Chapter 9 Shelter in the Woods

Dorian’s house sat at the edge of the nameless forest, half-hidden by crooked pines and creeping mist. It was small—two rooms at most, made of weathered wood and patched stone—but the moment I stepped inside, it felt… safe. Too safe, compared to the chaos I was used to.

The scent of smoke and pine clung to the walls, and a fire crackled quietly in the hearth. My eyes flicked across the simple furniture, the stacked shelves, the clean but modest bedrolls. For someone who lived alone out here, he kept the place surprisingly warm.

“Sit,” Dorian said simply, motioning toward the table. He moved with an ease that made it feel less like an order and more like… care.

I obeyed, though my instincts kept me wary.

Dinner was plain—stew, coarse bread, nothing remarkable. Yet the silence while we ate was almost comforting. For once, I wasn’t listening for footsteps outside my door. For once, the walls didn’t feel like a cage.

Still, the question burned on my tongue.

“Why do you always show up?” I asked suddenly, breaking the quiet. My spoon clattered against the bowl. “Every time I’m cornered, you’re there. Don’t tell me it’s coincidence. I stopped believing in those a long time ago.”

Dorian’s lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. “The world doesn’t often deal in coincidences, Elara. But not all answers are meant to be handed over so easily.”

I narrowed my eyes, frustration rising, but something in his tone pulled me back. He wasn’t lying—but he wasn’t telling me everything either.

When he stepped outside to fetch more wood, I couldn’t help myself. My gaze drifted, searching. And that’s when I noticed them.

Maps pinned against the wall, inked with borders and symbols I didn’t recognize. Deep scratches, like claw marks, along the wooden beam by the window. And on a shelf, tucked between worn books, a faint carving—the remnants of a crest I hadn’t seen since my childhood in Silverfang.

My stomach knotted.

Before I could move, the door creaked open. Dorian walked in, his arms full of firewood. His eyes flicked to me, then to what I was staring at. The air shifted, heavy and sharp.

“Curiosity can be dangerous,” he said evenly. Then softer, as if to soothe the edge of his own words. “If I wanted to hurt you, Elara… I would have done it long ago.”

I froze, pulse thundering, unable to tell if that was reassurance or a warning.

Later, when he offered me the small cot in the corner, I accepted without a word. I lay down, pulling the blanket to my chin, but sleep didn’t come easily. My mind circled back to the maps, the scars, the crest. To the calm way he had said those words.

I was still awake when I heard it—footsteps outside.

Too light to be an animal. Too many to be one man.

Dorian moved fast. I watched from the cot as he reached beneath the wooden floorboards, pulling out not an axe or hunting knife… but a blade that gleamed faintly in the firelight.

Silver.

My breath caught.

That wasn’t a weapon for chopping wood. That was a weapon made to kill wolves.

And I wondered if I had just stepped into safety or into a cage of a different kind.

••

Dorian stepped outside, his boots crunching softly against the damp earth. The night air was sharp, carrying the faint rustle of leaves and the distant call of an owl. He searched every corner around the cabin, his gaze sweeping the tree line, the shadows between rocks, and the empty path leading deeper into the forest. Nothing. The air was still again, as if holding its breath.

When he returned inside, Elara sat up halfway, her brows knitted in worry.

“Nothing out there,” he assured her, brushing the dirt from his hands. “Probably just a pack of wild animals passing through… or another wolf taking a stroll. Nothing to fear.”

Elara tilted her head, still unconvinced, but the relief in her chest was undeniable. If it had been hunters, she would have sensed their steel and silver by now.

Dorian gave her a faint smile. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll have to work the docks again. The port doesn’t forgive the lazy.”

That earned the ghost of a smile from Elara. She nodded and lay back down, exhaustion dragging her under. Within moments, her breaths deepened into the steady rhythm of true sleep, the kind she rarely allowed herself.

Dorian remained seated at the edge of the makeshift bed. For a long time, he studied her face—the stubbornness, the scars of a life on the run, and yet the quiet fragility she tried so hard to hide.

His voice was low, almost swallowed by the crackling fire. “I’ll protect you, Elara. Even if you don’t want me to. You’re a lone wolf… no pack, no family. But you’re not alone anymore.”

His words hung in the air like a vow.

Outside, unseen by either of them, a shadow slipped past the tree line. Red eyes gleamed once in the dark before vanishing.

And miles away, Kael clenched his fists, sensing her presence slip further from him, his resolve hardening.