Midday Shadows
1467 Words
The snowstorm had quieted into a deceptive calm, the kind of lull that made the world feel softer than it really was. Thick layers of powder glazed the trees outside the cabin windows, and the bright midday sun made everything shimmer like ground glass.
Rowan pushed the cabin door open slowly, careful not to let the wind whip it from his hand. He shook snow from his shoulders, stamping his boots on the mat, the heat from the wood-burning stove greeting him like a welcome hand.
He didn’t see her at first.
What he did see was the faint impression of her weight on the couch cushions. A mug half-full of tea. A blanket tossed over the back of the armrest. A soft, lingering scent—warm and sweet and maddeningly familiar.
Asher stirred instantly.
Mate. Hers. Ours.
Rowan swallowed and ignored the electric hum unfurling beneath his skin.
He spotted her then—curled up in the corner of the couch, knees to her chest, hair cascading around her shoulders in a loose, messy halo. She was flipping carefully through a worn leather notebook, brow furrowed in thought.
She didn’t even notice him.
Something about that—her comfort here, her trust, her unguarded quiet—hit him harder than it should have.
He cleared his throat gently.
Holly jerked, almost dropping the notebook. “Oh! God, you startled me.”
“Sorry,” Rowan said softly, pulling off his gloves. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
“You’re weirdly quiet for a guy who’s built like a brick wall,” she muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Rowan’s lips twitched. “Occupational hazard.”
Holly chewed her lip, gaze drifting back to the notebook. “Um… look at this.”
He stepped closer, drawn by the faint tremble in her voice. She held the notebook out to him, thumb pressed between the pages she’d been reading.
“My grandmother wrote in this constantly,” Holly explained. “But these last entries… I don’t know. They feel different.”
Rowan hesitated before taking it. “Different how?”
“You tell me.”
He opened to the page.
Notebook Entry — September 3rd
She feels the pull again. The old pull. The woods are shifting around her. Watching her. Guarding her.
This bloodline does not sleep easily.
And soon… it wakes.
The words crawled under Rowan’s skin.
Asher surged forward, uneasy. She writes like she knew. Like she saw ahead. Like she felt the wolf in her family.
Rowan snapped the notebook shut, pulse thudding.
Holly hugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “See? Weird.”
“What did she mean by ‘old blood’?” he asked carefully.
Holly shrugged, trying to laugh it off. “Probably nothing. She was very mystical. Loved folklore. She used to say our family had roots in ‘old mountain legends.’ Stuff like that.”
“Is that why she lived way out here?”
“Yeah.” Holly’s voice softened. “She said the mountains felt alive. Said she felt ‘connected.’ I always chalked it up to grief after my mom died. This place was her sanctuary.”
Rowan handed the notebook back, his fingers brushing hers—warm, soft, grounding.
She froze for half a heartbeat, eyes flicking up to his face before she looked away quickly.
“Sorry,” Holly whispered.
“For what?”
“For being… for being clingy. Or emotional. Or weird.” She let out a humorless laugh. “I haven’t really talked to anyone in days. I’m probably projecting onto the houseplants at this point.”
“You don’t have to apologize for being human,” Rowan said quietly.
His voice came out lower than intended, roughened around the edges. Holly’s gaze flicked to his again, and this time she didn’t look away immediately.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Rowan pretended he couldn’t hear it.
He needed distance. Needed control.
He stepped back. “Did you eat anything yet?”
“Half a granola bar,” she admitted sheepishly.
He stared at her.
She threw her hands up. “What? I was reading!”
“Right,” Rowan said dryly. “Get up. You’re eating real food.”
Holly huffed but stood, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders like a cape as she padded toward the tiny kitchen corner.
He grabbed a pan from the cabinet. “Eggs okay?”
“Eggs sound amazing.”
As he cooked, Holly leaned against the counter watching him with an expression that made his chest tighten. Curiosity. Softness. Something else he wasn’t ready to name.
“So…” she said lightly. “Where did you disappear to this morning?”
“Patrolling.” The lie slid out smoothly.
Asher snarled.
She deserves the truth.
Not yet....
Holly nodded slowly, stirring sugar into a fresh cup of tea. “You said there were… coyotes out here, right?”
“They avoid people,” Rowan said. “But I like to stay careful.”
She hesitated, thumb running along the rim of her mug. “I thought I saw a big dog near the treeline earlier. Probably just my imagination.”
He stilled.
“Was it watching the cabin?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I only caught a glimpse. Light brown. Young.”
Rowan’s jaw clenched.
The rogue. She’s too close.
Dustin’s voice ripped through his mind like a cold wire.
Alpha. The rogue passed the creek again. She’s circling. No aggression. But she’s… confused. Maybe looking for someone.
Someone.
Rowan’s stomach dropped.
Holly.
“She felt… familiar,” Dustin added reluctantly. Same scent undertone. Faint. But there.
Rowan turned away from Holly before his face could betray anything.
It’s not possible. It shouldn’t be possible.
Asher pushed at the edges of his control.
She’s connected to her. Blood recognizes blood. I told you.
Rowan shut down the link entirely before his beta could say more.
“Rowan?” Holly asked gently. “You got really quiet.”
He forced his shoulders to relax. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“You slipping on the ice yesterday,” he said, lying smoothly. “You need better shoes.”
Holly groaned. “Please don’t remind me. I’m already mortified.”
“You could’ve been seriously hurt,” he murmured.
“Yeah, well… it was worth it. You caught me.” She smiled faintly.
His chest tightened painfully.
He slid the plate of eggs toward her to break the moment. “Eat.”
She rolled her eyes but took the fork. “Bossy.”
“Someone has to be.”
She mumbled something into her food but started eating with unexpected enthusiasm.
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her. It wasn’t intentional, but he couldn’t seem to look away. Something about the way she ate—like she hadn’t had a warm meal in too long—scraped at him.
“Thank you,” she said quietly when the plate was empty.
“You’re welcome.”
Holly stood, carrying the plate to the sink. “You know… it’s strange.”
“What is?”
She hesitated, turning to face him fully. “I feel like I’ve known you longer than a few days.”
Rowan felt Asher push so hard he nearly staggered.
Tell her. Claim her.
No.
Holly continued, unaware of the war raging inside him. “I don’t know why. Maybe it’s just… the situation. Being stuck in a cabin together. It makes things intense.”
“It does,” Rowan agreed, voice low. “Too intense.”
She blinked. “Is that… bad?”
He shifted his weight, looking away. “It’s complicated.”
“Well…” She shrugged, trying to play it off, but her voice cracked slightly. “Just tell me if I’m being too much.”
“You’re not,” he said before he could stop himself.
Her breath hitched.
Rowan closed his eyes briefly. Damn it.
A soft, distant howl threaded through the quiet.
Holly stiffened. “There it is again.”
Rowan moved instantly toward the window.
A shadow paced the treeline. Light brown fur. Small frame. Ears flattened, tail tucked—not in fear, but in hesitance.
Waiting.
Choosing.
Not attacking. Not stalking.
Searching.
Rowan’s growl rumbled unconsciously.
Holly stepped closer, peering over his shoulder before he could block her. “That’s not a coyote.”
“No,” Rowan agreed softly. “It’s not.”
“What is it?”
Rowan’s hand curled into a fist.
“Something that shouldn’t be this close,” he said quietly.
Asher surged, teeth bared, breath hot under Rowan’s skin.
She’s coming.
And Rowan knew—whether Holly understood it yet or not—
Everything was about to change.
- Writer
