TWO

Chapter Two: Eyes in the Trees

Kelsie's POV

The small village of Sterling looked like a postcard painted in the twilight mist. As Kelsie's truck rounded the final crest of the asphalt highway, the town revealed itself nestled in a cradle of dark, jagged mountains. A single main street stretched out before her, lined with rustic stone and heavy timber buildings whose paned windows glowed with a warm, amber invitation.

The air here felt heavy and ancient, resting over the valley like a thick velvet blanket. Kelsie eased her truck into a gravel parking space directly outside a storefront with a beautifully faded wooden sign that read Sterling Goods. When she cut the engine, the transition from her thoughts to the reality of the town was seamless.

Stepping out into the crisp evening air, she immediately noticed how different the quiet was here. It wasn't the vast, isolating silence of the high pines, nor was it the hollow emptiness of her suburban house in the city. This was a living, breathing quiet. It was filled with the low, rhythmic hum of neighborly conversation drifting through the propped-open door of a nearby diner and the faint, comforting clink of ceramic dishes.

The locals she passed moved with a calm, unhurried grace—a steady, deliberate rhythm that Kelsie hadn't experienced since leaving her own small hometown decades ago. Nobody seemed to be rushing. Nobody was checking their phones with frantic urgency.

As she stepped onto the wooden boardwalk, her artistic eye was instantly drawn to a tall, broad-shouldered man standing across the street by a massive pickup truck. He wasn't doing anything remarkable—just leaning his formidable frame against the steel fender while talking to a small group of three or four other men. Yet, Kelsie noticed that everyone who walked past him gave a subtle, deeply respectful nod.

He was a striking figure. His thick, dark hair was touched with stark silver at the temples, and his features looked as though they had been chiseled out of the mountain granite itself. He possessed a quiet, almost predatory stillness, moving with a controlled, effortless economy of motion. Even from across the street, his deep eyes seemed to hold the ancient, heavy weight of a king.

Before she could feel guilty for staring, a young boy—no older than five—came sprinting out from the general store. The child didn't hesitate; he ran straight up to the commanding stranger and tugged hard on his massive, calloused hand.

Kelsie watched, fascinated, as the man’s stoic, unyielding expression melted instantly into a gentle, genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He lowered himself fully into the mountain dirt, kneeling down to look the child directly in the eye, listening to whatever the boy was babbling about with absolute, undivided attention.

The striking contrast between his fierce, unspoken authority with the men and his immediate, tender softness with the child made a profound wave of curiosity wash over Kelsie.

Mind your own business, Kelsie, she chided herself silently, forcing her eyes down toward the boardwalk. You came here for groceries and peace, not to dissect the local hierarchy.

Shaking off the distraction, she turned and walked through the propped-open door of The Timberline Diner. The interior was small, cozy, and smelled beautifully of fried chicken, melted butter, and rich, dark coffee. A counter line of vinyl stools faced an open kitchen, and a few wooden booths lined the panoramic windows. She took a solitary stool near the center of the counter, setting her purse on her lap.

Within seconds, a friendly woman with a warm, perceptive smile and her dark hair pulled back in a loose pony stepped up to the counter. Her nametag read Jenny.

"Well, hello there," Jenny said, her voice carrying a soft, welcoming lilt as she flipped a ceramic mug upright and poured a stream of steaming black coffee without even being asked. "You look like you've been on the road for a spell. Welcome to Sterling."

Kelsie warmed her hands against the mug, offering a small, grateful smile. "Is it that obvious? I just drove in from the highway. My name is Kelsie."

"A little bit," Jenny chuckled softly, leaning her forearms against the clean counter. "We know just about every truck that rolls through this valley, and yours has a city plate. Plus, you’ve got that look folks get when they finally escape the interstate. What brings you out our way?"

"I actually just bought the old cabin down by the creek," Kelsie explained before taking a slow sip of the excellent coffee. "The old Miller place. I needed a quiet place to get back to my roots—to focus on my painting and my writing."

Jenny’s eyes flickered, a subtle, unreadable expression passing through them for a fraction of a second before her warm smile returned. "The Miller cabin? Oh, that’s a beautiful piece of land. Deep in the woods. You’ll definitely find your quiet out there. Have you got anything to eat today, Kelsie?"

"Honestly, I haven't eaten since dawn. I'm starving."

