ELARA's POV:
The wind whispered through the trees like a warning.
Elara Quinn stepped out of her old Jeep, the engine ticking softly as it cooled in the crisp mountain air. Gravel crunched beneath her worn boots as she surveyed the path ahead—narrow, uneven, and framed by towering pines that seemed to stretch forever into the sky.
She exhaled slowly, the breath curling in the cool evening air. The forest was beautiful in that haunting, untouched way. Wild. Unforgiving. Perfect.
This was why she came to Duskwood.
Not for the small-town charm or the cheap rent. Not even for the break from city noise and the ghosts she'd left behind. No, Elara came for this—the quiet. The solitude. The chance to lose herself in nature and maybe, just maybe, find herself again.
Her hand tightened around the strap of her camera bag. She had a few hours before night fully claimed the forest. Enough time to explore. Maybe even snap a few shots of the elusive gray wolves she'd heard whispers about.
The locals had plenty to say about those wolves—none of it helpful.
"They're not like the ones in your books," one old man had said at the diner, shaking his head with a far-off look in his eyes. "You don't see them. They see you."
Another had simply said, "You hear a howl after dark, you keep your damn head down and your lights off."
Elara hadn't come to chase ghost stories. She chased facts, behavior, patterns—things that made sense. But Duskwood didn't make sense. And somehow, that intrigued her more than it should have.
She started along the trail, weaving through thick brush and damp leaves. Each step sank into the earth like it had been waiting for her. The deeper she went, the more the forest seemed to exhale—slow, ancient, and aware.
Her camera swung gently at her side, bumping against her hip. She paused at a fallen log blanketed in moss and knelt to capture the soft evening light filtering through the trees. Just as she clicked the shutter, a low rustle came from the trees to her left.
She froze.
Bird? Deer?
The air shifted. Heavy. Watchful.
She slowly stood, eyes scanning the tree line. Nothing. Just the sound of her own breathing, quick and shallow.
Then she heard it.
A growl.
Low. Barely audible. Like a threat whispered through clenched teeth.
Her heart skipped.
"Hello?" she called, voice trembling despite her best effort to sound firm. "Is someone there?"
Silence.
And then—
A twig snapped behind her.
She spun, breath catching in her throat—but the path was empty. No movement. No sound. Just trees and shadows.
Get it together, Elara.
She backed slowly down the trail, one step at a time, until she could see the glint of her Jeep through the trees. Only then did she turn and move faster, boots crunching the gravel louder than she liked.
She yanked open the door and slid inside, locking it without even thinking.
Then she sat still.
Listened.
Waited.
No more growls. No movement.
She blew out a breath and forced a bitter laugh. "Right. Scared off by my own imagination."
Still, she didn't start the engine. Not yet. Her gaze was drawn to the forest again—dark, dense, alive in a way she couldn't explain.
Something had been out there.
And she didn't think it had been a deer.
Later that night, Elara sat on the porch of the small cabin she'd rented at the edge of town. It was rustic, quiet, and barely had enough power to charge her equipment, but it suited her just fine.
She sipped coffee from a chipped mug, eyes fixed on the woods beyond the backyard. Moonlight bathed everything in silver, casting long shadows and making the trees shimmer like they held secrets.
And maybe they did.
She thought again about that growl. About the eyes she thought she'd seen in the distance—golden, not reflecting light but radiating something from within.
She took another sip and shook her head.
She was tired. Overthinking. Maybe even hoping for something extraordinary, just to distract her from the pain that still sat heavy in her chest every time she closed her eyes.
The sound of a distant howl cut through the night.
She stiffened.
It was long. Mournful. Beautiful.
But not ordinary.
It didn't sound like any wolf call she'd ever studied.
It sounded… almost human.
She set her mug down, heart racing again. The sound lingered in her bones long after the howl faded.
Far beyond her porch, hidden in the shadows of the trees, Kellan Drake watched.
He stood still, every muscle coiled, every instinct sharp. His wolf was restless beneath his skin, pacing, growling, clawing to surface.
He had watched the girl.
Watched her step into his territory like she didn't know better. Like she wasn't walking over sacred ground that had soaked in the blood of pack wars and old oaths.
She didn't belong here.
And yet… she did.
The forest hadn't rejected her. Hadn't turned her away like it did most outsiders. And that… that disturbed him more than he cared to admit.
He had intended to scare her off tonight.
But when he saw her—saw the look in her eyes, the defiance under the fear—something in him shifted.
Something dangerous.
He had come to scare her.
Instead, he found himself drawn to her.