Chapter 4 :Friendship in Darkness

Three months pass. Three months of full moons and secret meetings. Three months of my life finally having something to look forward to.

Tonight is our twelfth meeting.

I wait until everyone is asleep before sneaking out. The path to the river is worn now from my repeated trips. I could walk it blindfolded.

Stark is already there when I arrive. He's sitting on a rock, skipping stones across the water. When he sees me, his entire face changes. Like the sun just came out.

"You came," he says.

"I always come," I reply, wading into the water.

"I know. But I'm always terrified you won't." He picks up a stone and tosses it to me. "Here. Let me teach you something."

I catch the stone. It's smooth and flat, warm from his hand.

"You hold it like this," he says, showing me. "Thumb underneath. Index finger on top. Then you flick your wrist as you release it."

He demonstrates. The stone skips across the water, Four times before it sinks.

"Your turn," he says.

I try but my stone hits the water and immediately sinks.

"Again," he encourages. "You're thinking too hard. You have to feel it. Let your body know what to do."

On my fifth attempt, my stone skips twice. I jump up and down in excitement.

"I did it! Did you see that?"

Stark is watching me with this soft expression on his face. "I saw it. You're a natural."

"Stop lying," I say. "I'm terrible at this."

"You're not," he says seriously. "You're terrible at believing in yourself. But you're good at stone skipping. These are two different things."

We spent the next hour by the river. I try again and again. My best is five skips. When I finally do it, I turn to Stark with the biggest smile on my face.

He's not looking at the skips. He's looking at me.

"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing," he says quickly. "Just... you're beautiful when you smile. You should do it more often."

Heat creeps up my neck. "That's a line."

"It's the truth," he says. "But I know you don't believe compliments yet. So I'll just keep telling you until you do."

"That's annoying," I say.

"Good," he replies. "I'm trying to annoy you into loving yourself."

I change the subject quickly before he can say anything else that makes my heart do weird things.

"What about you?" I ask. "You know so much about me. But I barely know anything about you. Tell me something real."

Stark is quiet for a moment. He picks up a stone and turns it over in his hands.

"I'm alone a lot," he finally says. "More than I let on. My family... they don't really understand me. They think I'm weak for not fitting in with what I'm supposed to be."

"What are you supposed to be?" I ask carefully.

"Strong. Ruthless. Good at hunting and killing and all the things that make a..." He stops himself. "Let's just say I'm supposed to be a lot of things I'm not."

I get the sense he almost told me something important. But I don't push. I've learned that Stark will tell me things when he's ready.

"I think you're strong," I say quietly. "You don't have to prove it by hurting things."

"You're the only one who thinks that," he says.

"Then you listen to me instead of them," I tell him.

He looks at me for a long moment. Then he smiles. That real smile that makes everything in me go soft.

"When did you get so wise?" he asks.

"I'm not wise. I'm just... thinking of what I wish someone had told me."

The next month, he brings me food.

Real food. Not the scraps I'm used to. Fresh bread.

Cheese. An apple. Things that haven't been sitting in a bin for days.

"Where did you get this?" I ask, already halfway through the apple.

"Does it matter?" he replies.

"Yes. If you stole it–"

"I didn't steal it," he interrupts. "I have... resources. Let's leave it at that."

I don't ask more questions. I'm too grateful to have real food in my stomach. I eat like I haven't eaten in weeks. Because honestly, most weeks I haven't.

Stark watches me eat with this painful expression on his face.

"What?" I ask through a mouthful of bread.

"You're so thin," he says. "They're not feeding you enough."

"I get enough to survive," I say.

"You shouldn't have to just survive, Roselyn. You should be able to live."

"I'm trying," I say quietly.

"I know you are." He reaches out like he's going to touch me, then stops himself. "I wish I could do more."

"You're doing enough," I say. "You're doing more than enough. You're here. That's enough."

One night, I tell him about my wolf.

We're sitting by the water, and I'm feeling brave because the moon is especially bright tonight.

"My wolf was supposed to come at eighteen," I say. "Everyone said it would be the best day of my life. Instead, it was the worst."

"What happened?" Stark asks gently.

"Nothing happened," I say bitterly. "That's the problem. I stood there in front of the entire pack and I called and called and nothing came. My wolf never woke up. I was wolfless. I am wolfless. And the pack decided I wasn't worth anything after that."

