Claimed by the Night Wolf (A Short Paranormal Romance Story)

The trees were thicker than I remembered. Even in daylight, the forest felt like it breathed—low and ancient, sighing with every gust of wind. Moss clung to the stone path like velvet skin, and above me, tangled branches formed a canopy that blocked the sky. Only slivers of sunlight pierced through, sharp and silvery. The old cabin sat in the clearing like it had been waiting. For me. I hadn't been here since I was a child—since before my grandmother died. The townspeople still whispered about her, calling her strange. Said she used herbs and read the moon like scripture. I never believed them. Not until I found the journal. Not until the dreams started. I stepped inside. Dust swirled in golden shafts of light, disturbed by the creak of the front door. The scent of cedar and something faintly musky hit me like wet fur and firewood. Goosebumps prickled my arms. It wasn’t cold. I dropped my bag, kicked off my boots, and walked to the back porch. From here, the forest stretched endlessly, glowing gold and green. And just beyond the tree line, something moved. I froze. At first I thought it was a shadow. But then it stepped forward half-hidden behind a pine trunk. Tall. Broad shoulders. Shirtless. Eyes like silver flames. My breath caught. Who the hell was that? The figure tilted his head. Watching me. No fear. No greeting. Just that slow, deliberate gaze. And then he was gone