"Say no more," Jenny said, tapping the counter authoritatively. "I’m bringing you the blue-plate special. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and roasted carrots. Trust me, it’s exactly what you need."

As Jenny moved down the counter to place the order, Kelsie leaned back, allowing the soothing rhythm of low voices and familiar names around her to wash away the last lingering stress of her drive. The diner was filled with a gentle camaraderie. But as she listened to the low murmur of the surrounding tables, she began to notice a recurring thread.

Two older men in a nearby booth were talking about a clearing project near the eastern ridge, and one of them murmured, "Seth said we ought to hold off until the weekend." A minute later, a young couple near the jukebox mentioned the upcoming winter firewood distribution, noting that "Seth already approved the allocation for the lower valley."

The silver-templed man from across the street. People spoke of him in hushed, incredibly respectful tones—not with fear, but with a deep, reverent deference, the way a small community might speak of a highly respected mayor, a tribal elder, or a patriarch who carried the entire town on his shoulders.

When Jenny returned, sliding a steaming, generous plate of comfort food in front of her, Kelsie couldn't help but ask.

"Jenny, if you don't mind me asking... who is the man across the street by the black truck? The tall one. I noticed everyone seems to know him."

Jenny paused, her dish towel slung over her shoulder. Her expression grew soft, her eyes tracking toward the window for a brief second before locking back onto Kelsie. "Ah. That’s Seth. Seth Callahan."

"He seems to carry a lot of weight around here," Kelsie noted casually, cutting into the meatloaf.

"He does," Jenny replied, her voice dropping to a low, respectful register. "More than most folks could ever handle. He looks after this town, Kelsie. If anyone in this valley is in trouble, or if a family needs help, Seth is the one who makes sure it's sorted. He’s... well, he’s our bedrock. But he’s a quiet man. Keeps to himself mostly." Jenny offered a small, perceptive smile. "Eat up, now. Don't let it get cold."

Kelsie ate gratefully, the food warming her to her bones. Once she finished, she paid her bill, thanked Jenny for the incredible hospitality, and walked next door to Sterling Goods.

The general store was a sensory delight of cedar shelves packed with everything from cast-iron cookware and heavy wool blankets to fresh, vibrant produce and jars of local honey. As she pushed a small wire cart through the aisles, gathering bread, milk, eggs, fresh vegetables, and coffee grounds, she noticed the same underlying energy. The clerk behind the counter, an older man with kind eyes, was speaking to a customer about a broken water line, mentioning that "Seth’s brothers are heading up there first thing in the morning to patch it."

It was fascinating to Kelsie. In the city, neighbors barely knew each other's names, and authority was an invisible, bureaucratic machine. Here, this entire community seemed to beat to the single, steady pulse of one man's leadership.

With her paper bags rustling securely in her arms, Kelsie walked back out to her truck. The twilight had fully deepened into a cool, starry mountain night, and the isolation of her new cabin was calling to her. She loaded the groceries into the passenger side, climbed into the cab, and started the engine. She had gotten exactly what she came for, but as she drove away from the warm lights of Sterling, her mind was spinning with quiet questions about the somber, beautiful man who ruled the valley with a silent nod.

Seth’s POV

The scent was what hit him first, cutting through the familiar, comforting smells of pine needles, woodsmoke, and damp earth like a physical blow to his sternum.

It was a complex, utterly intoxicating mix—the bright, fresh clarity of rain falling on dry leaves, the deep, rich note of old parchment paper, and a faint, clean undertone of sun-warmed linen. It was undeniably a human scent, but it carried an electric, heavy undercurrent that caused his inner wolf, Shade, to roar violently awake from his patient slumber deep within Seth's soul.

Seth’s entire body went rigid against the steel fender of his truck. The words he was speaking to his Beta, Marcus, died instantly in his throat. His chest expanded, his nostrils flaring as he dragged the air deep into his lungs, tracking the invisible trail until his amber-tinged eyes locked onto her.

She had just stepped out of her truck across the street. She moved with a quiet, hesitant grace that looked entirely out of place among the boisterous, familiar movements of the townspeople. Her auburn hair was a startling, gorgeous splash of fire in the fading twilight, and even from this distance, his enhanced eyesight could see the brilliant, shifting streaks of gold in her hazel eyes. The way she was dressed—in thick, layered, oversized sweaters and worn jeans—spoke of a solitary, deeply creative soul.