"You know that's not true, right?" Stark says. "Your worth isn't determined by a wolf."

"How would you know?" I snap, then immediately feel bad. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bite your head off."

"It's okay," he says. "You're allowed to be angry about it.

But listen to me. I've known a lot of wolves. Literally hundreds. And I've never met one as strong as you. You're strong without a wolf. In fact, you're stronger because you don't have one. Because you have to use your brain and your heart instead of just your instincts.”

"No one's ever said that to me before," I whisper.

"Then everyone in your pack is an idiot," he says flatly.

"Including the ones who are supposed to lead them."

I start crying, Stark just sits there and lets me cry. He doesn't try to fix it or make it better. He just... lets me feel it.

When I finally stop, he says, "You're the strongest person I know, Roselyn. I mean that."

Months pass. We meet every full moon. Sometimes twice a month when the moon is high and I can sneak away.

We talk about everything. Our childhoods. Our fears. Our dreams.

He tells me he wants to leave his family someday. That he's tired of being controlled and told what to do.

I tell him I dream about a place where people are kind just because. Where I'm not constantly waiting for the next hit.

"We could find that place," he says one night. "Together. Just disappear into the world and never look back."

"That's not realistic," I say, even though part of me desperately wants it to be true.

"Neither is a vampire and a werewolf being friends," he points out. "Yet here we are."

I don't have a response to that.

Tonight, six months into knowing him, something different happens.

We're standing closer than usual. The water between us is shallow. Maybe three feet.

"I brought you something," he says, pulling out a small leather journal from his pocket.

"What is this?" I ask, taking it carefully.

"Somewhere to write your thoughts," he says.

"Somewhere just for you. So you don't have to keep everything locked up inside."

I flip through the pages. They're all blank and waiting.

"Stark, this is..." I don't know how to finish. No one's ever given me a gift like this. Not since my parents died.

"I want you to feel like you have a voice," he says. "Even if no one else will listen, at least your thoughts will be here. Safe."

I'm overwhelmed. I don't know whether to cry or laugh or kiss him.

Wait. Kiss him? Where did that come from?

I look up at him and realize how close we are standing. Close enough that I can feel the cold radiating from his skin.

"Thank you," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You don't have to thank me," he replies. "I'd give you anything you asked for."

The water between us feels like an ocean right now. So much space that shouldn't exist.

"We shouldn't do this," I say, but I don't move away.

"Do what?" he asks softly.

"Get this close," I say. "Feel this much. It's going to end badly. You know it will."

"Maybe," he says. "But I don't care anymore. Knowing you is worth whatever comes next."

He reaches out. His hand moves slowly, giving me time to pull away.

I don't pull away.

His cold fingers brush against my warm hand. The contact is electric. Like lightning and ice and heat all at once.

We're both breathing heavily. Both staring at our hands touching across the water that's supposed to keep us apart.

"If anyone finds out about this, they'll kill us both."

"I know," he says.

"That doesn't scare you?" I ask.

"Terrifies me," he admits. "But not enough to make me stop. Not anymore."

Our fingers intertwine. His skin is so cold against mine.

But it doesn't feel wrong. It feels like exactly what I need.

"One month until the next full moon," he says. "I don't know if I can wait that long."

"You have to," I say, but I'm not pulling my hand away.

"It's too dangerous if we meet more often."

"I know." He squeezes my hand gently. "I just don't like it."

We stand there, holding hands across the river, the moonlight making everything silver and magical. It feels like we're the only two people in the world. Like nothing else exists except this moment.

"Roselyn," he says. "I need to tell you something. Something important."

"What?" I ask, my heart suddenly racing.

But before he can answer, a sound cuts through the night.

A wolf howl.

Then another, and several more.

Pack warriors. Heading toward the river.

"Go!" Stark says urgently, releasing my hand. "Go now!"

"What about you?" I ask.

"I can disappear. They won't see me. But if they find you here with me..." He doesn't finish the thought. He doesn't have to.

I run. Back toward pack territory as fast as my legs can carry me.

Behind me, I hear Stark's voice one last time, carried on the wind: "I'll see you next month!"

But as I crash through the forest, I realize with cold dread that next month might be too late.

Someone saw us. Someone knows.

And very soon, everything is going to change.