The Stalker Next Door: 36. Wolves at the Door

The cabin hadn’t stopped trembling.

Every creak of wood, every groan of the wind sounded like a promise of blood. Mara sat at the table, hands folded, eyes lowered, pretending at meekness while her pulse thundered with the memory of the night before. The Second’s touch still ghosted her skin. His voice still whispered in her ear: Next time, you’ll answer.

The First hadn’t spoken since.

He sat across from her, hunched in the corner, a storm in human skin. His face was still bruised, a smear of dried blood marking his jaw, but it wasn’t the wounds that unsettled her. It was the silence. The way he carved lines into the wood with the tip of his knife, over and over, his eyes never leaving her. She wondered what was going on in his mind. She would have given anything to know. At least that would have got her prapared for anything he might be plotting. 

Finally, he broke.

“You moved toward him.”

Mara’s throat tightened. “I—”

“You moved.” His voice