The woman in the doorway doesn't move like a person. She glides into the cabin, her feet barely seeming to touch the floor, and every instinct I've honed in the wilderness screams at me to run.

I don't.

Because Rowan is between us, all nine feet of him radiating fury, his roar still echoing off the cabin walls. His massive shoulders are hunched, head lowered, teeth bared in a snarl that would send any sane creature fleeing.

Morgana Thorne just smiles.

"Oh, darling," she purrs, her voice like honey laced with arsenic. "Still playing the savage beast? After all this time?"

The scent of nightshade floods the cabin, cloying and wrong, making my stomach turn. It clashes with Rowan's cedar and wild honey, creating something toxic in the air between them.

"Get the fuck away from him." The words come out steadier than I feel. I'm on my feet now, though I have no idea what I think I can do against a witch powerful enough to trap a shifter alpha in his beast form for three years.

Those black glass eyes slide to me, and I understand why people used to burn women like her. There's something fundamentally other in that gaze, something that doesn't belong in the natural world I've spent my life documenting.

"Brave little photographer." She tilts her head, studying me like I'm a specimen under glass. "Or perhaps just foolish. Do you even know what he is? What he's done?"

"I know what you did to him."

Her laugh is silver bells and breaking bones.

"Is that what he told you? Oh, but he can't tell you anything, can he?" She moves closer, and Rowan's growl intensifies, but she doesn't even glance at him. "Poor, dumb beast. Reduced to grunts and whimpers. It's almost poetic."

"You're insane."

"I'm in love." She says it simply, like it explains everything. Like it justifies everything. "I offered him everything—power, immortality, pleasures beyond mortal comprehension. And he rejected me. Humiliated me. Called me—"

Her composure cracks for just a second, and what shows through is raw and bleeding and absolutely terrifying.

"—called me a monster."

I've spent five years photographing predators. I know the look in an animal's eyes right before it strikes.

Morgana has that look now.

"So I showed him what a real monster looks like." Her smile returns, sharp as a blade. "Three years he's suffered. Three years watching his humanity slip away, feeling himself become the beast everyone feared. And do you know what the most delicious part is?"

She leans in, close enough that I can see my reflection in those dead black eyes.

"He'll never be human again. The curse is unbreakable. But I let him hope anyway, because hope is so much crueler than despair."

"Bullshit." My hands are shaking, but I clench them into fists. "If it was unbreakable, you wouldn't be here."

Something flickers across her perfect face. Anger. Fear.

Satisfaction floods through me, dark and vicious.

"You're scared," I say, taking a step toward her. Rowan makes a warning sound, but I ignore him. "You're scared because you know I could break it. That's why you're here, isn't it? To scare me off before—"

"Before you what?" Morgana's voice drops to a whisper, and the temperature in the cabin plummets. "Fall in love with him? Save him with true love's kiss like some pathetic fairy tale?"

She laughs again, and frost spreads across the windows.

"You think you're the first woman he's brought here? The first pretty thing he's tried to use to break my curse?" Her eyes bore into mine. "There have been others, Isla. So many others. And where are they now?"

My stomach drops.

No.

"She's lying," I say, but I'm not sure if I'm talking to Rowan or myself.

"Am I?" Morgana circles me slowly, and I realize Rowan can't get between us without risking hitting me with those massive paws. "Ask him how many women have warmed his bed in the past three years. How many hearts he's broken trying to break my curse."

I don't want to look at Rowan. Don't want to see confirmation in those amber eyes.

But I do anyway.

And what I see there isn't guilt.

It's rage.

Pure, incandescent fury directed entirely at Morgana.

"He says you're full of shit," I tell her.

"He can't say anything." But there's uncertainty in her voice now. "He's an animal. A beast. And beasts destroy everything they touch."

"Funny," I say, my voice hard. "From where I'm standing, you're the only one who's destroyed anything."

The slap comes so fast I don't see it. One second I'm standing, the next I'm on the floor, my cheek burning, the taste of copper in my mouth.

Rowan explodes.

I've seen him move before, but never like this. Never with this kind of violence, this barely controlled savagery. He hits Morgana like a freight train, driving her back against the wall hard enough to crack the wood.

She screams—not in pain, but in fury—and black smoke erupts from her skin.

"You dare?" Her voice echoes, multiplied, wrong. "You dare strike me?"

The smoke solidifies into chains, wrapping around Rowan's massive form, dragging him down. He roars, thrashing, but the chains tighten with every movement.

