Tethered in the Dark - A Love Story

The Warmth Within

The cottage loomed against the lakefront like something out of another world—bigger than I expected, its wide beams glowing with warm light that spilled out of tall windows into the night. Music and laughter carried through the walls, muffled but rich, the kind of sound that spoke of ease and belonging. After the storm and everything I’d just been through, it was jarring. Like stumbling into someone else’s dream.

Ash didn’t hesitate. He strode up the porch steps, boots thudding against wood slick with rain. He didn’t even knock—just pushed the heavy door open with a shoulder and glanced back at me, extending his hand.

“It’s fine,” he said simply.

For a second, I froze in the doorway. I could hear the laughter louder now, voices overlapping with playful arguments and bursts of music. People lived here, people belonged here. And me? I was a broken, muddy, half-frozen stranger.

But his hand was there—broad, steady, unshaking. Against every instinct screaming at me not to trust, I reached out and slipped mine into his.

His palm was warm despite the rain, fingers wrapping easily around mine, steadying me as he guided me inside.

The living room opened up in a sweep of golden light. It was spacious, with a wide stone fireplace crackling in the corner and soft leather couches arranged in a circle. The air smelled faintly of cedar, smoke, and hops—rich and homey.

Five heads turned toward us at once.

Three men lounged across the couches, beers in hand. They looked like they’d stepped straight out of some magazine. The first was broad and muscular, with shaggy brunette hair and a grin too easy to be innocent. His shoulders filled his shirt to the point of straining the seams, and a heavy gold chain glinted against his chest.

The second was sleeker—blonde hair styled back effortlessly, blue eyes that practically gleamed under the lamplight. He wore a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled to reveal strong forearms, and an earring winked in one ear.

The third sat sprawled lazily in the corner, darker than the others—raven hair cropped close at the sides, brown eyes sharp and amused beneath thick brows. A neatly trimmed beard framed his face, lending him a rough, masculine edge. He was more casual in demeanor, but the aura was the same: polished, confident, untouchable.

And then there were the women.

Two of them, draped over the armrests of the couches, laughing as though they’d just heard the funniest joke in the world. Both of them looked like they’d been carved by sculptors—long legs, flawless skin, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. One had glossy black hair and stormy grey eyes, her casual jean shorts and cropped white t-shirt doing nothing to hide the model-like perfection of her figure. The other was golden blonde, her loose hair tumbling in soft waves, her smile radiant as she leaned comfortably into the brunette man beside her.

They looked impossibly untouchable.

And then there was me. Mud-smeared. Shivering. Dress clinging in tatters to my skin.

“Whoa,” the brunette guy broke the silence first, sitting up straight. His gaze flicked from Ash’s muddy boots to our joined hands. A smirk tugged at his mouth. “Ash, you don’t usually walk in here looking like a swamp monster—and dragging someone with you.”

The blonde guy raised his brows, smirking. “Since when do you bring girls home? Did hell freeze over without telling me?”

Even the bearded one chuckled under his breath, leaning forward with lazy interest. “Better question—who is she?”

Ash didn’t falter. He kept my hand in his as he walked further inside, calm as ever. “Relax,” he drawled, voice rough but tinged with humor. “I figured you all needed to see what a real woman looks like—so you can stop pretending these knock-off calendars count.”

The room broke into laughter.

“Asshole,” the brunette barked, tossing a pillow at him.

Ash caught it one-handed, smirking, and lobbed it back so hard it nearly knocked over a beer bottle.

The blonde stood, mock-offended. “Oh, so you finally found one? And she’s covered in mud, half frozen, and—” He made a sweeping gesture at me. “—definitely questioning all her life choices.”

Ash rolled his eyes, stepping forward. The brunette reached out like he meant to pull him into a headlock, and Ash ducked at the last second, grabbing him instead by the collar and shoving him back down onto the couch.

“Still too slow, Caius,” Ash said, smirk tugging his sharp jawline.

Caius cursed under his breath, ruffling his own hair where Ash had shoved him.

The girls watched all of this with lazy amusement, sipping their drinks. But I noticed it—the matching tattoos inked at the base of their necks. One on the blonde girl and the brunette guy. Another on the dark-haired girl and the sleek blonde guy. Matching swirls of ink, like marks that bound them together. Couples. That much was obvious.

The brunette girl finally tilted her head at Ash. Her voice was soft, smoky. “So? Are you going to introduce us, or just stand there looking mysterious with your mud-stricken stray?”

Ash smirked and looked down at me. “Don’t worry. They’re loud, but harmless.”

I wanted to shrink into the floor. My hand twitched in his, ready to pull away, but he held steady—like he knew if he let go, I’d bolt.

“Seriously though,” the bearded one chimed in. “Who is she?”

Ash leaned back against the arm of a chair, finally releasing me. “She’s someone who needed a place to stop freezing to death in the middle of the night. That’s all you need to know.”

“Protective already?” Caius teased, leaning forward with a sly grin. “I think I’m in love. Can we keep her?”

Ash’s fist shot out, landing a playful punch to Caius’s shoulder. Hard enough to make him grunt, but not enough to hurt.

The blonde guy—sleek, blue-eyed—muttered something under his breath and reached out to ruffle Ash’s already rain-soaked hair. Ash swatted his hand away, scowling.

“Don’t touch the hair,” he growled.

The girls burst into laughter.

I stood there, entirely out of place, watching this strange group dynamic unfold. They were teasing him, but beneath it there was ease, familiarity—family. Something I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

And then Ash’s eyes cut back to me.

He scanned me up and down quickly, frowning when his gaze caught on the mud, the ripped fabric, the shivering I couldn’t stop. His voice was softer when he spoke again.

“Selene. Aria.”

The girls perked up at the sound of their names.

“Help her out,” Ash said simply. His tone was casual, but there was no mistaking the underlying command. “Get her into something dry, something warm.”

Selene and Aria exchanged a quick, bright look. Then, as though on cue, they hopped up, their laughter spilling like bells.

“Finally!” the blonde one—Aria—said, clapping her hands together. “I was dying for an excuse to raid my closet again.”

“Oh, she’s adorable,” Selene added, already walking toward me, grey eyes glinting. “Come on, sweetheart. We’ll fix you up.”

Before I could protest, their arms looped around mine. Warm, effortless, they tugged me gently but firmly toward the hallway, giggling like this was all the most natural thing in the world.

My heart pounded. Their chatter filled my ears—something about how they had the perfect sweater for me, and how I needed hot tea, and did I like fuzzy socks?—but it all blurred together.

Because as they pulled me away, I realized the strangest thing of all:

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t running.