She ran.

  Branches tore at her dress as if the forest itself were trying to keep her. The hem snagged on roots, on brambles, and on the uneven ground that pitched beneath her feet. Her breath came in sharp, burning pulls, each too loud in her ears, and too slow to save her. Somewhere behind her, something heavy moved through the undergrowth. It was fast, it was gaining, and it was inevitable.

  She didn’t look back. She didn’t have to.

  The moon hung low and pale between the trees, silvering the path just enough to show her where she might trip. Leaves slapped wetly against her legs. Her shoes slipped in the mud. Panic narrowed the world to the thud of her heart and the sound of pursuit as it grew closer. Impossibly close.

  A house loomed ahead of her, half-swallowed by the forest. It was a tall Victorian shape with steep gables and wide windows glowing warm and gold through the trees. Light spilled across the porch and the surrounding brush, a beacon of impossible relief in the dark. It was her house. A wild and desperate hope surged within her. The moment was fleeting before the heavy crash of the thing breaking through the undergrowth behind her.

  She screamed, raw and terrified, as she veered toward the light, skirts bunched in her fists.

  The porch steps rushed up to meet her. She hit them hard, knees knocking against wood, as her momentum carried her forward. She scrambled, slipping before catching herself on the railing and dragging her body upward one stair at a time. Behind her, something crashed through the brush.

  She reached the door and wrenched it open.

  Warm light wrapped around her as she burst inside. Lamps glowed along the walls, throwing soft gold across patterned wallpaper and polished wood. A narrow table held a bowl of keys and folded mail; a runner rug muffled her steps as she stumbled forward and slammed the door shut behind her. She threw her weight against it, heart hammering, fumbling for the lock with shaking hands. The bolt slid home with a thin, inadequate click.

  She backed away sobbing, her eyes fixed on the door.

  For one fragile second, there was only silence.

  Then the door buckled.

  Wood splintered inward under a massive blow. The frame screamed as claws tore through it, ripping panels free in a spray of broken boards. She screamed again, retreating blindly until her calves struck the edge of the staircase.

  The door gave way completely.

  The beast forced its way through the wreckage with deliberate menace. It ducked beneath the ruined frame, shoulders scraping wood, splinters catching in thick, matted fur. Moonlight spilled in behind it, catching on the sharp planes of its muzzle and the wet shine of its teeth. Its chest rose and fell with slow, powerful breaths as it took in the room, nostrils flaring, head tilting as if tasting the air.

  It stepped forward.

  Claws clicked against the hardwood, each step heavy and measured, leaving gouges where they sank in. The creature’s eyes tracked her with terrible focus in an unblinking and intelligent way that made her stomach drop. A low sound vibrated from its throat, not quite a growl, more a warning hum that seemed to fill the house.

  She turned to run, panic finally tearing loose. Her foot caught on the hem of her dress. She fell backward onto the stairs, breath knocked from her lungs as pain flared up her spine.

  The werewolf pounced.

  Weight slammed into her, pinning her against the steps. Claws tore at fabric and flesh alike as she clawed uselessly at its chest, at the coarse fur slick with sweat and rain. Its jaws snapped inches from her face, breath hot and rank with blood and earth.

  She begged. She sobbed. Her words fell upon deaf ears, save the monster and its menace.

  The pain came suddenly in a blinding shock that stole her breath as fangs closed and claws dug in. Pressure crushed the air from her lungs. The world fractured into sensations of noise, weight, heat, and pain, until even that began to slip away. She arched in a final reflexive movement, and then went still, as the world narrowed into the smear of moonlight on the stair rail and the distant rush of blood in her ears.

  The beast froze.

  Its snarl faltered, teeth slick and red, the sound dying in its throat without becoming anything else. The tension locked in its frame, muscles rigid as if caught between instincts. It did not change. It could not. The world seemed to arrive all at once with the blood on its tongue, the copper-sour stench in the air, the unmoving weight beneath its claws. It breathed shallow and uneven. A tremor began to work through its limbs, as shock gave way to fear.

