MOONBOND: A wolf's claim

CHAPTER FOUR

The screen lit up. Forty-three missed calls. Sixty-seven text messages.

All from Marcus and Charlotte.

Evie's stomach lurched. She should've known. Should've expected it. But seeing their names—over and over and over, filling her notification screen—felt like being punched all over again.

Her thumb hovered over the messages. Don't look. Just don't—

She looked.

Marcus (29 messages, 18 calls):

"Evie, come back. We need to talk."

"You're being dramatic."

"It's not what you think."

"This is ridiculous. Answer your phone."

"Fine. Ignore me then."

Charlotte (11 messages, 8 calls):

"I'm so sorry, please let me explain"

"It just happened, we didn't mean for it to happen"

"You have every right to be angry"

"Evie please, I'm so sorry"

"Are you safe? I'm worried"

Sarah, Emma, the others (7 messages total):

"Heard what happened. You okay?"

"Marcus said you're not answering him"

"Where are you? Everyone's worried"

Not one message from before today. Not one warning. Not one "Hey, I think there's something you should know."

They'd all known. For six months they'd known, and not one of them had thought she deserved the truth.

The phone slipped from Evie's fingers, landing on the duvet with a muffled thump.

She stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of it settle over her like a physical thing. She had no one. The flat was Marcus's name on the lease. Her job, she'd taken it because Marcus's friend had recommended her. Her entire social circle had been his first, and they'd chosen him over her without hesitation.

Three years. She'd spent three years building a life in London, and it had all been a house of cards. One breath, and it was just... gone.

Her chest tightened. The room felt too small suddenly, too warm, the walls pressing in. She couldn't breathe. Her ribs hurt. Everything hurt. She couldn't—

Breathe. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

Nate's voice from earlier, steady and calm when she'd been panicking in the snow.

Evie forced herself to follow the rhythm. Once. Twice. Three times.

The panic receded slowly, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

She was alone. Truly, completely alone.

But she was alive.

That had to count for something.

Evie reached for the phone one more time, fingers trembling, and switched it off completely. Not silent. *Off.* She set it face-down on the nightstand like that might make it all disappear.

Outside, the wind howled, hurling snow against the windows. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. Somewhere in the house, floorboards creaked. Distant voices murmured.

She was a stranger here, in a place she didn't understand, surrounded by people she didn't know.

But for the first time in months, maybe years... no one was lying to her.

That was something.

Evie pulled the covers up to her chin, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through her battered body, and closed her eyes.

Sleep came in fragments. She dreamed of amber eyes watching from the darkness, of hands reaching for her through snow, of Marcus's laugh echoing through empty rooms. She woke gasping twice, disoriented and aching, the unfamiliar room spinning around her.

The third time, she didn't fight it. Just lay there staring at the dying embers in the fireplace, listening to the storm rage outside, and waited for morning.

*******************

Evie woke to knocking.

Not the gentle tap of someone being polite... persistent, cheerful knocking that suggested whoever was on the other side had absolutely no intention of giving up.

She groaned. Everything hurt worse than last night. Her shoulder screamed where the sling had twisted during restless sleep. Her ribs protested with every breath. The plaster on her forehead itched like fire ants were having a party under it.

"Just a minute," she croaked.

"It's Sophie! Breakfast!"

Evie forced herself upright, biting back a whimper. Her phone sat dark and accusing on the nightstand. Face down. Silent. Dead.

Good.

"Come in."

Sophie bustled through with a tray that smelled like heaven... toast, jam, tea steaming. Behind her lurked a teenage boy with dark curls and grief-shadowed eyes that looked far older than his face.

"Morning, love. This is Riley." Sophie set the tray across Evie's lap. "Thought you could use some company."

The boy raised one hand in an awkward wave. "Hi."

Something about him resonated. That particular brand of loss that aged you from the inside out.

"Hi, Riley."

Without being asked, he pulled the chair closer and started cutting her toast into manageable pieces. His movements were practiced, gentle. Like he'd done this before.

"You don't have to—"

"I don't mind." He still wouldn't meet her eyes. "Mum used to... before..." The words died.

Sophie's hand landed on his shoulder. Squeezed.

Evie's throat tightened. "Thank you."

They sat in comfortable silence while she ate. It should've been awkward—strangers watching her struggle with breakfast one-handed. But it wasn't.

"How long have you lived here?" Evie asked finally.

"All my life." Riley's voice carried quiet pride. "We all have."

"We?"

