Lena Marshall didn't believe in fate. She believed in deadlines, proper budgeting, and choosing the kind of man who made safe choices instead of passionate ones. She believed in setting her life in order and following through.
But the moment the faded wooden sign came into view — Welcome to Blackthorn Ridge: Where the Mountains Watch — Lena felt something in her chest shift. Something she didn't have a name for.
"You okay?" Ethan's voice pulled her attention back to the present.
She blinked, realizing she'd been staring out the car window far too long without blinking. "Yeah. Just tired. It's been, what? Ten hours on the road?"
"Nine. With breaks," Ethan said, smiling politely. "We're almost there. I'm sure this place will grow on you. Your aunt never stopped talking about it, remember?"
Lena managed a tight smile. Aunt Elara had loved this town. Blackthorn Ridge — quiet, tucked between forests and mountains, smelling like secrets. Even when she was diagnosed, even as her body weakened, Elara swore this place was her home.
And after bequeathing her beloved cabin to Lena, she'd sworn it would be Lena's home too.
Lena hadn't been so sure.
Ethan squeezed her hand briefly across the console. It was supposed to comfort her — and maybe in another life it would have. But after months of planning a wedding she wasn't sure she wanted, after moving away from a city she wasn't ready to leave, and now rolling into a town she didn't understand… it felt like his hand was a reminder, not a reassurance.
The car rolled to a stop near the center of town.
It was small. Quaint, if you squinted past the gloom. A few stores, some with chipped paint. Windows decorated not with neon signs, but lace curtains. An old bookstore. A post office that looked like it still ran on pocket watches and gossip. A diner with a flickering "OPEN" sign that buzzed in the still afternoon air.
A coffee shop named "The Wolf's Den."
Cute.
A few townspeople sat outside, huddled around mismatched tables. They paused mid-conversation, eyes shifting to the car. Not in a friendly, welcoming way. Curious. Suspicious.
Lena straightened, smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress as Ethan parked. "Maybe they don't get a lot of visitors," she muttered.
"Or maybe they're staring because you're this gorgeous," Ethan grinned.
She chuckled, flattered out of habit. "Right. That must be it."
They stepped out of the car. The air here was cold — sharper than she expected. The kind of air that made you feel awake, even if you'd been half-dead inside for weeks.
A golden retriever on a nearby porch sat up abruptly, ears pinned back. Then it started growling. Not at Ethan.
At her.
Lena froze.
"Hey!" Its owner called, a wiry older man in a worn flannel jacket. "Scrap! Quit that. Sorry, miss. He's usually sweet."
But the dog wouldn't move, growls low, deep — primal. As if whatever he smelled wasn't something he'd ever categorize as human.
And Lena — for one absurd second — had the urge to growl right back.
She snapped out of it when Ethan tugged her arm lightly. "Let's go check out the cabin. I'm sure we could both use a rest."
Yeah. Anything to get away from the eyes. And the... whatever that was.
They drove again.
Then, through the trees, the cabin appeared.
A two-story structure, old but sturdy. Black-painted wood. A porch that wrapped all the way around. A stone chimney. The kind of house out of some dark fairytale — either haunted or oddly protective.
Lena pressed her lips together. "It's beautiful."
Even if she'd never asked for it.
She walked up the porch steps. The key was old-fashioned, cool against her fingers.
The moment she pushed open the door, the scent hit her: cedar. Old books. A faint hint of mint tea. Elara's ghost.
She swallowed something thick in her chest.
Ethan squeezed her shoulder. "I'll start unloading the car. You take a minute."
She nodded, barely hearing him. The cabin was furnished in a style between cabin warmth and quiet elegance. Wooden shelves lined the walls, full of books she remembered her aunt raving about. A fireplace. A rocking chair. An old rug with a woven wolf staring imperiously from its center.
Lena's fingers brushed the back of the chair.
Something shimmered. Not physically — but inside her. For a second, she wasn't in a cabin. She was in a forest, moonlight overhead. Her blood boiling. Her breath caught between a snarl and a scream—
She staggered back, hitting the wall.
"Lena?" Ethan called from outside.
"I'm fine," she lied.
She shook her head, pushing the strange vision away. Probably exhaustion. Anxiety. Or just the fact that everything in this town was weird. Old weird. Witchy weird.
Outside, Ethan slammed the car door shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the stillness.
She hurried to the porch, leaning against the railing, watching him unload boxes. He paused for a moment, glancing toward the treeline as if he'd felt something too.
"Ethan," she called out, feeling an unease she couldn't name. "Do you… hear that?"
He stilled.
"No," he said after a short pause. "Hear what?"
She swallowed.
She didn't know.
It wasn't a sound, exactly—it was more like a rhythm coursing through the air. Faint but growing. A pulse. Almost like a heartbeat.
But not her own.
And definitely not human.
Ethan took a step toward her just as something rustled in the dense trees. A shadowy shape—too tall, too wide—moved just out of sight.
"Probably a deer," Ethan said quickly, but his voice held a tremor.
It wasn't a deer. Lena knew it wasn't. She didn't know how. But she knew.
The air grew colder.
Her skin felt tight, her pulse racing as if her body were trying to remember something her mind couldn't.
She stepped backward, accidentally knocking against the doorframe. Her breath shook.
"Hey," Ethan said, dropping the last box. "Why don't we go inside? Rest. We've done enough for today."
She nodded stiffly, eyes still on the forest.
Ethan went in first.
She lingered a moment longer, scanning the tree line, sensing something there—something waiting. Watching.
It was there, on the edge of shadow and silence.
And though she couldn't see it…
It could see her.
Her fingers brushed her throat, where her pulse drummed a frantic rhythm.
Then, without a sound, the presence slipped deeper into the woods.
Like it had smelled her.
Marked her.
Then vanished.
–
That night, Lena didn't sleep.
Her dreams were sharp and strange—silver eyes in the dark, hot breaths at the back of her neck. Moonlight spilling like blood. Running through the forest, not on two legs… but four.
She woke to the sound of something howling in the distance.
Long.
Low.
And heartbreakingly familiar.
Her breath hitched.
Blackthorn Ridge wasn't quiet after all.
It was alive.
And something out there had just announced itself.