thins slightly and the trees open up into a small clearing, I finally see it: a house. Or maybe a manor. No... a mansion.
It takes my breath away.
The building is huge—three stories at least—with a sloping roof, ivy climbing up the stone walls, and warm golden light glowing in nearly every window. Even from the car I can tell it's old. Not in a decrepit way, but in that timeless, magic-is-definitely-happening-here kind of way.
It blends into the woods so well I doubt you'd even notice it during the day. Nestled like a secret in the middle of nowhere. But tonight, with lights lining the driveway and flickering on the porch, it looks like something out of a gothic fairytale.
Beautiful. Majestic. Slightly terrifying.
I exhale deeply, relief flooding me. This must be it. Finally.
I park the car and step out, not bothering to take a moment to collect myself. The moment my feet hit the gravel, a deep, guttural growl tears through the night and slams into me like a freight train.
I freeze.
My heart leaps into my throat. Every hair on my body stands up.
The sound came from the trees. Somewhere just out of sight. Low and primal, the kind of sound that makes your bones go cold and your survival instincts scream to run. Not bark. Not a playful grumble.
Predatory.
I scan the tree line, eyes wide, breathing sharp. I can't see anything. Nothing moves. But I felt it. That wasn't some little Pomeranian.
And I didn't check for dogs.
Why didn't I check for dogs?
I've always liked animals. Dogs in particular. I'm usually the guest at a party who sits outside and befriends the golden retriever before making human conversation. I respect animals. They tend to like me back.
So why do I suddenly feel like prey?
I force myself to breathe.
"Respect," I whisper to myself. "Calm and respect."
I grab my suitcase from the backseat, keeping my eyes on the forest. If something's coming, I want to hear it on the porch steps behind me. At least there I might have a fighting chance.
I hurry to the door and knock twice, my pulse thudding louder than the sound of my knuckles on wood.
It opens almost immediately, revealing a man who looks like he stepped straight out of a retirement brochure. He's older, maybe mid-to-late fifties, dressed neatly in slacks and a sweater vest, with kind, tired eyes and a shock of silver hair.
"Good evening, miss," he says with a gentle smile.
"Hi, um... good evening." I try to return the smile but probably look like a deer in headlights.
He waits, patient, but doesn't move to let me in.
Right. Proof.
"Oh!" I fumble in my purse and pull out the crumpled wedding invitation Alison gave me. "I think my friend reserved a room here for some of the guests? For her wedding? She said it was close by... I hope this is the right place."
He takes the invitation and studies it for a moment, then chuckles softly and hands it back. There's amusement twinkling in his eyes like he knows a joke I don't.
"Well, you certainly found us, miss. Welcome." He steps aside and gestures for me to enter.
The moment I cross the threshold, something shifts.
Like walking through a warm bath. Every nerve in my body relaxes. The tension in my shoulders melts. The buzzing panic in my chest fizzles out. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Safe.
I feel... safe.
Which is insane, considering I just walked into a stranger's home in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night.
"Let me show you to your room," he says, already turning to take my suitcase.
I blink. "Wait—shouldn't I check in or something? Fill out a form?"
He chuckles again. "No need for any of that, miss. We'll handle the details later. You look like you need sleep."
He's not wrong. I suddenly feel like I haven't slept in years.
I glance around as we ascend the wide, sweeping staircase. The entrance hall is massive, lit by a chandelier that must weigh a ton. Marble floors. Two grand staircases on either side that curl toward the second floor like something out of a movie. Arched doorways lead into rooms I can't see, and there's a rich, earthy smell in the air—wood polish, herbs, and something... floral?
We stop at a door at the far end of the third floor. He opens it, and I step inside.
The room is beautiful. Rustic, warm, and somehow cozy despite its size. But I only see one thing.
The bed.
I barely manage to murmur a thank you before stumbling toward it and collapsing face-first onto the soft, thick comforter. My limbs melt. I don't even care if I'm still wearing shoes.
"Goodnight, miss," I hear faintly behind me.
"Mmngh," I groan in response, barely able to lift a hand in a vague wave.
The door clicks closed, and the world tilts sideways.
I don't know how much time passes.
But then—something changes.
Warm arms. Strong. One slides beneath my knees, the other behind my shoulders. I'm lifted gently into someone's embrace. A hard chest presses against me. My brain is slow, groggy, still half asleep—but my body recognizes this instantly.
I sigh, content. It's been so long since I've felt this kind of contact. Since I've been held.
A quiet moan slips past my lips, and I arch instinctively into the warmth.
Heat pools low in my belly.
His scent is intoxicating. Woodsmoke and pine. Earth and rain. Masculine and primal and something... more. Something I can't name.
I run my hands along his chest, curious, bold in the safety of sleep, and curl them around the back of his neck. A soft growl rumbles through his body. His arms tighten.
This is where I belong.
This is home.
Then suddenly, the warmth vanishes.
He's gone.
I whimper and curl into myself, tucking into a ball beneath the blanket he laid over me. My body aches at the loss of him. The loneliness hits like a slap.
They always leave.