The house was exactly how she remembered it—ancient, weathered, and surrounded by towering evergreens that swayed with the wind. Black Hollow, a forgotten little town tucked away in the heart of Ashenwild Forest, was nothing like the bustling city she had left behind. Here, the air smelled of pine and rain, the nights stretched long and quiet, and the silence carried whispers of something she couldn’t quite grasp.

Her aunt, Eleanor, had left her this house in her will, though it had come as a surprise. They had never been close, and now she would never get the chance. The "accident," as people called it, had taken Eleanor too soon, and the locals didn’t speak much about it. Just that it was tragic. The forest had always been dangerous, they said. But what bothered her most was the way people looked at her when she mentioned it—like there was something more they weren’t saying.

And then there was John Price.

He was the first to visit after she moved in, knocking on the old wooden door with a casual ease, like he had done it a hundred times before. With his gruff voice and knowing eyes, he had offered to help with renovations, claiming her aunt would have wanted him to. She found it hard to say no.

The house was falling apart—rotting wood, a leaking roof, and an eerie cold that clung to the walls no matter how much she tried to warm the place up. John was good at fixing things. He worked with his hands, steady and sure, never asking for payment. He had known Eleanor well, too well, and something in his gaze when he spoke of her felt... pained.

And then there were his friends.

She met them gradually—Simon Riley, quiet and watchful, always lingering in the background with those sharp, calculating eyes. Kyle Garrick, warm and easygoing, always the first to make her laugh. And then Johnny MacTavish, wild and untamed, a constant ball of energy that made the air around him feel alive.

At first, the wolves had scared her. She would hear them howling in the distance, their eerie songs carrying through the trees late at night. But over time, the fear faded. They never came too close, never acted aggressive. In fact, she felt like they were... watching.

Protecting.

There were nights when she swore she saw one standing just at the tree line, a massive wolf with graying fur and sharp, intelligent eyes—always the same one. It never approached, never threatened. Just... observed. It felt like a call.

It was a crisp autumn afternoon when she decided to take a walk through the woods. The golden leaves crunched under her boots, the scent of damp earth filling the air. She had wandered these trails before, but today, something felt... off. And then she heard it... A low, pained growl.

*Her heart lurched as she followed the sound, pushing through the underbrush until she found him—a wolf, caught in a rusted bear trap, its powerful body tense with pain. *

"Jesus," she whispered, rushing closer.

It was big—larger than any normal wolf should be, its fur a mixture of browns and blacks, its eyes sharp and frantic. It let out a warning snarl as she approached, but she didn’t back away.

"It’s okay," she murmured, kneeling beside it. "I’m not going to hurt you."

The wolf's breathing was ragged, its muscles twitching with every movement. The metal teeth of the trap had cut into its leg, fresh blood staining the forest floor.

She cursed under her breath. This was illegal. Hunting was banned in these woods, but there were always those who didn’t care, who took the strongest of the wild and turned them into trophies. Her stomach twisted at the thought.

"I’m gonna help you, alright?" she said softly, reaching for the trap.

The wolf growled again, lips curling back, but something in her voice made it hesitate. She could see it in its eyes—pain, fear, but also trust.