MATE.

The word wasn't a thought; it was a primal, deafening roar that detonated through every cell of his body, echoing directly from his wolf's soul. Our second chance, Seth! The Goddess has given her to us. She is ours!

Seth’s jaw clenched so tightly that a sharp pain shot up his temples. A cold, suffocating wave of adrenaline flooded his veins. He ruthlessly slammed a mental iron wall down against his wolf, forcing the beast back into the dark recesses of his mind, completely ignoring Shade's frantic, guttural clawing.

No, Seth fired back mentally, his internal voice a hard, unyielding stone. Shade, stop! We are not doing this.

He had buried that part of his heart a long, agonizing decade ago. He had mourned his first mate with a grief that had nearly torn his human mind to pieces and left his pack vulnerable. He had bled for his people, fought to keep this territory safe, and had painstakingly constructed a life of rigid, absolute duty and total emotional solitude. He had convinced himself he was content. There was simply no room in his life for this kind of blinding, all-consuming, terrifying emotion again. He could not, would not, survive that catastrophic loss a second time. The pack needed an Alpha who was a steady, unshakeable mountain, not a man broken and hollowed out by the fragile mortality of a human mate.

"Alpha?" Marcus asked, his deep voice snapping Seth back to the pavement. Marcus was staring at him, his brow furrowed in sudden concern, his own wolf sensing the massive wave of tension rolling off his leader. "What is it? Did you catch a rogue on the wind?"

"No," Seth rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that sounded forced even to his own ears. He kept his eyes locked on the girl as she walked toward the diner. "Nothing. A new scent. Human."

Marcus turned his head, tracking Seth's gaze. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the woman entering the diner, and then he looked back at Seth, his expression turning incredibly grave. As a high-ranking pack member, Marcus could feel the faint, sympathetic vibration of the Alpha's bond flaring to life. "Seth... is that...?"

"Don't say it, Marcus," Seth commanded, his tone dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. "It’s nothing. She’s a human passing through. That's all."

Against every ounce of his logic, against his own explicit command, Seth's boots moved. His body refused to obey his mind. Like a compass needle drawn to true north, he found himself crossing the street, leaving his pack brothers standing in silence on the gravel.

He slipped into The Timberline Diner a minute after she did, his movements entirely silent despite his massive size. He didn't want her to see him. He couldn't risk her looking at him yet; the raw, unshielded power of the mate bond was flaring so violently in his chest that he was terrified a single glance from her would break his fragile control.

He slipped into the dark booth in the far corner of the room—a perfect vantage point that offered a full view of her profile at the counter without putting himself in her direct line of sight.

Within moments, Jenny approached his booth. She was a pack sister, her senses sharp. She quietly set down a heavy mug of black coffee he hadn't asked for, but she just always knew he’d need, her eyes moving from the human woman at the counter back to Seth. Her expression was filled with a soft, heavy sympathy that made Seth want to snarl.

"She’s not a local," Jenny murmured, her voice strictly under the human frequency of hearing, pitch-perfect for wolf ears. "She just drove in. Her name is Kelsie Rourke. She told me she just bought the old Miller cabin on the edge of the creek."

"I know," Seth said, his voice a low, rough rumble in his chest. He gripped the ceramic coffee mug, his knuckles turning white under the pressure. The thought of her living at the very edge of his territory, completely isolated in the deep timber, made his wolf howl with a fierce, territorial possessiveness.

"Her scent... it's a beautiful thing, Alpha," Jenny noted gently, her heart aching for the heavy sorrow she could feel rolling off her leader. "It’s a powerful pull. Shade is roaring, isn't he?"

"Go back to work, Jenny," Seth commanded, his eyes never leaving the graceful line of Kelsie's neck as she tilted her head to drink her coffee.

She is ours, Shade insisted, a low, rumbling growl of absolute dominance building in Seth's head. Look at her hands. Look at her mouth. She is the one we have dreamed of in the dark. We will not let her get away, Seth. Not again. I will break these walls if I have to.

She is human, Shade, Seth roared back into the mental link, his heart hardening into a fortress of denial. She knows nothing of what we are. She is fragile. She will age, she will break, and she will leave us just like the past. I will not lay the weight of this pack on a human soul, and I will not bury another mate. She is not for us. Not now. Not ever.

