The cottage lights glowed like little lanterns in the dusk when Clara finally stumbled up the gravel path. Her chest heaved, her calves ached, but relief nearly buckled her knees when she saw the familiar stone porch and the carved oak door.
Before she could even lift her hand to knock, the door swung open.
"Clara Jean!" Aunt May exclaimed, throwing her arms wide. "Do you know what time it is? You had me worried sick!"
Clara was immediately swallowed into a hug that smelled of cinnamon, lavender, and the faintest hint of woodsmoke. Her aunt squeezed so tight Clara thought her ribs might crack.
"I—sorry," Clara stammered, muffled against Aunt May's shoulder. "The bus never came, and my phone died, and I just...walked."
Her aunt leaned back, scanning her from head to toe like she expected to find scratch marks or missing limbs. "Walked? Through the woods? At night? Child, do you want me to lose the rest of my hair?"
Clara couldn't help a laugh, though it was shaky. "I made it, didn't I?"
"Hmph. Barely. Get inside before you freeze."
The warmth of the cottage wrapped around Clara as she stepped in. The small entry smelled of roasted vegetables and herbs, and a fire crackled in the stone hearth down the hall. The walls were lined with framed embroidery and faded photographs, the kind of homey touches that had always made Aunt May's place feel like a haven.
Clara's stomach growled at the scent wafting from the kitchen.
"Sit, sit," her aunt ordered, bustling past her. "I kept stew warm for you. I told myself not to worry, but of course I did. You were never good at calling on time. Your mama was the same."
Clara's chest pinched at the mention of her mother, but she followed her aunt into the cozy kitchen. A heavy clay pot sat steaming on the stove, and before Clara could protest, Aunt May ladled a generous portion into a bowl and pushed it toward her.
"Eat," she commanded, placing a chunk of buttered bread on the side.
Clara obeyed. The stew was hot and savory, with potatoes, carrots, and tender beef that melted in her mouth. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the first spoonful hit her tongue.
Her aunt settled opposite her with her own cup of tea, eyes sharp as a hawk's despite her soft smile. "So. Tell me everything. How was the bus? The town? Did you see the new grocer's shop? Folks say his prices are outrageous, but he's got the best tomatoes."
Clara swallowed a laugh. "I didn't make it that far."
"Well, you will. There's plenty of time. You're here now, and that's what matters." Her expression softened. "You've been carrying too much, Clara. This place is meant to give you rest. Let it."
Clara ducked her gaze, suddenly finding the stew very interesting. If only rest came that easy.
Her aunt didn't press, though. She never did. Instead, she stood, kissed the top of Clara's head, and announced, "Finish every bite. Then up to bed. I'll bring you tea."
The guest room smelled faintly of lavender and old cedarwood. Clara sat cross-legged on the narrow bed, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at her dead phone as if glaring alone could coax it back to life.
She rubbed at her arm where his hand had brushed her skin. No matter how many times she told herself it was nothing, just adrenaline, her body refused to forget the jolt that raced through her veins.
Her aunt, thankfully, hadn't noticed Clara's distracted state. Aunt May was the sort of woman who kept herself busy with pies, knitting, and gossip from neighbors delivered alongside baskets of eggs.
"Resist," she muttered to herself, burying her face in her pillow. "You're not going to obsess over some creepy, ridiculously good-looking man with eyes like—like..."
Her mind betrayed her with the memory. Silver. Not gray, not blue, but molten silver that seemed to cut through the dusk.
"Ugh!" She flopped back dramatically, earning a creak of protest from the old bed. "This is stupid. You don't even know him. He's probably dangerous. Or a serial killer. Or married with five kids."
A knock rattled the door, making her jump.
"Clara? You awake?" Aunt May's warm, slightly nosy voice filtered in.
Clara scrambled upright. "Y-Yeah!"
The door creaked open. Aunt May peeked in, holding a steaming mug of chamomile tea. "You're pale as a ghost, sweetheart. Everything all right?"
Clara forced a smile. "Yeah, just tired. Long day."
