Chapter 7: Elunara

He's tall and unapologetically masculine. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows, broad forearms flexing as he drives a nail into the wooden beam with deliberate force. His jeans are worn and fit his toned legs like they were tailored just for him. There’s a tool belt slung low on his hips.

I stop a few feet away, unsure if I should call out.

He senses me before I speak.

His head turns slowly, eyes locking with mine.

And something shifts in the air. While the birds are singing, the silence between us deepens. My skin prickles.

He’s... beautiful.

Not in any way I can rationalize. There’s something about him that defies explanation. His face is hard angles and dusky shadows, hair dark and tousled. His gaze is molten steel—cool on the surface, but something dangerous swirls just beneath.

“Hello.” I say, my voice smaller than I intend.

He doesn’t respond right away. Just studies me. Like he’s trying to figure out what I’m doing here.

“Elunara,” he finally says.

The sound of my name on his tongue is a command. It makes me weak in the knees. The unspoken suggestion that I should be on them and at his side makes my nipples harden.

I clear my throat. “People call me Elle.”

He sets the hammer down on a beam. “Names matter.”

I blink. “Right. Okay.”

There’s a pause—thick and oddly charged. I can’t tell if I’m supposed to say something else, or if he’s waiting for me to run.

And if I run, would he chase me? The thought gets stuck in my head, and the silence between us turns awkward before I manage to speak again.

“I didn’t realize there were still workers on the farm,” I say, trying to keep it casual.

His mouth curves, but it’s not a smile.

I wait, expecting him to answer. He doesn’t.

“Right.” I hesitate, then try a different approach. “And you are…?”

“Darius.”

I nod slowly, watching him wipe his hands on a rag and pick up another nail.

He doesn’t seem like a farmhand. Not really. There’s something about the way he holds himself, like he belongs to this place—but not in the way of someone who works the land.

More like someone who rules it.

“So, Darius,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the blood racing in my veins. “How long have you been here?”

He glances at me, and something flickers behind his eyes. “A while.”

The air between us hums. It’s subtle, but unmistakable.

I should look away.

Instead, I take a step closer.

“Did you know the previous owners?”

That draws a solemn frown to his lips. “No one’s been here for a long time.”

I point at the house. “Do you—um—live in the—”

“No, it’s all yours.” He glances up at the sky, which is turning a soft shade of orange, before pointing at the house. “You should get inside and settle in before it gets dark.”

I turn to follow where he’s pointing and look at the house.

Speaking more to myself. “I don’t know about this. I mean, I don’t even know you.”

“You will.” His voice echoes around me, both here and not.

A shiver curls up my spine. When I turn to look back at Darius—he’s gone.

I do a slow circle.

There’s no sign that he was ever here. No crunch of boots, no rustle of leaves. Just empty space where that man used to be.

I take a slow, deep breath and head to the house.

The porch groans under my feet. The door creaks like in a horror movie when I open it, sending a chill through me.

The interior smells faintly of cedar, a hint of a wood-burning stove that hasn’t been used in a long time, and something older.

There’s furniture—aged, but solid. A long leather couch, a fireplace lined with stone, and a grand staircase that winds up to the second floor. Everything’s quiet. No ticking clocks. No hum of electricity.

I find a room at the end of the hall on the second floor. It’s simple but not bare—just a neatly made bed, thin curtains, and a closet with nothing in it. No pictures. No shoes left under the dresser. Like whoever once used this space knew they wouldn’t be back.

My first order of business is to set Rex up in his new home. I cross the area to the windowsill and set him down, checking the dirt with my finger to make sure he doesn’t need to be watered.

I toss my bag on the bed and dig out some clothes to sleep in. As I change, the house gets darker by the minute, shadows stretch across the walls, then pool in corners like globs of ink. I decide to shower in the morning. For now, I wash my face in the sink and crawl under the covers.

A sigh slips out of my mouth. The sheets are cool. The mattress is soft as though it’s cradling me.

I close my eyes to sleep, but my mind keeps circling back to Darius. The way he looked at me. The way he said my name like it belonged to him.

Elunara.

I shiver again, pulling the blanket higher and tucking it under my chin.

Outside, the stars shine brighter than I’ve ever seen in my life. The wind has picked up and is brushing against the glass. One shutter knocks open and closed on the other side of the house.

But that’s not the only sound.

There’s something else.

At first, it’s faint. A low groan. Guttural. Almost… feral.

I sit up.

It’s coming from the barn.

Another moan—this one longer. Pained. Maybe hungry. I can’t tell.

There’s something in the sound that gets me on my feet and padding across my room to the window.

Then something moves near the treeline.

A shadow.

It’s too tall to be an animal. It weaves through the trees with measured grace, then it stops abruptly. I can’t make out a shape, but I sense it’s turned, and it’s looking up at my window.

My breath catches. I inch closer to the windowpane, press my fingers to the glass, and squint into the night.

But it’s gone.

Whatever this place is, it doesn’t sleep. And wherever I am… I’m definitely not alone anymore.