He sat in the dark booth for thirty minutes, entirely frozen, watching her eat with a strange, agonizing fascination. He memorized the quiet, intentional focus of her movements, the way a small smile touched her lips when she spoke to Jenny, and the complete, beautiful oblivion of her human nature. She had absolutely no idea that a monster was sitting fifty feet away, fighting a civil war within his own skin just to keep from dragging her into the mountains.

He watched her leave the diner. He followed her with his eyes as she entered the general store, his enhanced senses tracking the faint, lingering trail of rain and old books through the cracks in the wooden doors. He waited until she finally came out with her groceries, climbed into her truck, and drove away, her taillights disappearing down the dark canyon road.

The moment her truck vanished, the diner felt entirely empty, the air turning cold and stagnant. Seth stood up, leaving a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and walked out into the night. The conflict between the man and the beast was a raging, torturous fire in his veins. One half of him screamed to run into the woods, strip out of his clothes, shift, and claim what the Goddess had promised him. The other half was absolutely paralyzed by the terrifying prospect of loving her.

Kelsie's POV

The drive back to the cabin was a slow, cautious journey. The two-lane road was pitch-black, illuminated only by the sharp, white beams of her truck's headlights cutting through the swirling mountain mist. When she finally turned onto her gravel driveway, the sight of the cabin brought an immediate wave of relief. The porch lamp and the living room lights were burning exactly as she had left them, casting a warm, golden glow against the dark, imposing shadows of the surrounding pines. It looked like a true sanctuary.

She parked the truck, grabbed the heavy paper bags of groceries, and hurried up the creaking wooden steps. Once inside, she set the bags on the kitchen counter and immediately went to work unpacking them.

But as she placed the milk in the small refrigerator and arranged the canned goods on the cedar shelves, her mind stubbornly refused to stay on task. It kept wandering back to the silver-templed man she had seen in the village.

Seth.

There had been something so profoundly somber in his stance when he was looking down at that little boy. It was a look she recognized instantly because she saw it every single morning when she looked into the bathroom mirror. It was the expression of someone who had survived a quiet, devastating wreck inside their own soul. He looked as though he were carrying the weight of the entire world on his broad shoulders—a crushing, suffocating burden of responsibility and grief that she knew all too well.

"Stop it, Kelsie," she whispered to the empty kitchen, closing the refrigerator door with a soft click. "He's a stranger in a small town. You're projecting."

Needing a physical distraction to quiet her overactive mind, she walked out to the living room. As she approached the large front window, she noticed that the sun was executing its final, spectacular performance over the mountains. Through the jagged silhouetted lines of the dense pines, a bleeding display of deep rose, brilliant gold, and rich violet was filtering through the trees. It was a breathtaking, ethereal sight, practically begging her to come outside and capture it.

The inspiration was sudden and powerful, a sharp tug in her chest that she hadn't felt in over a year.

Moving quickly, she grabbed her heavy professional sketchpad, a wooden case of soft pastels, and poured herself a generous glass of red wine. She stepped out onto the front porch, the cool mountain air instantly filling her lungs and chasing away the stagnant scent of the cardboard boxes. She settled onto the old wooden porch swing, setting her wine glass on the small side table beside her.

Pushing off the porch floor with the toe of her boot, she established a slow, hypnotic rhythm. The old wood creaked gently back and forth, a soothing, repetitive sound that seemed to synchronize with her breathing. She rested the heavy sketchpad against her knees, chose a deep violet pastel, and began to work.

At first, she focused entirely on the sky. Her fingers moved with a practiced, fluid memory, blending the vibrant streaks of rose and gold across the textured paper, capturing the way the mountain light died in gradients. It felt incredible to create again. It felt like a small, vital piece of her soul was waking up from a long coma.

But as the twilight began to fail, dissolving the vibrant colors into deep, uniform shadows, Kelsie noticed that her hand seemed to take on a subconscious will of its own.

Without her deliberate guidance, her darkest charcoal pastel began to outline a shape in the heavy brush of the treeline. Her fingers moved with rapid, frantic strokes, shading and contouring. Something massive. Four-legged.

She looked down at the paper, her breath catching slightly. It was a wolf. A wolf as black as night, its powerful silhouette so perfectly and naturally integrated into the sketched trees that it looked like an organic extension of the landscape itself. It was a flawless, terrifyingly accurate rendering of a predator waiting in the dark.

