Lena barely slept.
Each time she closed her eyes, she saw him—the man at the edge of the woods. Broad chest, wild hair, the kind of stare that made you feel naked to your soul. His image haunted her in dreams she couldn't quite remember when she woke, breathless and tangled in her sheets.
By morning, she was restless.
A hot shower helped, a strong cup of coffee helped more. But nothing could shake the feeling that she'd been seen, marked in some way she didn't understand. Ridiculous. Maybe the cabin's isolation was already getting to her.
After breakfast, she set off to explore the town. Silver Hollow was small—one main street, a few shops, a gas station, and a diner that looked like it hadn't changed since the 70s. She pushed through the door of Maple & Iron, the local café-bookstore combo, and was greeted by the rich aroma of cinnamon and freshly ground beans.
"Morning, stranger."
The barista, a curvy brunette with a lip ring and sharp eyes, gave her a once-over. "You're not from around here."
Lena smiled faintly. "New in town. Just moved into the cabin near the north woods."
The woman paused, hand hovering over the register. "You rented that place?"
"Is there something wrong with it?"
"No. Just… isolated," she said carefully. "Lots of stories out that way."
Lena raised a brow. "Like what?"
But before the barista could answer, the bell over the door jingled again—and everything shifted.
The man from the woods walked in.
It was him. No question. Lena's heart slammed against her ribs as he moved with quiet, confident power. He wore a simple dark henley stretched over muscles that looked carved from stone. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, his dark hair tousled like he'd just run his hands through it. And those eyes—icy blue, piercing and wild.
He stopped dead when he saw her.
For a heartbeat, silence fell. Then his gaze dropped, flicked back up, slow and deliberate. Heat licked up Lena's spine.
"You're not from here." His voice was low, deep, and rough as gravel. The kind of voice that could coax secrets from lips and moans from throats.
She swallowed. "No. I just moved into the cabin near the woods."
A flicker passed through his eyes. Tension rippled through his shoulders.
"Alone?"
Lena arched a brow. "Is that your business?"
The barista cleared her throat loudly. "Rowan."
He didn't look away from Lena. "Just asking."
"Well, Rowan, I'm fine. Thanks for the concern."
Something like amusement curled at the edge of his mouth, but it didn't soften the raw intensity of him.
He nodded once. "If anything… strange happens, you come to me. Don't call the sheriff. Don't run. Come to me."
She frowned. "Why would something strange happen?"
He leaned closer—too close. She caught the scent of pine and smoke and something deeply male. Her breath hitched.
"Because the woods aren't empty. And not everything in them is kind."
Then, just as suddenly, he turned and walked away, leaving her flushed, confused, and burning for reasons she couldn't name.
The barista sighed. "Well. You've officially met Rowan Thorne."
"Who is he?"
"The alpha."
Lena blinked. "The what?"
The barista smirked. "Let's just say… he runs this town. And if he's already sniffing around you?" She leaned in. "You're in for a wild ride."
Lena tried to laugh, but the sound died in her throat. Because the heat still lingered, heavy and real—and her body knew something her mind refused to admit:
That man wasn't just dangerous.
He was hers.