Nightfall Echoes
1402 Words
The storm was quieting, but the world outside still looked bruised and breathless as Rowan trudged up the cabin steps. Snow clung to his clothes in jagged patches, melting down his neck and soaking into the collar of his shirt. He barely noticed the cold. His lungs burned, his wrists ached where claws had burst through earlier, and copper still coated the back of his tongue from the fight.
But he held the rogue girl—no, not rogue, not truly—in his arms like something fragile and breakable. She was unconscious now, head nestled against his shoulder, her breaths shallow but steady. Small. Lightweight. Barely past her first shift.
And familiar.
Too familiar.
Asher prowled inside his mind with restless urgency, hackles raised.
She’s connected to Holly. I feel it. I know it.
Yes. Rowan’s response was tight. But Holly can’t know yet.
Asher growled, low and disagreeing, but he didn’t push any further. Not yet.
Rowan reached the cabin door and shifted the girl in his arms just enough to free one hand. He opened it, expecting silence—or maybe the soft hum of the fireplace.
Instead, Holly stood there, eyes blown wide with fear.
“Oh my god—Rowan.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “You’re hurt. Y-your face—your shoulder—who is—”
He stepped past her because he had to, because the girl needed warmth immediately, because explanations would unravel far too much. Holly spun to follow him, the panic in her voice rising.
“Rowan, talk to me! What happened?”
He ignored the question, kneeling beside the sofa and gently lowering the girl onto the cushions. She stirred only slightly, brow furrowing, lips parting with a soft whimper that scraped something inside him raw.
Holly hesitated behind him, her breath shaking. “Is she—hurt? Is she—”
“She’s stable,” Rowan said at last, wiping blood from her temple with his thumb. “She needs rest.”
“But who is she?” Holly whispered.
He didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t have a safe answer.
Tell her, Asher snarled. She needs to know—
Not yet. Rowan bit the inside of his cheek.
Holly hovered closer, her fingers curling nervously against her palm. Her eyes weren’t on the girl, though—they were on him. On the blood matting his hair. The smear across his jaw. The torn fabric at his shoulder.
“You’re bleeding,” she whispered.
“It’s not mine.”
Some of it was, but that didn’t matter. Not to him.
A fragile silence settled in the room, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire and the distant howl of wind.
Then—
“Rowan…” Holly’s voice softened, cracking around the edges. “Are you okay?”
He finally looked at her.
Snow clung to the hem of her sweater. Her eyes shimmered, haunted and confused. Her scent—warm cinnamon and pine—washed over him like a punch to the ribs, grounding and destabilizing all at once.
He should have kept his distance.
He wanted to keep his distance.
But when she reached out—tentative, uncertain—something inside him broke open.
Her fingertips brushed his wrist.
Heat shot up his arm—blazing, instinctive, undeniable.
His breath stilled.
Holly gasped, pulling back instantly. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean—I just—”
Rowan’s pulse thundered. “It’s fine.”
But it wasn’t fine.
It was everything he was trying desperately not to feel.
Her presence. Her touch. The bond humming beneath his skin like wildfire.
He stood abruptly, needing space before he lost what little control he had left. Holly stepped aside as he passed, but the room felt too small, too warm, too saturated with her scent.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I need to clean up. Keep an eye on her. She shouldn’t wake alone.”
“A-alright,” Holly whispered.
He turned toward the hallway—
“Protect her… she’s ours.”
The voice wasn’t Rowan’s.
It was deeper. Raw. Metallic-edged.
Holly froze.
Her eyes widened, darting toward him with something between confusion and fear.
“What… what was that?” she whispered.
Rowan went completely still.
Asher had slipped through.
Not fully.
Not physically.
But enough for his voice—Rowan’s wolf’s voice—to bleed into the waking world.
Idiot, Rowan growled inwardly. You pushed too hard.
Asher huffed, utterly unrepentant.
She needed to hear it.
Rowan swallowed. “It’s nothing. You’re exhausted. Your mind is playing—”
“Rowan.”
It was a single word, quiet but steady.
Not accusing.
Just needing truth.
He closed his eyes briefly. “Later. I’ll explain later.”
It was the closest thing to honesty he could safely give.
Holly didn’t push, but worry lingered in her gaze as she turned to tend to the unconscious girl. Rowan lingered a moment longer, committing the sight to memory: Holly kneeling softly, brushing hair from the girl’s forehead, moving with instinctive gentleness.
As if she already knew—deep down—that this stranger mattered.
As if something inside her was responding to the same pull Rowan felt.
He tore himself away before he could think too much about it.
Later that night
The storm settled heavily around the cabin, blanketing the world in quiet. Holly sat beside the sleeping girl, wrapped in a blanket, the firelight soft against her features. Rowan sat in the chair near the door, sharpening a blade he didn’t truly need to sharpen.
Protective instinct kept him alert.
The mate bond kept him tense.
And Asher kept pacing inside him like caged fire.
She heard me, Asher said. She’s close to awakening.
I know, Rowan answered.
You should tell her the truth.
She isn’t ready.
She’s ours, Asher growled. And the girl on that couch is tied to her by blood. I’m certain of it.
Rowan stiffened.
He’d suspected as much. But hearing Asher say it—hearing that certainty—made something icy coil in his chest.
Holly didn’t know who she truly was.
And when she found out…
Everything would change.
A soft sound broke the heavy silence.
The rogue girl stirred, eyelids fluttering weakly. Holly leaned closer, offering water, brushing a comforting hand along her arm.
The girl blinked, struggling to focus.
Then her gaze lifted—
And landed on Holly.
Her expression crumpled, full of something raw and aching.
“Y-your scent,” she whispered, voice raspy.
“You smell like… home.”
Holly froze.
Rowan’s heart stopped.
The girl’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve been looking… for someone who smelled like that. I thought—maybe—maybe you could help me find—”
But before she could finish, exhaustion dragged her under again, eyes drifting shut.
Holly turned slowly toward Rowan.
“Why would she say that?” she asked softly. “How could my scent—how could it mean anything to her?”
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
He couldn’t lie.
He couldn’t tell the truth.
Not yet.
“Holly,” he said quietly, “there are… things you don’t know about yourself. Things your grandmother may have kept hidden. And until we understand them fully, I can’t risk giving you half-answers that would only confuse you more.”
Her throat bobbed. “So that notebook—”
“—wasn’t wrong,” Rowan finished.
Silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Holly curled her knees tighter beneath her. “I don’t feel different.”
“You will,” Rowan murmured before he could stop himself.
Her eyes snapped up. “What?”
He swallowed. “Sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
She didn’t argue.
She just nodded slowly, carefully—like someone stepping across ice that might crack beneath them.
Rowan watched her cross the room, watched her hand linger on the bedroom doorframe as though she needed the support.
When her door clicked softly shut, Asher slid forward in Rowan’s mind, voice a low rumble.
The truth is coming, Rowan.
You can’t hide her from it forever.
Rowan set the blade down, staring into the flames.
“I know.”
And outside, as if in response, a distant howl rose into the night—
not threatening, but calling.
Searching.
Close.
Closer than before.
Something—or someone—was coming.
- Writer
