The fire had burned low by dawn, leaving only red coals pulsing in the hearth like embers of a dying heart. Eva stirred beneath the thick blanket, her body still and warm, but her mind restless. The memory of Aidan's transformation replayed in her thoughts—the way his body had contorted and shifted, the power, the pain, the rawness of it. And the gentleness that followed.
He hadn't turned back by morning. At least, not yet.
She stepped outside the cabin, pulling the oversized jacket he had given her tighter around her shoulders. The early light was misty and blue, filtering through the pine needles. The air smelled like damp earth and moss.
She found him lying near the edge of the clearing, still in wolf form, watching the horizon. When she approached, he lifted his head and whined softly.
"Hey," she said, kneeling beside him. "Still in there?"
The wolf blinked slowly, then rested his massive head on her lap.
Eva ran her fingers through the thick fur behind his ears. "I'm still here. Not going anywhere."
Minutes passed. Then his body tensed, and she felt it before she saw it—the twitch in his spine, the subtle shifting of bone beneath fur.
The change came more slowly this time, as though he were easing himself back. When it ended, Aidan was human again, his breathing shallow, skin slick with sweat, and a long, shallow scratch along his ribs.
Eva reached for the blanket she'd brought, covering him quickly. "You're hurt."
He sat up with a wince. "It's from last night. I went east… tracked the rogue's scent."
"You found him?"
He nodded. "Too close. He's circling the area."
"Why? What does he want?"
Aidan looked away. "I don't know yet. But rogues don't linger unless they're hunting something."
Eva felt a cold chill trace her spine. "Me?"
He met her eyes. "Possibly."
By midday, Aidan had fully recovered. He moved with purpose, gathering supplies, sharpening weapons, marking a perimeter beyond the clearing. Eva followed, helping where she could, her questions bubbling to the surface.
"What makes a werewolf go rogue?" she asked as they walked a forest trail, muddy and overgrown.
Aidan crouched to examine a broken branch. "There are many reasons. Some are born unstable. Some are turned and lose their minds to the hunger. Others…" He stood. "Others are exiled. For breaking pack law."
Eva tilted her head. "Is there a werewolf court?"
Aidan gave a brief, mirthless laugh. "Not exactly. There are Alphas—leaders. They govern regions. Keep order. Exile is the harshest sentence."
"And you?"
He paused. "I'm alone by choice."
"Not part of a pack?"
"Not anymore."
She wanted to ask why, but something in his tone warned her to hold the question.
Instead, she said, "So what do we do about the rogue?"
Aidan looked toward the deeper woods. "We track him. Drive him out. Or kill him if we must."
Eva swallowed. "Do you think he'll come back here?"
Aidan's expression hardened. "Yes. And I'll be ready."
That night, they prepared for a hunt.
Aidan led her to an old tree stump deep in the woods, where he unearthed a rusted metal box. Inside were silver-tipped arrows, a hunting knife with strange runes on the blade, and a small pouch of dark powder.
"What's all this?" she asked.
"Remnants of my father's time," he said. "The powder masks scent. The arrows can slow a werewolf. Not kill—unless it hits the heart."
Eva picked up the knife. "What are the symbols?"
"Protective runes. Old magic. Most don't believe in it anymore."
She turned the blade in her hand, the metal cool and humming faintly with unseen energy. "Do you?"
He met her gaze. "I believe in what works."
That evening, as the sun dipped below the trees, Aidan showed Eva how to move silently, how to watch the wind, how to listen with more than ears.
The rogue's trail was fresh. Broken branches, claw marks on bark, the sharp metallic tang of blood on the air. They moved in silence, Eva carrying the knife, Aidan armed with a bow and silver-tipped arrows.
After an hour, they found a clearing desecrated—animal remains, torn fabric, and a set of human footprints leading away.
"Someone else was here," Eva said, crouching.
Aidan's eyes narrowed. "Campers. Or hikers."
"You think the rogue got them?"
"Possibly. But if he's hunting… he's being reckless. That makes him more dangerous."
A distant howl echoed through the forest.
Not Aidan's voice. Not any she had heard before.
It was deeper. Wilder. Mad.
"We have to move," he said.
They pushed deeper into the woods, guided by the sound. The darkness thickened, shadows stretching into claws. Eva's heart pounded. She gripped the knife tighter.
They came to a rocky outcrop. Aidan signaled for silence.
Below, in a narrow ravine, the rogue crouched over something—someone. A limp body. A young man.
Aidan's eyes went gold. He reached for an arrow.
Eva placed a hand on his arm. "What if he's still alive?"
Aidan didn't look away. "Then I won't miss."
He drew the bow, aimed—
The rogue moved fast. Too fast. One blink and he was halfway up the ridge.
Aidan loosed the arrow. It grazed the beast's shoulder.
The rogue snarled, blood spraying. But he kept coming.
Aidan shoved Eva behind him. "Run. Now."
She hesitated.
"Eva, go!"
She ran.
Branches tore at her clothes. Roots grabbed her feet. She stumbled, breath ragged, the rogue's growl echoing too close behind.
Then Aidan was there, tackling the rogue mid-leap. They crashed to the ground.
Eva turned and raised the knife. "Aidan!"
The fight was brutal. Aidan was faster this time, more precise. He drove the rogue back, wound after wound.
But the rogue was desperate.
He lunged.
Eva threw the knife.
It spun through the air and struck the rogue's thigh.
He screamed.
Aidan pounced. This time, he didn't hesitate.
Claws. Teeth. Silence.
The rogue collapsed, still and broken.
Eva dropped to her knees, heart hammering.
Aidan limped toward her, bloodied but standing. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head. "You?"
"Just bruised."
She looked at the body. "Is he… dead?"
Aidan nodded. "He was too far gone."
She looked up at him, her voice shaking. "I didn't know if I could throw it."
"You did. You saved me again."
He stepped closer, knelt before her.
"You're not just brave, Eva. You're something rare. And I…" He exhaled. "I'm scared of what I feel."
She reached for him. "Then be scared with me. Just don't push me away."
He kissed her again, fierce and tender.
They didn't return to the cabin right away. Instead, they found a grove bathed in moonlight where the silence felt sacred. Aidan built a small fire from pine and cedar, and they sat beside it, shoulder to shoulder, speaking in soft murmurs until words gave way to silence.
When he touched her, it was careful. Like learning a language he hadn't spoken in years. She responded with equal vulnerability, her fingers mapping the scars on his chest, her lips tracing the hollow of his throat. There was nothing rushed—only the slow unfolding of trust.
Clothes became unnecessary. Breath grew shallow. The forest, their witness.
They moved together like a tide returning to shore—inevitable, natural, deep. He held her as though afraid she might vanish with the dawn, and she touched him like she was anchoring them both to something real.
When it ended, there was no space between them. Only the rhythm of hearts and the warmth of skin, tangled in the quiet of survival and the promise of something more.
Aidan whispered, "I didn't know I could feel this again."
Eva brushed her lips against his. "Neither did I."
And for the first time, they both believed in healing.