As she used her thumb to shade the thick, coarse fur around the wolf's heavy neck, a sudden, violent prickle erupted down the back of her neck.

The air around the porch seemed to drop five degrees in an instant. A heavy, suffocating sensation vibrated through her skin—the unmistakable, undeniable feeling of being watched by an intense, unseen intelligence.

Kelsie stopped her hand, her thumb freezing against the paper. Slowly, her heart beginning to hammer a frantic rhythm against her ribs, she lifted her head from the sketchpad. Her hazel eyes scanned the dark, dense woods of the clearing.

Nothing.

The wind rustled gently through the high branches, and the long shadows of the pines stretched across the gravel drive, mingling with the last, dying violet light of the sky. She forced a hard breath out of her lungs, trying to steady her hands.

"Get a grip, Kelsie," she muttered under her breath, her voice sounding small in the vast wilderness. "It's just your overactive imagination. You're sitting in the woods drawing wolves, of course you're going to creep yourself out."

She lowered her gaze back to the pad, forcing herself to add another line to the sketched trees. But the moment her pastel touched the paper, the feeling returned—twice as strong, vibrating through her veins like an electric current. It was an absolute certainty. There was something out there. In the dark. Watching her.

She snapped her head up sharply, her eyes locking directly onto a thick, shadowy grove of ancient pines just thirty feet from the edge of her porch.

And there, tucked deep within the encroaching gloom of the undergrowth, she saw them.

Two faint, perfectly luminous eyes. They were a pale, hauntingly beautiful yellow, glowing with their own internal, steady light against the pitch-blackness of the brush. They weren't shifting or blinking; they were fixed entirely on her, holding a terrifying, intelligent intensity that made her entire world tilt on its axis.

Her breath hitched violently in her throat, her lungs locking up. The image of the eyes was so brief, so ethereal, that a part of her desperate, rational mind screamed that it wasn't real—that it was just a cruel trick of the moonlight filtering through wet pine needles.

But her heart knew better. The raw, primal weight of that gaze was undeniable.

Forcing herself to remain completely calm, she took a deep, steadying breath through her nose, drawing on her lifelong love and understanding of the animals. She knew that if it was a wolf, showing fear or running would instantly trigger its predatory instinct to chase. She needed to project peace.

Steeling her nerves, she spoke softly into the dark clearing, her voice gentle, smooth, and entirely unafraid.

"Good evening, neighbor."

The pale yellow eyes didn't waver. They remained fixed on her, drinking in the sound of her voice.

Slowly, deliberately, keeping her movements fluid and unhurried so as not to spook or offend the massive creature she was certain was hiding in the brush, Kelsie stood up from the porch swing. She bent down smoothly, her fingers closing around the stem of her wine glass without a single jerk.

"I'm new here," she murmured into the shadows, keeping her eyes anchored toward the grove. "So I'll try really hard not to step on your toes or encroach on your space, okay? We can share the mountain."

Holding her sketchpad to her chest like a shield, she walked calmly, rhythmically across the porch toward the cabin door. She reached out, turned the handle, and stepped inside the warm, illuminated living room.

The moment the heavy log door clicked securely into the frame, the false bravado evaporated. Kelsie leaned her back heavily against the solid wood, her knees turning to water as she released the breath she had been holding in a long, trembling gasp. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. With a shaking hand, she reached over, slid the heavy iron deadbolt into place, and locked out the night.

Seth’s POV

He had followed her truck all the way back to the old creek cabin, tracking her vehicle from the deep shadows of the parallel tree line. He had told himself he was only doing it to ensure she made it back safely—that as Alpha, it was his duty to monitor any new human presence on the borders of his land.

But it was a lie. A beautiful, pathetic lie.

He was being dragged by the heels, completely enslaved by the magnetic, agonizing pull of the flare in his chest. Now, he stood completely hidden within the thick, tangled undergrowth of the pine grove, his massive black-furred form blending seamlessly into the pitch-blackness of the wilderness.

Through the leaves, he watched her.

He watched as she sat on the old wooden porch swing, matching the rhythmic, gentle creak of the wood to his own slow heartbeat. He watched the way the golden light from the cabin window illuminated the side of her face, catching the delicate, elegant curve of her jaw and the rich auburn of her hair.

For a long time, he just stood there, breathing her in, letting Shade bask in the agonizingly close proximity of their mate.