I'm moving before I think, grabbing the nearest thing—one of Rowan's painting brushes—and hurling it at Morgana's head.

It passes right through her.

She turns to me, and her face isn't human anymore. It's something older, something that's worn humanity like a mask for so long it's forgotten what it really is underneath.

"You want to play hero, little photographer?" The chains around Rowan tighten, and he makes a sound I've never heard before—pain, raw and terrible. "Let me show you what happens to heroes in my stories."

She raises her hand, and I know with absolute certainty that I'm about to die.

Then the cabin door explodes inward.

Declan Blackwood stands in the doorway, and he's not alone. A dozen shifters flood in behind him, all in various states of transformation—some fully human, others caught between forms, all radiating power.

"Release him." Declan's voice is ice and iron. "Now."

Morgana's laugh is wild, unhinged. "The little brother comes to save the day. How touching."

"I said release him."

"Or what? You'll kill me?" She gestures at Rowan, still trapped in her chains. "Kill me and he stays a beast forever. The curse dies with me, and so does any hope of breaking it."

I see the muscle tick in Declan's jaw. The terrible calculation behind his ice-blue eyes.

She's right, and he knows it.

"But I'm feeling generous tonight," Morgana continues, and the chains dissolve into smoke. Rowan collapses, gasping, and I'm scrambling toward him before I can stop myself. "So I'll give you all a gift. A warning."

She looks directly at me.

"Stay away from him, Isla Brennan. Stop whatever foolish thing you think you're doing. Because if you continue down this path, if you try to break my curse..." Her smile is all teeth. "I'll make you watch while I peel the skin from everyone you've ever cared about. I'll turn your sister's bones into jewelry and make you wear them while I—"

"My sister?" The words come out strangled. "What the fuck do you know about my sister?"

"Oh, sweetheart." Morgana's eyes gleam with malicious delight. "I know everything about you. I've been watching you for weeks. I know about the foster homes, the loneliness, the desperate search for someone who's been dead for five years."

The world tilts.

Dead.

Emma is dead.

"No." But even as I say it, I know it's true. Have always known it, deep down, in the place I've refused to look. "No, she's—"

"Gone." Morgana says it almost gently. "Just like you'll be if you don't leave. Tonight. Now. Run back to your empty apartment and your empty life and forget you ever came here."

She starts to fade, dissolving into that black smoke.

"Or stay," she whispers, her voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. "And I'll show you exactly how creative I can be with suffering. I'll make you beg for death, Isla. I'll make you pray for the mercy of oblivion. And when I'm done with you, I'll start on everyone in this lodge. Every man, woman, and child who's sheltered my darling Rowan."

The smoke dissipates.

She's gone.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Then Rowan makes a sound—low, broken, devastated—and I realize I'm crying. Have been crying since she said the word "dead."

"Isla." Declan's voice, carefully controlled. "Are you hurt?"

I can't answer. Can't do anything but kneel there with my hand on Rowan's heaving side, feeling his heartbeat under my palm, feeling everything I've built to protect myself crumbling into dust.

Emma is dead.

I've spent five years searching for a ghost.

And now I've stumbled into someone else's nightmare, and a witch who can apparently watch me from the shadows has threatened to torture everyone here because I'm too stubborn to run.

"Get her to the lodge." Declan again, giving orders. "Full security protocols. No one goes anywhere alone. And someone get Rowan back to his territory before—"

"No." My voice sounds like I've been screaming. Maybe I have. "I'm not leaving him."

"Isla, she threatened to kill you."

"I don't care."

"Well I do." Declan moves closer, and I catch his scent—pine and winter frost, so different from Rowan's warmth. "I can't protect you out here. Neither can he. The lodge has wards, protections. You'll be safe there."

"Safe." I laugh, and it sounds unhinged even to my ears. "She's been watching me for weeks. She knows everything. You think some wards are going to stop her?"

"They've stopped her from entering the lodge for three years."

I look down at Rowan. His amber eyes meet mine, and I see the plea there.

Go. Be safe. Let them protect you.

"Fuck that," I tell him.

He huffs, almost a laugh, and some of the tension leaves his massive frame.

"Isla." Declan's hand on my shoulder, gentle but firm. "Please. Let me keep you safe. It's what he wants."

I know he's right. Can see it in the way Rowan's already pulling away, putting distance between us even though every line of his body screams against it.

"Fine." I stand, my legs shaky. "But I'm coming back. Tomorrow. And the day after that. And every day until we figure out how to end this."

Declan's expression is unreadable. "We'll discuss it."

