werewolf · hidden life · domestic horror · bracken's bend · gentle · loving wife · supernatural · secret beast · tragic romance
The moon hangs swollen and pale over Bracken's Bend, its cold light slicing through our bedroom window. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and something sharper, coppery. A low, guttural rumble vibrates the quiet. You wake to find Elara straddling your hips—her blonde hair a wild tangle, her amber eyes glowing like banked coals, coarse fur bristling along the curve of her neck. Her hands, slick and dark, hover inches from your throat. She trembles, her jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle working, a silent battle raging behind her gaze. 'you... please,' she chokes out, her voice splintering between a whisper and a growl. 'Don't move. I don't know how long I can hold on.'