MOON BOUND

The cabin looked smaller than Raven remembered. She stood in the overgrown driveway with the keys digging into her palm and the late afternoon light cutting through the trees. The place had been empty for three years. Moss covered half the roof. The porch steps sagged. Her mother’s wind chimes still hung by the door, silent now. Raven pulled her jacket tighter and walked up. The lock stuck the way it always had. She shoved her shoulder against the door and it gave with a loud c***k. Inside smelled like dust and old wood. She set her bag down and opened the windows one by one. Better to let the mountain air in than sit with the quiet. She had promised herself this would be simple. Clean the place. Sell it. Leave. No long stays. No looking through old boxes. No thinking too hard about the woman who raised her alone and then died without ever explaining why she had been so afraid of these woods. A floorboard creaked under her boot. Raven froze, listening. Nothing. Just the wind moving through the pines. She spent the next two hours sweeping and wiping surfaces. By the time the sun started dropping, the main room looked almost livable. She found a can of soup in the pantry that hadn’t expired and heated it on the old stove. It tasted like nothing, but it was warm. Night came fast in the mountains. The dark pressed against the windows. Raven locked the door, checked it twice, and told herself she was being ridiculous. She was twenty-seven, not twelve. The stories her mother used to tell about things that walked on two legs and four were just stories. Still, she kept the lights on. Around ten she heard a sound. A howl. Long, low and too close. Raven stood in the middle of the kitchen and waited. Another howl answered from farther away. Then silence. Her heart beat hard against her ribs. She grabbed the heavy flashlight from the counter and moved to the front window. The porch light showed only trees and the empty driveway. She told herself it was just coyotes. Or someone’s dog. People in Ashwood still kept big dogs. She did not believe herself. Sleep came in pieces. Every small sound pulled her awake. Around two in the morning she gave up and sat on the edge of the bed with the flashlight in her lap. That was when the second sound came. Not a howl this time. Footsteps. Heavy ones. Moving through the brush near the cabin. Raven’s mouth went dry. She stood slowly and crossed to the window again. The porch light was still on. Nothing moved in the circle of yellow. Then something large shifted just beyond the light. She saw eyes. Gold. Reflecting the porch light like an animal’s. The thing stepped closer. It was a man. Tall. Broad. Dark clothes. He stopped at the edge of the light and looked straight at the window like he already knew she was watching. Raven’s fingers tightened on the flashlight. She should have called someone. The sheriff. Anyone. Her phone was on the nightstand. She didn’t move. The man tilted his head slightly. Then he turned and walked back into the trees without a sound. Raven stayed at the window until the sky started to lighten. When she finally sat down again, her hands were shaking. She told herself it was a hiker. Or a local who had gotten lost. She told herself a lot of things. None of them explained the way her skin still felt tight, or the strange pull in her chest that had started the second those gold eyes met hers. Morning came gray and cold. Raven made coffee that tasted burnt and stood on the porch with the mug warming her hands. The woods looked ordinary in daylight. Just trees and mist and the sound of a creek somewhere downhill. She needed supplies. The nearest store was in town, twenty minutes down the winding road. She locked the cabin, got in her old truck, and drove. Ashwood hadn’t changed much. Same main street. Same diner with the faded sign. Same people who looked at newcomers a little too long. She parked in front of the small grocery and went inside. The woman behind the counter gave her a polite nod. Raven filled a basket with basics and tried not to feel like every eye in the place was on her. Outside again, she was loading bags into the truck when a deep voice spoke behind her. “You’re on pack land.” Raven turned. The man from last night stood three feet away. In daylight he was even more solid. Dark hair. Strong jaw. Eyes that were not quite human — a hard, bright gold that made the rest of the world look dull. He wore a black jacket and jeans that had seen real work. He did not smile. “I don’t know what that means,” Raven said. Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “It means you shouldn’t be out here alone after dark.” His gaze moved over her face like he was checking for damage. “You heard the howls.” “Coyotes.” “No.” The single word landed heavy. Raven closed the truck door and crossed her arms. “Who are you?” “Kael Thorne.” He said it like the name should mean something. “And you’re Raven Cole. Your mother used to live up at the old cabin. She knew better than to stay after the sun went down.” Anger flickered through the fear. “My mother is dead. And I don’t take orders from strangers in the woods.” Something shifted in his expression. Not soft. Just less hard. “I’m not giving orders. I’m telling you the truth. These woods are not safe right now. Pack of rogues has been testing the borders. They already killed two hikers last month. The bodies were never found because we cleaned it up.” Raven stared at him. “You’re serious.” “Dead serious.” She should have laughed. Should have gotten in the truck and driven straight to the sheriff. Instead she heard herself ask, “What are you?” Kael’s jaw tightened. For a second she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he said, quiet and final, “The thing that keeps worse things from reaching this town.” A truck passed on the main road. Neither of them looked away from each other. Raven felt that same strange pull again — like a string tied somewhere under her ribs and stretched tight toward him. She hated it. She wanted to step closer anyway. Kael’s eyes dropped to her mouth for half a second, then locked back on hers. “Stay inside after dark,” he said. “Lock the doors. If you hear anything close to the cabin, you call this number.” He held out a small card. No name. Just a number written in clean black ink. Raven took it because her hands moved before her brain caught up. Kael stepped back. “I’ll be watching the tree line tonight. Don’t make me come inside.” He turned and walked toward a black pickup parked farther down the street. Raven watched him go. Her pulse was still too fast. She got in her own truck and sat there for a long minute with the key in the ignition. The card sat on the passenger seat like it might burn a hole through the vinyl. She told herself she would throw it away when she got back to the cabin. She already knew she wouldn’t. That night the howls came closer. And this time, something answered from right outside her door.