You Are Mine, Lycan

The forest of Arzania was surrounded by a thick mist, its towering trees stretching into the darkening sky like ancient sentinels. The air was damp with the scent of earth and pine, carrying the distant call of a night bird. Elise pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, her basket of herbs swinging at her side as she navigated the narrow forest path. Mirella had sent her to gather a rare medicinal root that only grew deep in the woods, but now, as twilight descended, a strange feeling settled in her chest. Something felt wrong. She paused, listening. The usual hum of the forest—chirping crickets, rustling leaves—felt off. The silence stretched, too thick, too heavy, like the woods were holding their breath. A shiver crept down her spine. Then she heard it—a low, pained groan. Elise’s heart lurched. She spun toward the sound, eyes scanning the shadows between the trees. At first, she saw nothing. But then, beneath the twisted roots of an ancient oak, she spotted a dark figure lying still against the mossy ground. A man. Elise rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside him. He was badly wounded. His black tunic was torn, revealing deep claw marks across his side. Blood seeped from the wounds, staining the earth beneath him. His face—sharp and striking with a strong jawline—was pale, his lips pressed into a tight grimace even in unconsciousness. He was tall, built like a warrior, with broad shoulders and powerful arms. But there was something else about him—something unnatural. His breathing was shallow, his body burning with fever. Who was he? Who had done this to him? Elise hesitated for only a moment before reaching out to touch his forehead. The instant her skin met his, a sharp, searing heat shot through her palm. Elise gasped, her hand jerking back, but it was too late. A strange, glowing mark flared into existence on the back of her hand, burning like fire beneath her skin. She stared in horror as an identical mark appeared on the back of the stranger’s hand. Elise’s breath came fast and shallow. Her pulse thundered in her ears. What was this? Then, the man moved. A low, guttural growl rumbled from his throat, deep and threatening. His body tensed, and then—his eyes snapped open. Golden eyes. Not brown, not hazel—pure, molten gold. And they locked onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach twist. Elise froze, her body screaming at her to run. But she couldn’t move. The stranger sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw clenching as his fingers flexed against the dirt. He looked down at his hand, where the mark still glowed, then back at hers. His expression darkened. “What… did you do?” His voice was deep, rough like gravel, tinged with something dangerous. Elise shook her head, her throat tightening. “I—I didn’t do anything. I was just—” She swallowed, pressing her hand against her chest as if that could stop her racing heart. “I was just trying to help you.” His eyes flickered with something unreadable—anger? Pain? Something else? Then, just as quickly as he had awakened, his body tensed again. His breathing grew ragged, his golden eyes rolling back as he collapsed into unconsciousness once more. Elise let out a shaky breath. What in the gods’ name just happened? Elise hesitated only a moment before reaching for him again. Her fingers trembled as she pressed them gently against his neck. His pulse was strong, though his body was dangerously warm. The fever was burning through him fast. She couldn’t leave him here. Glancing around the darkening woods, Elise bit her lip. The village was too far, and moving him alone would be impossible. But there was a small abandoned hunter’s cabin nearby—Mirella had taken her there once to gather herbs. She could take him there. Drawing a deep breath, she grabbed his arm and tried to lift him. He was incredibly heavy, his muscles coiled like steel beneath his torn tunic. Elise gritted her teeth, dragging him inch by inch through the dirt and fallen leaves. By the time they reached the cabin, her arms burned, and her breath came in ragged gasps. She pushed open the door, guiding him toward the small cot against the wall. With one last effort, she pushed him onto the straw-filled mattress. He didn’t stir. Elise quickly set to work. She fetched a bowl water from the barrel outside, dampening a cloth to cool his fevered skin. She removed his torn tunic, eyes widening at the sheer number of scars on his body. Old wounds, battle wounds. Who was this man? As she cleaned the blood from his wounds, her gaze kept flickering back to his hand—to the mark that had appeared there. The sight of it made her own mark burn in response. She didn’t understand what was happening. But something told her this man’s arrival in her life was no accident. And something inside her whispered— Everything is about to change.