The Morning After

Sunlight, sharp and blinding, pierced Elara’s eyelids.

She groaned, stretching. Her back wasn't stiff. In fact, she felt warmer than she had in years. The drafty chill of the cabin was gone.

She realized she was clinging to something.

It wasn't fur.

It was skin. Smooth, hot, solid skin.

Elara’s eyes snapped open.

She wasn't curling up with a wolf. She was draped over the chest of a man.

He was sprawled on the rug, stark naked. He was massive—broad shoulders, corded muscle, and dark hair that fell over his eyes. His leg, the one she had bound, was still wrapped in the t-shirt strips.

Elara shrieked.

She scrambled backward, tangling her legs in the blanket, and grabbed the nearest weapon she could find—her straw broom.

"Who are you?" she yelled, brandishing the broom like a spear. "Where is the wolf? What did you do with him?"

The man groaned and sat up. He rubbed his face, wincing slightly as he moved his leg. He looked at the bandage, then up at Elara.

His eyes were amber. The exact same shade as the wolf’s.

"Easy, witch," he rasped. His voice was deep, like gravel tumbling down a well. "Put the broom down. You're going to hurt yourself."

"You... you're naked," Elara squeaked, averting her eyes, then looking back, then averting them again.

"Shifting burns clothes," the man said matter-of-factly. He grabbed the blanket from the floor and wrapped it around his waist. "I'm Cian."

"Cian," Elara repeated. The name sounded familiar. "The Alpha? Of the Northern Pack?"

He nodded. He stretched his neck, a satisfying *pop* echoing in the room. "And you're Elara. The hedge witch who thinks she tastes like instant noodles."

Elara’s face went crimson. "You heard that?"

"I heard everything," Cian said. His gaze softened. He looked around the cabin, taking in the poverty—the empty shelves, the smashed remains of the chair near the stove, the drying herbs.

"You used a Moon-Phase salve on a stranger," he noted. "That jar was worth a fortune to someone like you."

"You were dying," Elara said, lowering the broom. "I couldn't just leave you."

Cian stood up. He tested his weight on the injured leg. He limped slightly, but the bone held.

"It worked," he murmured. "Your magic isn't weak, Elara. It's gentle. There's a difference."

He walked toward her. Elara backed up until she hit the wall.

He stopped inches from her. He smelled the same—pine and earth—but now with the added scent of man.

"You burned your furniture to keep me warm," he said quietly.

"It was a wobbly chair anyway," Elara deflected, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Cian reached out. His large hand covered hers on the broom handle. He gently pulled it from her grip and set it aside.

"You saved my life," he said. "Do you know what that means in wolf law?"

Elara shook her head.

"It means my life is now tied to yours," he said. "It means you are no longer alone on this mountain."

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