Until her hand, without any warning, began to draw him.

Seth’s entire body locked up in the dirt. Through his enhanced night vision, he watched her fingers fly across the white paper, creating lines and contours that shouldn't have made sense in the dark. But as the image took shape, his breath stopped. She was sketching a wolf. A massive, heavy-shouldered black wolf waiting in the shadows.

A deep, involuntary growl rumbled low in his chest, a vibration so faint it barely stirred the pine needles beneath his paws.

Instantly, Shade surged forward against his mental barriers, his wolf's voice a frantic, desperate pleading in his mind. No! Seth, stay! Don’t pull back. Please? Mate means us no harm. She is drawing us! She feels us here!

Seth violently forced himself to step a back into the deeper shadows of the grove, his hackles bristling as a violent jolt of pure shock ran straight down his spine. It had been years since he had felt a connection this sharp, this terrifyingly telepathic. Not since his first mate had passed. The sheer accuracy of her intuition was a threat to every wall he had built. He couldn't go there. He couldn't let her in.

But then, her head snapped up.

Seth froze, his amber-yellow eyes locking directly onto her hazel ones. He knew the exact moment she spotted his reflection in the dark. He saw her breath hitch, saw the sudden, beautiful tension that gripped her small frame. He braced himself for the inevitable—the human scream of terror, the panicked drop of the sketchpad, the frantic run for the door. He expected her to look at him and see a monster.

Instead, her soft, steady voice drifted across the gravel drive, cutting through the mountain air like a warm melody.

"Good evening, neighbor."

Something shifted violently inside Seth's chest, a profound, shattering crack that had nothing to do with the ancient biology of the mate bond. It was an entirely human connection. She wasn't screaming. She wasn't afraid. She was looking into the black heart of the woods, seeing the eyes of an apex predator, and offering him a greeting of peace.

He stopped fighting Shade entirely. His wolf went completely still, his tongue lolling slightly as he simply stared at her through the clearing, utterly transfixed.

"I'm new here," her beautiful voice murmured again, carrying an incredible gentleness that made his soul ache. "So I'll try really hard not to step on your toes or encroach on your space, okay? We can share the mountain."

He watched her stand, her movements smooth and respectful, and walk calmly back into the cabin, closing the heavy log door behind her. The sharp, mechanical click of her deadbolt sliding into place echoed through the clearing, a clear boundary drawn between her world and his.

The temperature in the canyon dropped instantly. The wind picked up, carrying the heavy, electric scent of ozone and iron. A summer storm was drawing nearer, the clouds rolling over the mountain peaks to block out the stars.

Seth closed his eyes, dragging one final, deep breath of her lingering scent into his lungs before turning his massive body away from the glowing cabin window. He used the approaching weather as an explicit, rigid excuse to force his wolf out of the clearing.

We need to check the border patrols before the rain hits, he commanded Shade, his internal voice heavy with authority. Don't forget what we are. We are the Alpha of this valley. We have a pack to lead, borders to secure, and a storm to manage. With or without the chance of a new mate, our duty comes first.

Turning his back on the light, the giant black wolf melted silently into the dark timber, running hard into the oncoming storm, trying desperately to outrun the fire burning in his own chest.

The sound was magnificent, a long, haunting, and incredibly pure baritone wail that echoed off the rock faces of the surrounding mountains. It vibrated through the twilight, powerful enough that Kelsie could feel the resonance of the note directly in her chest.

By all logical accounts, a city woman standing completely alone on the porch of an isolated cabin in the wilderness should have been utterly terrified by the primal sound of a apex predator hunting nearby. Her instincts should have told her to run back inside and bolt the door.

Instead, Kelsie stopped dead in her tracks, her boots frozen on the gravel drive. She tilted her head toward the dark treeline, a slow, genuine smile breaking across her face.

She closed her eyes, listening as the final echoes of the magnificent howl faded into the whispering pines. It didn't feel threatening to her. To a woman who had spent a lifetime studying their language, the cry felt anchoring. It was a declaration of presence, a statement of belonging to the night.

Somehow, the wild wolf's cry had made her feel a little less alone in the world.

"Good luck tonight," she whispered softly to the trees.

She gathered her supplies, and with a deep sigh, turned and entered the safety of the cabin, entirely unaware that the wolf she had just cheered for was currently watching her taillights fade from the shadows of the brush.