Chapter Two: The Stranger in the Shadows (Part 1)
1059 Words
The man’s eyes snapped open so suddenly that Natalia stumbled back, her breath caught in her throat.
Ice-blue. Too bright. Too knowing.
For a moment, they locked eyes—hers wide with alarm, his clouded with pain. But beneath the pain, something flickered. Not fear. Not confusion.
Recognition.
But that was impossible. She didn’t know this man. She would’ve remembered a face like his.
He blinked, coughed, then groaned and rolled onto his side, pressing a hand to the wound on his chest. Blood coated his skin in thick streaks, sticky and dark, and his breathing was shallow, rasping.
“You’re hurt,” Natalia said, finding her voice at last. She moved cautiously toward him, dropping to her knees beside his body. “I can help, but you need to stay still.”
He didn’t answer, just looked at her again with those strange, unnerving eyes. The wolf in her stirred, uneasy. She couldn’t feel a mate bond—thank the Moon Goddess—but something about him still prickled against her instincts.
Natalia reached into the pouch at her hip, pulling out her healing kit. Bandages, salves, dried herbs. Her hands worked quickly, guided by muscle memory and urgency, even as her mind raced with questions.
Where had he come from?
What had done this to him?
Why did he look at her like he knew her?
The wound on his side was deep, claw-shaped, but not made by a regular wolf. Too wide. Too violent. Whatever attacked him had meant to kill.
“This will burn,” she said softly, warning him before she pressed the salve into the wound.
He grunted but didn’t pull away. His muscles twitched under her touch, tense and coiled, but he let her work. Her fingers brushed his skin, and she realized just how warm he was—burning with fever.
He needed to be moved. Fast.
“You’re lucky I found you,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “Another hour out here and you’d have bled out.”
“Lucky?” His voice was hoarse, gravelly. He coughed again, wincing. “I don’t believe in luck.”
Natalia blinked at him. “Then believe in second chances.”
His mouth quirked—almost a smile, but not quite. He tried to sit up, and Natalia pressed a firm hand to his chest.
“Don’t,” she ordered. “You’re not strong enough to walk, let alone fight off whatever did this to you.”
He studied her in silence, then gave a single, reluctant nod. Natalia took that as permission.
“Hold on,” she whispered. She shifted, lifting him carefully. He groaned again, but didn’t resist as she helped him upright. His arm slung over her shoulder, his weight heavy but manageable. “We’re not far from shelter.”
As they walked, slowly and unsteadily, Natalia couldn’t shake the feeling crawling up her spine. His body heat soaked into her, his scent—smoky, pine-tinged, and unfamiliar—invading her senses. He didn’t feel like a rogue. Didn’t move like one, even when injured.
He felt… controlled. Caged. Like a beast used to hiding in plain sight.
Natalia’s heart thudded louder.
She didn’t know it yet, but she had just saved the most dangerous wolf in the realm.
The cottage came into view through the trees, just as Natalia’s legs began to shake from exhaustion. She pushed through the door with her shoulder, guiding the stranger inside and lowering him onto the cot by the fire. He collapsed onto it with a heavy sigh, sweat glistening on his brow.
Maela looked up from the herbs she was drying near the window, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene.
“You found a half-dead wolf bleeding out in the woods, and you brought him here?” she said flatly.
Natalia gave her a warning look. “He needs help.”
“So do rabbits caught in fox traps, but I don’t invite them inside to sleep on my furniture.”
“He was attacked. Badly. And he’s not a rogue.” Natalia paused. “At least… I don’t think so.”
Maela raised a brow. “No mark?”
Natalia shook her head. “He has one. But it’s… faded. I couldn’t recognize the sigil. Could be royal. Or a lesser house.”
The old woman stared for a long moment, then clicked her tongue. “He shouldn’t stay long. This place isn’t meant for kings and soldiers.”
Natalia looked back at the man, who had already passed out again. His chest rose and fell shallowly, but at least he was breathing.
“I’ll take responsibility,” she said quietly.
“Of course you will,” Maela muttered, returning to her work. “You always do.”
Natalia spent the night tending to the stranger, cooling his fever with cloths, changing his bandages, and listening to his soft murmurs as he drifted in and out of sleep. He didn’t speak much, only fragments. A name she couldn’t quite make out. A plea to someone long gone.
She watched him through the flicker of candlelight, studying his face. He was older than her, maybe late twenties. His features were sharp and regal. A faint scar ran along his jawline. His body bore the marks of combat, but not the reckless kind. The disciplined kind. The trained kind.
“Who are you?” she whispered, more to herself than to him.
He didn’t answer.
But the mystery deepened.
And somewhere in the distance, beyond the safety of the trees, the moon began to rise again.
Morning light filtered through the cottage windows, casting long golden beams across the wooden floor. Natalia sat slouched in a chair near the fire, her head resting against the wall. She had drifted in and out of sleep through the night, unable to fully rest while the stranger remained unconscious.
At some point before dawn, he’d stopped groaning in his sleep. His breathing had evened out. His color had begun to return.
Natalia stirred at the sound of movement and opened her eyes to find the man awake, propped against the wall. His eyes were sharp and alert, sweeping across the room like he was assessing potential threats.
He turned his gaze toward her. “You stayed,” he said.
- Writer
