Eli
The cabin learns our names in a hundred new ways until the walls carry them like scars. The fire burns down. Ronan burns hotter. He doesn’t speak sentences anymore. Only the words a storm uses.
“Mine.”
“Down.”
“More.”
“Come.”
He is in his human shape, but the wolf has swallowed the man whole. Hunger wears a body and that body fits me like a glove.
The first cycle is violence turned worship. No pause, no courtesy, only weight and heat and the steady, unarguable insistence of a claim that never ends.
I stop thinking about whether I can take it and start thinking about how long I can stand it, and then I stop thinking about that too because he has found a rhythm inside me that erases questions.
I don’t need to do anything. That’s the revelation. He moves me where he wants me. Wa
