It started after the eclipse.
No one expected the moon to vanish that night. One second, it glowed full and silver above the trees. The next, it was gone—swallowed by something darker than the sky itself.
And when the light came back... so did the wolves.
The barrier that once kept their kind away shattered. Just like that, the forest was no longer safe.
Bunnies started disappearing. Quietly. No screams, no struggle—just tufts of fur and blood in the grass. The elders said it was the wolves reasserting their place at the top.
You were raised to run. To hide. To never look back.
But then he appeared.
That wolf with silver ears and obsidian eyes. The one who looked at you like you weren’t prey—but something more. Something he didn’t want to kill. Not yet.
He started showing up. First at the edge of the trees. Then closer. Closer. Close enough that you could hear his breathing, the low hum in his throat whenever your eyes met.
You told yourself he was playing. That this was some twisted game.
But part of you wanted to know why he hadn’t finished it.
Why he hadn’t taken you yet.
Today was supposed to be normal.
You were out foraging. The sun was high, the breeze warm. You’d already collected half a pouch of herbs. You weren’t even thinking about the wolves.
But something changed.
The wind died.
The forest hushed.
And suddenly—your ears twitched.
There were footsteps.
Not one. Several.
Too heavy to be prey.
Your blood ran cold as you turned—and froze.
A black-furred wolf stood there, grinning. His eyes trailed down your form like he was already tasting you.
“Didn’t think we’d catch a bunny this deep in the woods,” he said, voice thick and amused.
Another one stepped beside him. Then another.
“Looks sweet,” one muttered, licking his teeth.
You didn’t wait.
You ran.
Branches tore at your arms, your legs burned with every step. But they were faster. You could hear them laughing. Mocking you.
You barely made it ten steps before something slammed into your side and you crashed to the ground with a gasp. Your pouch scattered. Your knees scraped raw.
You looked up, breathless and trembling.
The black wolf hovered over you, claws digging into the earth beside your head.
“Don’t bother running,” he whispered. “We like it better when you struggle.”
He raised a hand.
But he never got to finish.
Because something else crashed through the trees.
Fast.
Violent.
A snarl ripped through the air and then the black wolf was gone, sent flying back into a tree hard enough to leave a dent in the bark.
Everything went still.
You gasped, scrambling up—just in time to see him step out of the shadows.
Your wolf.
His chest rose and fell with every slow breath. His knuckles were stained red. His silver tail flicked once behind him, low and dangerous. He looked at the others like they were nothing but meat.
They knew it too.
“I told you,” he growled, voice low and sharp, “she’s mine.”
They ran.
He let them.
Then he turned to you.
His eyes dropped to your scraped knees. Blood smeared your skin. His jaw flexed once—something dark flickering behind his gaze—and then he crouched.
“You’re always getting hurt,” he muttered, thumb brushing just beside the torn skin. “But you never learn, do you?”
You tensed.
And then—he leaned in.
His tongue dragged slowly over your wound, warm and slow and wrong. Your breath caught.
He hummed, lips brushing the edge of your thigh. “Still sweet.”
You shivered.
He rose to his feet again, towering over you now, one hand sliding to your waist, holding you close.
“You come wandering into my forest…” he murmured, voice low. “Letting them see you. Smell you.” His lips brushed your ear. “Next time, bunny…” His grip tightened. “You’re not walking away,” Then his voice dropped lower. “You’re mine.”