  The werewolf sagged over her, massive shoulders hunching as if struck. Its ears flattened tight against its skull. A low, anguished sound tore free from its throat as it stared down at what lay beneath its claws. The intelligence in its eyes did not fade; it sharpened, bright with dawning horror. Clumsily it pulled its weight back. Blood-darkened fur brushed her dress as it shifted, as if afraid to hurt her again. One great paw hovered, trembling, then withdrew, claws scraping the stair as it recoiled from its own strength.

  Another sound escaped it, though it was softer and broken. The wolf lowered its head to her chest, nose pressed there as if searching for breath that would not come. Its ears twitched. Its tail dragged slack against the steps.

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  She moved.

  Just barely.

  The werewolf froze again, its breath hitching. Its head snapped up, eyes wide.

  Her hand lifted weakly, her fingers slick with blood. With what little strength remained, she reached for the coarse fur along its jaw and brushed it once.

  “It’s… not… your… fault,” she whispered.

  The words seemed to strike the wolf harder than any blow. A raw, strangled sound tore from its chest as her hand fell away. It nudged her, frantic now, whining, pawing at her shoulder with desperate gentleness, trying to rouse her.

  The sound that followed was pure grief.

  The werewolf threw back its head and howled, the cry tearing out of it in ragged waves that filled the house and spilled into the trees beyond. It collapsed over her, curling its body around hers as best it could, rocking slightly, a massive creature made small by loss.

  It remained there, broken and keening, until a shadow moved beyond the shattered doorway.

  Boots crunched over splintered wood as a tall man stepped into what remained of the entryway, framed by the ruined door. The warm light from inside caught the hard lines of his face and the long?barreled pistol held steady in both hands. He advanced slowly, eyes fixed on the massive shape curled on the stairs. The werewolf felt him before it fully saw him. Its head lifted, movements sluggish, and it tore its gaze away from the woman’s still form with visible effort. Blood-dark eyes found the man and held there. The creature did not snarl or rise. Its ears flattened, its body trembling as it lowered its head slightly.

  The pistol rose, unwavering, and aimed at the kneeling figure.

  The werewolf shifted, slowly and deliberately. It straightened just enough to meet the man’s eyes and lifted one massive claw in a careful, and pleading gesture. Its head dipped, then tilted, exposing the vulnerable line of its throat. A breath shuddered through its chest in an inhuman sound of appeal, as if asking for help it did not know how to name.

  “I warned you, Trevor,” he said, shaking his head. “Your marriage was a fool’s errand.”

  The gunshot split the night.

  The image froze.

  “HEY! What the heck?!”

  Hannah jerked forward on the couch, hand half?raised toward the television as the the blood and the ruined lovers stayed suspended on the screen. The pause icon glowed faintly in the corner.

  Beside her, Skye lounged back against the cushions, utterly unbothered. She mimicked the man’s disappointed scowl, lifting an imaginary gun with exaggerated seriousness. “I warned you, Trevor,” she intoned, then waved dismissively at the TV. “Psh.”

  Hannah dropped her hand. “You’re the one who wanted to watch this,” she said. “At least hit play so we can finish it.”

  Skye scoffed, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the little folding table between them. “There were so many ways she could’ve saved herself. And him! So many ways!”

  Hannah protested, “No, she couldn’t-” She pointed at the frozen image, “-Raphael said, falling for a ‘monster’ is destined to leave you six feet under. She can’t make him better. Trevor’s a monster. That’s the point of being a werewolf. It's tragic.”

  Skye snorted. “I could fix him.”

  Hannah shot her a look. “Oh, yeah? Sure. How? A timeless curse that warps the psyche of the individual. A blasphemy of the highest order, yet Skye, ‘she who struggles with basic math’, has the answers that countless priests, paladins, and… and…”

  “Druids?” Skye added.