"There's nothing to discuss."

"Isla—"

"She killed my sister." The words come out flat, dead. "Or knows what happened to her. Either way, I'm not running. Not from her. Not from this."

Not from him.

I don't say that last part out loud, but I see understanding flicker in Declan's eyes. Something that might be resignation. Or calculation.

"All right," he says quietly. "But tonight, you stay in the lodge. Under guard. No arguments."

I want to argue anyway, but Rowan makes a low sound—agreement, permission, goodbye—and I know I've lost this round.

"Tomorrow," I tell him, holding his gaze. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He dips his massive head once, then turns and limps toward the door. I can see the places where Morgana's chains bit into his fur, see the way he's favoring his left side.

The other shifters part for him, their eyes averted in respect or sorrow or both.

And then he's gone, vanished into the forest, and I'm standing in a cabin full of his desperate attempts at holding onto humanity while a witch's threats echo in my ears.

"Come on." Declan's hand is still on my shoulder. "Let's get you somewhere warm."

I let him guide me out of the cabin, through the forest, back toward the lodge. The other shifters form a protective circle around us, and I can feel their tension, their fear.

Morgana has been a distant threat for three years.

Now she's declared war.

And I'm the reason why.

The lodge looms ahead, every window blazing with light. I can see figures moving inside, hear raised voices. The whole clan is on alert, preparing for something they've managed to avoid for years.

A direct confrontation with the witch who destroyed their alpha.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I didn't mean to—"

"Don't." Declan's voice is sharp. "Don't apologize for being what he needs."

There's something in his tone I can't quite read. Something bitter and resigned and hungry all at once.

We reach the lodge, and he steers me inside, past the gathered shifters, up the stairs to a room I haven't seen before.

It's beautiful—all exposed beams and soft fabrics, with a fireplace already crackling and windows that overlook the forest. I can see the tree line from here, the shadows between the pines.

Somewhere out there, Rowan is alone with his pain.

"The windows are warded," Declan says, reading my expression. "She can't reach you here. Can't even see you."

"But I can't see him either."

"No." He moves to the fireplace, adding another log. "You can't."

The finality in his voice makes me turn. He's watching me with those ice-blue eyes, and for the first time, I see the resemblance to Rowan clearly. Same strong jaw, same proud bearing.

Same loneliness.

"Get some rest," he says. "We'll figure out our next move in the morning."

He heads for the door, and I should let him go. Should be grateful for the protection, the safety, the space to process everything Morgana said.

Instead, I hear myself ask, "Did you know? About my sister?"

He stops, his hand on the doorframe. Doesn't turn around.

"Yes."

The word hits like a fist.

"How long?"

"Since before we brought you here." Now he does turn, and his expression is carefully blank. "We research everyone who comes near our territory. Standard protocol."

"You let me keep hoping."

"Would you have preferred I told you she was dead? A stranger delivering that news?"

He's right, and I hate him for it.

"There's food in the sitting room," he continues. "And clothes in the wardrobe. Anything you need, there's a phone by the bed. Someone will be outside your door all night."

"A guard or a warden?"

His smile is thin. "Does it matter?"

He leaves before I can answer, and I hear the quiet click of the lock.

I'm alone.

Safe.

Trapped.

And somewhere in the forest, Rowan is bleeding from wounds I can't see, suffering in ways I can't heal, cursed by a woman who's promised to make me watch everyone I care about die.

I move to the window, pressing my palm against the glass. It's warm, almost alive with whatever magic protects this room.

Beyond it, the forest is dark and deep and full of secrets.

Somewhere out there is a beast with amber eyes and a heart that still beats human.

Somewhere out there is the only person who's made me feel less alone in five years.

And I can't reach him.

The realization hits like a physical ache, settling in my chest where Rowan's heartbeat used to echo against mine.

I miss him.

God help me, I miss him already.

And tomorrow, when Declan tries to keep me locked in this gilded cage, when he argues that it's too dangerous, that Morgana's threats are real, that I should leave for everyone's safety—

I'm going to tell him to go to hell.

Because the witch was wrong about one thing.

I'm not the hero of this story.

I'm just a woman who's spent five years looking for someone to save, and I've finally found him.

Even if he has fur and fangs and can't tell me his name.

Even if loving him might get us both killed.

I press my forehead against the warded glass and whisper into the darkness: "I see you, Rowan Blackwood. And I'm not going anywhere."

The forest doesn't answer.

But somewhere in the shadows between the trees, I swear I hear a howl.