I’d jerk awake gasping, slick with sweat and want, sheets twisted around my legs. The change in location didn’t help, not that I remembered moving. The cabin was too hot and too cold at once. I’d kick the blankets off only to drag them back up seconds later, the air biting at my skin.
Every dream ended the same way — a climax that didn’t come, a voice that soundedreal, and the crushing awareness of being alone.
Except now… I wasn’t sure Iwas.
Somewhere between one breath and the next, the walls began to hum. The faint rattle of the windowpanes sounded too much like footsteps on the porch. The faint thud of snow slipping off the roof — too much like someone brushing against the door.
I sat up fast, heart hammering. The low light from the embers in the fireplace painted everything in amber and shadow. My pulse was a drumbeat against my ribs.
There wasnothingout there.
Therecouldn’tbe.
Still, I got up.
My knees almost gave out the moment I stood. Every inch of my body ached with need, a raw, throbby, living thing thatpulsed in time with my heartbeat. I shoved the blanket aside, staggered toward the main door. My fingers fumbled on the lock before I twisted it shut. One. Two. Three times. The solid click of the deadbolt gave me a flash of relief that vanished as soon as I exhaled.
Then I heard it.
A voice. Soft. Rough-edged. Familiar. “Wren…”
My name. Whispered through the walls.
My stomach twisted.
“No,” I muttered. “You’re not here. You’re not?—”
“Wren.” Another voice this time. Lower. Rougher.
It was Rhett’s cadence, Rhett’stone, the teasing lilt sanded down by something darker.
My breath hitched, eyes darting toward the frosted windows. The glass was fogging. Slowly. Like breath pressed against the outside pane.
I stumbled back. “No. No, you’re not—” My words cut off as another voice joined the others. Calm. Steady. Threaded with command.
“Open the door.”Roan.
My throat went dry.
They weren’t here. They couldn’t be here. There was no reason for them to be here.
Except… the scent in the air shifted again, thickened, coiling with my pulse. My bodybelievedthem, even if my mind didn’t. The room tilted.
I backed away, bumped into the corner of the sofa, then half-ran for the hallway. I slammed my bedroom door, twisted that lock too, pressed my forehead against the wood.
The sound outside the cabin intensified — a scuff, a low thump, something dragging through snow.
The fog on the windows was thicker now. I could see it from the crack under the door — dim light flickering against it.My imagination painted silhouettes in the haze. Shapes moving. Waiting.
A whimper escaped before I could stop it. Not fear. Something worse. Something needier.
“Go away,” I whispered, but it didn’t sound convincing. Not even to me. “Please…”
The silence that followed stretched too long. My pulse thundered, blood singing in my ears. Then?—
A knock. Low. Heavy. Deliberate.
It rattled the whole cabin.