Her aunt's sharp eyes scanned her face, clearly unconvinced, but she handed over the mug anyway. "City life's burned you out. The countryside will do you good. Just..." She hesitated, then lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. "Don't go wandering the woods after dark. Folks around here say it's not safe."
Clara stilled. "Because of…wolves?"
Her aunt gave her a strange look, then chuckled. "Coyotes, mostly. Bears sometimes. But we do get wolf howls now and then. Don't worry, the cottage is sturdy."
Clara tried to laugh, but it came out thin. The warning stirred something in her chest. Wolves. A man with silver eyes. A touch that felt like fire.
Resist, resist, resist.
Aunt May lingered at the doorway. "You sure you're all right, Clara? You've been… off since you got here. Like your mind's somewhere else."
Clara hesitated, fingers tightening around the mug. She'd avoided the topic for days now, but there was no escaping it. Aunt May was family. Family noticed things.
"I guess I still haven't adjusted," Clara admitted softly. "The city was… loud. Busy. But at least it kept me distracted."
"Distracted from what?"
Clara's throat tightened. She hadn't meant to open that door, but her aunt's patient gaze drew it out. "After Mom and Dad died, the apartment felt like… like a shell. Everywhere I looked, there was something of theirs. I tried to live with it, but the silence was worse than the noise. So I thought… maybe coming here for a while would help."
Aunt May's face softened. She stepped inside and set a gentle hand on Clara's shoulder. "I know, sweetheart. Grief doesn't follow clocks or calendars. It just… sits with you until it doesn't. I'm glad you came here. You won't have to face it alone."
Clara swallowed the lump in her throat. "I didn't want to dump it all on you."
"Don't be ridiculous. You're family. And this cottage's been too quiet without you. You're a blessing, not a burden."
That earned Clara a watery smile. "Thanks, Aunt May."
"Always." Aunt May patted her cheek, then straightened with a sigh. "Now, finish your tea. Try to sleep. Tomorrow I'll take you to town, show you around properly. Might even introduce you to the neighbors—though I warn you, Mrs. Deacon will ask when you're planning to marry, because she asks everyone."
Clara laughed, the sound a little shaky but genuine. "Great. Just what I need."
She fussed over the quilt being tucked properly, and finally left with one last warning: "No wandering after dark. Not even to the porch. Understood?"
Clara smiled and nodded.
Clara sipped her tea and curled under the quilt. The warmth seeped into her, but the conversation lingered. Coming here was supposed to be about healing. About moving forward. Not about… him.
Not about sparks from a stranger's touch. Not about those silver eyes that haunted her when she closed her own.
She told herself she'd forget by morning. Sleep would wash it away.
Except it didn't.
At midnight, she woke to the distant sound of a howl, low and mournful, rolling through the hills. Her breath caught.
She told herself it was only a wolf. Just a wolf.
So why did her heart race like it knew he was near?
---
Sleep didn't come easily. Every time Clara closed her eyes, silver eyes flashed in the dark behind her lids. The heat of his grip lingered at her wrist, the rumble of his voice echoing low in her ears.
She muttered into her pillow, "Resist. You're not thinking about him. You're definitely not thinking about him."
Her traitorous heart didn't get the memo.
By the time she drifted into shallow sleep, the fire downstairs had burned low and the house lay wrapped in silence.
Then—
A sound.
Clara jerked awake, sitting bolt upright. The clock read a few minutes past midnight. For a second, she thought she'd imagined it. But then it came again: a long, mournful howl rolling through the hills but somehow, it felt closer.
Her breath caught.
She threw back the covers and padded barefoot to the window, her pulse loud in her ears. The night outside was drenched in moonlight, silver spilling over the trees. The wind stirred the branches, and shadows shifted like living things.
Nothing moved at first. Just the sigh of the wind, the distant cry of an owl.
And then—
A flicker. At the edge of the trees. Something pale glinting between the trunks. Not fully seen, but felt. A prickle ran down Clara's spine, the undeniable sensation of being watched.
Her fingers tightened on the windowsill. Her mind screamed to yank the curtains shut, crawl under the covers, pretend nothing was there.
As she exactly did that, she whispered "nope, you didn't see anything."
But her heart—her heart thudded like a drum, wild and alive.