Ava didn't run because she was brave. She ran because she refused to be owned.
The wedding dress clung to her skin like guilt—lace, silk, and a thousand promises she never made. Every soaked step carried her deeper into the forest, away from champagne toasts and a groom chosen by everyone but her.
Behind her, the road vanished beneath fog. Ahead, trees rose like cathedral pillars, their silence too thick to be empty. The deeper she moved, the more the woods felt … alert.
Branches clawed at her bare arms while rain-chilled mud sucked at her feet. Yet freedom—even dripping in grime and blood—was sweeter than a lifetime of polite captivity.
Then the forest breathed.
A low growl rippled through the dark.
Ava froze. "Hello?" Her voice cracked in the hush.
Another growl answered—closer, hungrier. Eyes ignited between the trunks, two burning embers fixed on her.
She turned. Ran.
Something lean and fast gave chase, claws tearing through the undergrowth. It closed the gap like death on four legs.
It lunged.
Ava's scream knifed the night—cut short when another shadow slammed the beast mid-air. Snarls, teeth, and fury exploded around her, then fell to silence.
The monster vanished. In its place stood a man—bare-chested, blood-spattered, chest heaving like he wrestled demons. His eyes glowed the same molten gold she had seen in the dark.
"You shouldn't be here," he rasped.
Her pulse thundered. "You saved me," she whispered.
He offered no reply—just turned and melted into the trees as if the forest parted for him.
She should have fled in the opposite direction. Instead, Ava followed.
The path led to an isolated cabin hidden beneath ancient boughs. Inside, flames licked a hearth already prepared, shadows dancing along rough-hewn walls. He handed her a blanket without a word and sat by the fire, staring into it as though it held every answer.
Ava watched the half-healed scratches on his chest knit themselves together. "What was that creature?" she asked, voice shaking.
"A reminder," he muttered.
"Of what?"
"That monsters hide even in the wild."
"And you?" She forced the question out. "What are you?"
He stood and headed for the door. "Don't open this tonight. Don't look at the moon. And don't ask questions you're not ready to hear."
When he was gone, the cabin seemed to breathe with the forest. Ava pulled the blanket tight, shivering.
Only then did she notice the gouge on her shoulder—or rather, the absence of it. The wound was gone, replaced by a faint, silver crescent that glimmered beneath her skin.
It pulsed with each heartbeat.
Outside, a howl rolled through the trees—haunting, close.
But instead of fear, an unfamiliar yearning stirred inside her. The mark answered, tugging at her soul like a tide pulled by the moon.