The snowstorm showed no signs of letting up. Outside, the world was an endless swirl of white, the wind rattling the cabin walls and sending snow piling against the windows. Inside, Holly curled up in an armchair, the grandmother’s leather-bound notebook open in her lap. The fire crackled, filling the cabin with warmth, yet a restlessness ran through her veins she couldn’t shake.
She glanced toward the window, where the rogue wolf lay in the snow, ears flicking, amber eyes alert but calm. Despite Rowan’s earlier assurances, Holly felt drawn to the creature. She shook her head, blaming her fixation on the cabin’s isolation.
I’m just stir-crazy, she told herself. Snowstorm cabin fever.
She flipped another page of the notebook, tracing the faded handwriting with her finger. The entries gre