"The staff," Sophie interjected smoothly. Too smoothly. "Thornwood needs a lot of hands. We're like family, really."

Family. The word stuck in Evie's chest like a splinter.

Riley looked up then, and for just a second, the morning light caught his eyes. They flashed amber—bright, impossible, golden.

Evie blinked.

Brown eyes stared back.

Trick of the light. Had to be.

"It gets better," Riley said quietly, still not looking at her. "When everything's broken. Doesn't feel like it will, but it does."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm still here." Finally, he met her eyes. "And so are you."

After they left, Evie tried getting dressed. The wardrobe held clothes that smelled like lavender—Sophie's, apparently. Cashmere jumpers. Well-fitted jeans.

Getting them on was impossible.

The jumper caught on her plaster. The jeans required bending her bruised ribs wouldn't allow. She stood there half-dressed, tears threatening, when Sophie knocked again.

"Need help?"

She didn't wait for permission. Just slipped in and sorted Evie out with efficient kindness.

"I look awful," Evie said, catching her reflection. Pale. Bruised. Held together by medical tape and borrowed clothes.

"You look alive." Sophie's voice was firm. "That's what matters."

"Why are you all being so kind? You don't know me."

Sophie's expression shifted... warm, knowing, almost sad. "Everyone deserves a place to land when they're falling." She paused at the door. "Besides, you'll fit in here just fine. I can tell."

Something in how she said it made Evie's skin prickle.

Riley waited in the corridor. "Library's this way. Try not to get lost."

He led her through a maze of stone hallways lined with portraits. Stern faces staring down through centuries. And every single one had the same amber eyes.

Not similar. Identical.

Evie's steps slowed. "That's... remarkable. The family resemblance."

"The eyes breed true." Riley's voice was matter-of-fact. "Always have."

Always. Not usually. Not often. Always.

They stopped at a heavy oak door. "Just knock. He doesn't bite." Riley paused. "Much."

"Riley—"

But he was already gone.

Evie knocked.

"Come in."

The library stole her breath. Two stories of floor-to-ceiling books, a fire roaring in a massive hearth, winter sunlight making the snow outside glitter.

At a table by the window sat Nate.

In daylight, he was devastating. Dark hair slightly disheveled. Those impossible amber eyes that seemed to *glow* in the morning light. Black jumper and jeans that somehow looked like they belonged in a magazine.

"You look better." His voice was rough, unused. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I lost a fight with a stone wall." The words escaped before she could stop them.

Something that might've been amusement flickered across his face. "Dangerous habit. You should stop." He gestured to the chair. "Sit. We should talk."

He poured coffee into delicate china. The domesticity felt oddly intimate.

"Last night," he began carefully, "you said you were running from someone."

Evie's hands tightened on the cup. She shouldn't tell him. He was a stranger.

But something made the words spill out.

"I came home early. To surprise my boyfriend for Christmas." Her voice sounded hollow. "Found him with my best friend instead. Six months, apparently. And everyone knew."

Nate went very still. Fury flashed across his face before control snapped back.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too." She stared into her coffee. "Wondering what I missed. How I could be so blind—"

"You trusted the wrong people." He leaned forward. "Trust isn't weakness, Evie. Their betrayal says everything about them. Nothing about you."

The words loosened something in her chest.

"The roads won't be clear for days," Nate continued. "You're welcome to stay. Longer, if you need."

"I couldn't—"

"You're not imposing." Final. Absolute. "You shouldn't be alone right now."

Outside, snow began falling again. The world beyond looked frozen. Impassable.

"Alright," she heard herself say. "Just until the roads clear."

Something shifted in his expression. Relief. Satisfaction. *Triumph.*

"Good," he said quietly, weighted with meaning she didn't understand. "That's good."

Movement at the window caught her eye.

A massive shape moved through the tree line. Too large for a dog. Too fluid.

It paused in a shaft of sunlight and looked directly at the library window.

Amber eyes met hers.

The wolf held her gaze for one impossible moment.

Then it was gone.

Evie's coffee cup rattled against the saucer as her hand trembled.

"Evie?" Nate's voice sharpened. "What's wrong?"

She couldn't tear her eyes from the window. From where that *thing* had been standing.

"There was..." Her voice came out strangled. "In the trees. I saw..."

Nate was at the window in three strides. Faster than anyone should move. His entire body went rigid.

When he turned back, his eyes were blazing amber... brighter than before, almost glowing.

"What," he said very carefully, very quietly, "did you see?"