ONE


The steady rhythm of her pulse was too much for him to resist. She was his, and he needed to mark her as so.

Jenna chewed her lip as her eyes ravaged the remainder of the page. She'd read the story a dozen times before, but the scene was her favorite. Her stomach flipped as she absently grabbed a chocolate from the opened box beside her.

Bang!

A gust of howling wind blew open the kitchen shutters. She clutched her chest, closed the book and took a deep breath. "Damn latch." Her maintenance skills didn't seem to be enough to combat the impending storm. The fire crackled in the hearth, taunting her with the fact that she'd have to venture away from its warmth and brave the plummeting temperature outside.

She set the book on the side table and stood, collecting her father's old denim jacket from the hook. She had her own, but she still chose his as if it would somehow bring him with her. If her father were still alive, the latch would be like new. As it was, she wondered how long the old cabin would remain standing. It was almost like the place knew when he'd ceased to exist, and it'd chosen to rot along with him.

When she opened the back door, the snow and wind gave a howling greeting and fought to get inside. She pulled the denim tighter, forced the door shut with her back, then turned to the still banging shutters. The latch shimmered in the deepening snow below, completely broken off with the rusted screw still attached.

The steps were slick with ice, the ground at the bottom slush. She gripped the rail, moving slow, then teetered as her boots disappeared beneath the fluff. The snowfall clouded her sight, and she bent down to retrieve her target before it could disappear.

The hole in the shutter was so worn, she didn't even need to twist the screw. It slid into place with a wiggling testament to how long it would hold, but Jenna latched the hook as if the problem were solved.

A deep, mournful howl pulled her attention toward the trees. She tilted her head, listening harder, but the wind whistled in reply and drowned out all else. Perhaps it was the wind, she thought to herself, believing it.

But it happened again, louder and distinct. A deep sorrowful cry. Without thinking, Jenna ventured toward it. Her breaths puffed the air ahead of her, leading the way even as the howl beckoned her closer.

Then, she saw it. A massive black form being buried in bloody white. "A wolf," she breathed. The air burned her face. Her hands shook. Her teeth chattered, but just like everything else, she stood frozen.

The wolf stared at her, yellow eyes gleaming gold within the midnight black of its face. Gold eyes just like the wolves in her books. Her stomach flipped and twisted, a combination of nerves and something primal warning against approaching the beast. But it was hurt. It would die. She couldn't leave it there, in the cold, all alone to freeze and disappear.

With tentative steps, she closed the gap and ignored the low growl she received in return. Her fingers trailed the coarse hair, enjoying the way it thickened around it's neck before she caressed softly down to where the blood pooled into the snow. A gunshot. But who? Who would be hunting when a blizzard was just rolling in? The next property wasn't for five miles. Could it have ventured all that way? It wouldn't surprise her if Mr. Johnson had shot the creature. He wasn't a fan of anything that might pose a threat to his chickens.

"It's okay," she said. "You're going to be okay." It was far too big for her to carry, and the thought of dragging it felt not only dangerous but cruel given the injuries. "Wait right here." In a rush, she retraced her steps and sprinted toward her father's shed. Inside, she pulled the old sled she'd used as a child off its hook and labored it out into the snow. The beast would hang off for sure, but it was all she could think of to get it back with her and inside the house.

When she finally made it back, the wolf was limp, eyes closed and tongue hanging. It looked like a corpse, and Jenna quickly fell to her knees and checked for a heartbeat. The onyx fur felt warm against her ear, and the faint thud was weak but still there. "Hang on, Beasty. I'm gonna get you warm. Just hang on." She heaved it onto the sled, as careful as she could given its massive size. Its head lolled off the front, a mere inch from the ground, as it's legs dangled off the back and dug a trench in the snow.

She pulled with all her strength, both hands clenching the rope even as it cut into her fingers and burned her flesh. "I'm going to save you. I swear it." Her boots sunk deep into the snow with each step, but she continued on with a passion she'd yet to have for anything other than her books. It took her three tries to make it up the steps to the back door, but she finally managed, scraping the wood floor in her kitchen as she continued toward the fire.

Snow melted into the carpet as she fumbled into action, grabbing the first aid, hot water, blankets. Scenes from novels she'd read in the past clashed with her reality, and before she knew it, she was another person. A new woman. A character from one of the many stories she'd visited in her hours upon hours of fantasy.

She tweezed out the bullet and deep, red blood poured from the wound. The poker for the fire was already red hot, and with a flinch of pity, she pressed it into the wound.

The wolf jumped and emitted a low wine, but though it's eyelids fluttered manically, they never opened. She grabbed the first aid kit and pulled a needle and thread from within. "Hold on," she glanced down, checking, "boy. I've got you."

She worked with precision, amazed with herself. She couldn't fix a shutter but she'd somehow figured out how to be a doctor, or a veterinarian, at least. She'd read it enough times. One of the main characters always got shot in her books, and the other would heal them. It would tie them together, solidifying their bond.

She looked down at the deathly still face, imagining he would awake and transform, grateful and indebted and enamored by her courage. She shook her head and finished her stitching, but the thought remained, the book on the table still fresh in her mind.

Hope you enjoyed! And remember, expect the unexpected...

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