  Hannah rolled her eyes, “Sure, fine, ‘druids’. The greatest shamans in the world can’t solve the curse, but here comes Skye with a solution.

  Skye folded her arms, and spoke in a matter of fact, “Love.”

  Hannah’s eyes thinned, “Love?”

  Skye added, “True love. ”

  Hannah continued to glare at her in a moment of silence before she extended her hand, “Give me the controller.”

  Skye leaned forward, gesturing at the frozen screen with a popcorn-stained finger. “Okay, but this is exactly like Blood Moon Bride. She spends twenty minutes running when she could’ve just locked herself in the cellar. Or Silverbound. Remember that one? She literally had a blessed iron poker in her hands and still chose to monologue.”

  Hannah scoffed. “Those movies are terrible examples. In Blood Moon Bride the cellar door wasn’t reinforced, and in Silverbound the whole point was that the curse overrides free will. That’s werewolf rule number one. They don’t get better. They get worse.”

  Skye waved her off. “That’s lazy writing. Every single one of these movies do the same thing. Big tragic reveal, monster cries, someone dies, roll credits. No one ever tries anything different.”

  “Because anything different breaks the metaphor,” Hannah shot back. “It’s not about ‘fixing’ him. It’s about inevitability. Like The Howling of Saint Claire. Or Moonfall Hearts. You can’t ‘love the violence’ out of someone who turns into a predator once a month.”

  Skye grinned. “Wow. You really leaning on the bad ones for this?”

  “They’re cautionary tales,” Hannah said primly. “The message is: don’t fall in love with a monster. It is a common theme, even in the bad movies.”

  “And I’m saying the message is boring,” Skye replied. “Give him a reason to fight it. Give him an anchor. Something stronger than the curse.”

  Hannah stared at her. “You can’t anchor a supernatural affliction with vibes, Skye.”

  Skye shrugged. “Worked in ‘Lunar Promise’, ‘Wolf at the Window’, and that one indie film where the guy only changes when he thinks he’s unloved.”

  Hannah said flatly, “That one ended with three dead hikers.”

  Skye swiped her hand dismissively, “Details.”

  Hannah snatched a pillow and lobbed it at her. It bounced off Skye’s shoulder and landed beside the cat, who didn’t so much as twitch.

  Hannah gasped, “Oh my gosh! Sorry, Pancake!”

  Skye mocked, “Don’t take this out on Pancake. Now you have to sit with me and watch the sequel tomorrow or she will never forgive you.”

  Hannah said. “No way… There’s a sequel?”

  Skye laughed. “Straight-to-DVD.”

  Hannah added, “Ugh… Sounds lovely… Doesn’t even make sense given this movie’s ending.”

  Skye finally checked her phone and groaned, pushing herself up from the couch. “Speaking of things that don’t make sense—I should head out. I’ve got class tomorrow.” She paused, scrolling, her smile shifting into something sharper. “Actually… I might need a rain check on tomorrow night.”

  Hannah frowned. “You were the one who suggested the sequel.”

  “I know, I know,” Skye said, already halfway to the door. “But I found something weird. And I told Caleb I’d meet up with him.”

  Hannah opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. “Weird how?”

  Skye only smiled, that bright, excited smile Hannah knew too well. “I’ll tell you later.”

  She pulled on her jacket, waved once, and slipped out into the night.

  Hannah followed her to the door and rested there for a moment, one hand braced against the frame as the cool night air spilled inside. She watched Skye jog down the steps, fumble briefly with her keys, and slide into the driver’s seat. The engine turned over, headlights flaring as the car pulled away from the curb. Only after the sound faded did Skye’s taillights finally vanish down the quiet street.

  Hannah lingered there a second longer, then shrugged. She shut the door and twisted the lock until it clicked home.

  The living room felt very quiet as she crossed back to the couch. She poured the remaining popcorn into her cup, scooped up the remote, and settled into the cushions. Grabbing a handful, she popped it into her mouth and hit play.