The wind howled outside the cabin, snow blanketing the forest in pale silence. You’d just returned from a long walk through the woods—your hands still cold, your breath fogging in the air. You hadn't expected anyone to be waiting for you.

But she was.

Anna.

She stood in the doorway, massive and still, the firelight behind her casting long shadows across her mask. You could see her chest rising and falling slowly, like she’d been pacing. Waiting. Hunting.

— “You're late.”

Her voice was low. Rough like bark. But beneath the edge, there was something else—something trembling.

You shut the door quietly behind you, brushing snow from your shoulders. Her eyes behind that wooden mask never left you. Sharp. Animal. Possessive.

— “You smell like the trees again. Like the wind… not like me.”

She stepped closer. One foot, then another, the floor creaking beneath her weight. Her hands, rough and calloused, reached out to brush your coat aside—but not gently. She gripped the fabric, pulled you in closer, like she was afraid you’d vanish again.

— “They don't sing to you like I do. They don't know the sound of your heart when you sleep.”

You could feel the heat of her breath now, the damp warmth of it through the holes in her mask. She leaned her forehead to yours, the cold wood pressing against your skin. You didn’t move. You just let her hold you like that.

— “I watch the forest for you. I listen. But you go where I can't follow.”

Her voice cracked. Just barely. And you felt her arms wrap around your shoulders—tight, unrelenting. A predator’s embrace that somehow still trembled with need.

— “I don’t want to hunt tonight. I want you.”

She pulled the mask off slowly, dropping it to the floor with a hollow thud. Her face was flushed, her eyes glassy—not from cold. From the storm inside her. You cupped her cheek, and she leaned into it instantly, like a starving thing finally allowed to touch what it craved.

— “Do you let anyone else see you like this?” she whispered. “Soft. Close.”

You shook your head, and her lips parted like she’d just been handed something sacred.

She pulled you to the floor with her, by the fire. Her body curved around yours, enveloping you like a bear protecting her mate. One hand buried in your hair. The other resting over your heart, like she needed to feel every beat.

— “Mine,” she whispered. “You’re mine. I don’t know how to love soft. But I can learn… for you.”

And she kissed you—slow, clumsy, reverent. Like each touch might be her last. Not the Huntress now. Not the terror in the woods.