The rain came just after dusk.

It pattered against the shutters of Aria’s cottage, a restless rhythm that matched the beating of her heart. She tried to work, but her hands wouldn’t steady. The herbs she ground turned to pulp. The pages of her mother’s journal blurred before her eyes. Every sound outside made her head lift, her pulse leap.

She couldn’t breathe inside those walls anymore.

The mark on her chest pulsed like a beacon, tugging her toward the trees. It was foolish. She knew it was foolish. Every story told in Ashwood warned against wandering into the forest after dark. But tonight, something stronger than fear pulled her.

She wrapped her shawl tight and stepped into the rain.

The path was slick beneath her boots, but she walked quickly, driven by a force she couldn’t name. The deeper she went, the more the night seemed to press in—shadows whispering, branches clawing. Yet the mark burned hotter, guiding her forward.

And then… the growl.

It came from behind her, low and guttural. Her body froze. Slowly, she turned.

Two eyes gleamed in the darkness, red with hunger. A wolf stepped into view—massive, scarred, its fur ragged. Saliva dripped from its jaws as it crouched low, ready to strike.

Aria’s breath stuttered. This was no dream. This was death.

She stumbled back, heart slamming against her ribs. Another growl answered from the left. A second wolf emerged. Then a third. They circled her, lips peeled back to bare yellowed fangs.

Her knees weakened. The basket in her hand slipped to the mud.

This is it. This is how I die.

The first wolf lunged.

A blur of black and gold crashed into it, slamming it sideways with bone-cracking force. A snarl split the night—deep, powerful, commanding. The kind of sound that made even monsters hesitate.

The others turned their heads. And Aria saw him.

A wolf, but not like the rogues. He was massive, his coat black as midnight save for the streak of silver along his spine. His eyes burned gold, bright as the fire in her dreams.

Her wolf.

He moved with lethal grace, his body a storm of muscle and fur. He ripped the first rogue’s throat with a single bite, spun to meet the second with claws that raked deep. The third tried to flee, but he was faster. He caught it mid-leap, drove it into the earth, and ended it with a snap of his jaws.

Silence fell, broken only by the patter of rain and the sound of Aria’s ragged breathing.

The black wolf turned. Slowly. Deliberately.

Golden eyes locked on hers.

Aria’s heart thundered. She should run. She should scream. But her body wouldn’t move. She could only stare as the wolf stepped closer, each paw fall slow, heavy, deliberate. His fur was matted with blood—rogue blood—but his eyes held something else. Something fierce. Something… hers.

Her mark seared hot, blazing like fire. She pressed a trembling hand to it, gasping.

The wolf stopped just before her, so close she could see the rise and fall of his chest, the glint of rain on his fur. He lowered his head, a low growl rumbling in his throat—not a threat, but a claim.

Aria’s knees buckled. The world tilted.

It’s him.

The wolf from her dreams.

The man from the market.

The Alpha the town whispered about.

Her voice shook as she whispered into the night, “You…”

The golden eyes flared brighter, as if answering.

And in that moment, drenched in rain and trembling before the beast who had saved her, Aria knew with a certainty that terrified her:

Her life was no longer her own.

It belonged to him.