The Rogue’s Savage Claim on Me

Chapter 3 - The Weight of Watching

ELOWEN

I hadn't slept properly in three days.

Every sound woke me — the creak of the cabin settling, the wind brushing branches against the roof, the distant hoot of an owl. Sounds I'd lived with for two years, sounds that used to mean home and safe and peace. Now they meant something else. Now they meant what was that and is something out there and where's my knife.

The knife was on my nightstand. The .22 was in the drawer, loaded. Both within reach. Always within reach now.

I stared at the ceiling, watching the gray light of early morning creep across the beams. Monday. It was Monday, and I had work to do — the sustainable packaging article was officially overdue, my client had sent two increasingly pointed emails, and I couldn't seem to make myself care.

All I could think about was the deer.

It had started with the rabbit.

Saturday morning, I'd found it on my porch — a small, brown thing, curled up like it was sleeping. My first thought had been oh no, my second poor thing. Animals died. It happened. Maybe it had been sick, or old, or just unlucky enough to pick my porch as its final resting place.

I'd buried it in the woods. Said a few stupid words over the little grave because it felt wrong not to. Then I'd gone inside, washed my hands, and tried not to think about it.

But Sunday morning...

Sunday morning, I'd opened my door to a full-grown deer.

Dead. Gutted. Laid out on my porch like an offering, blood pooling on the boards I'd just swept the day before. I'd screamed — couldn't help it, the sound ripped out of me before I could stop it — and then I'd stood there, shaking, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

Animals didn't do this. A fox didn't drag a whole deer onto someone's porch. A bear didn't arrange a carcass like a goddamn centerpiece.

Something had put it there. Something that wanted me to find it.

I'd forced myself to handle it. Dragged the thing to the treeline — and it was heavy, God it was heavy, my arms burned for hours after — then hosed the blood off my porch until the water ran clear. I'd told myself it was a fluke. A weird, disturbing fluke. Maybe a hunter had killed it nearby and some scavengers had moved it. Maybe there was a logical explanation I just wasn't seeing.

Then Monday morning, I'd gone to check.

The deer was gone.

Not just gone — taken. Drag marks in the dirt, leading deeper into the forest. Something had come in the night, claimed the carcass, and disappeared.

I'd run back inside so fast I nearly tripped on the porch steps.

My coffee had gone cold.

I stared at my laptop screen, at the cursor blinking in the middle of a sentence I'd started twenty minutes ago. Something about biodegradable materials. Something about environmental impact. I couldn't remember what point I'd been trying to make.

Something is watching you.

The thought slithered through my mind, unwelcome and persistent. I'd felt it all weekend — that prickle at the back of my neck, that sense of being observed. Every time I looked out the window, I expected to see something staring back.

I never did. Just trees. Just shadows. Just my own paranoia eating me alive.

My phone buzzed, and I nearly knocked my coffee over.

Mom. Of course.

I let it ring twice, three times, considered letting it go to voicemail. But she'd just call back. She always called back.

"Hey, Mom."

"Elowen! Finally. I've been trying to reach you all weekend."

"Sorry. Service has been spotty." A lie, but an easy one. "What's up?"

"What's up? I'm your mother. Do I need a reason to call?"

Yes, I thought. You always have a reason.

"I'm just checking in," she continued, not waiting for my answer. "Your father and I were talking, and we thought maybe you'd like to come to dinner this week. Wednesday? I'm making that pasta you like."

"I have work."

"You work from home, sweetheart. You can take one evening off."

"I mean the other work."

A pause. The weighted kind. "The... dancing."

She said it the way you'd say the infection or the problem. Something distasteful that needed to be addressed but shouldn't be discussed in polite company.

"I don't work Wednesdays," I admitted, because lying about my schedule never worked — she had an uncanny ability to catch me in it. "But I've got a deadline."

"You always have a deadline." Her sigh crackled through the phone. "Elowen, we just want to see you. It's been weeks."

"I know. I'm sorry. Things have been..."

Terrifying. Confusing. I found a dead deer on my porch and something dragged it away in the night and I haven't slept in three days.

"...busy," I finished.

"Well." Another sigh. "If you change your mind, the offer stands. Oh, and I ran into Trevor's mother at the club yesterday. She said he's been asking about you."

My jaw tightened. "Mom."

"I'm just passing along information. She said he seems sad. Maybe you could—"

"Mom. No."

"I'm not saying get back together. I'm just saying a phone call wouldn't kill you. You two were friends before you were... whatever you were. It would be nice if you could—"

"I have to go." I cut her off, something I tried not to do but couldn't help today. "Client's calling on the other line."

"Elowen—"

"Love you. Talk soon."

I hung up before she could say anything else.

The article wasn't getting written.

I'd managed three paragraphs in four hours — garbage paragraphs, the kind I'd have to delete and redo tomorrow, but at least they existed. My eyes burned. My neck ached from hunching over the laptop. And every few minutes, I caught myself staring at the window instead of the screen.

The trees looked different now.

Not physically. They were the same pines and oaks I'd loved since childhood, the same forest I'd walked a hundred times without fear. But knowing something was out there — something that killed deer and left them as messages — changed the way I saw them. Every shadow could be hiding something. Every rustle could be a warning.

You're being dramatic, I told myself. It was probably a mountain lion. They drag their kills. That's what they do.

But mountain lions didn't gut their prey and arrange it on porches. Mountain lions didn't leave offerings.

My phone buzzed again. I grabbed it, ready to send my mother to voicemail, but it wasn't her.

Carmen.

"Hey," I answered. "What's up?"

"I need a favor." Carmen's voice was tired, the way it always got toward the end of a long weekend. "Brandy called out for tonight. Some stomach thing. I'm short a girl on the floor."

"It's Monday."

"I know. Monday's slow, but we've got a private party booked — some tech company celebrating a launch. They requested four girls, and now I only have three."

I should say no. I was exhausted, on edge, not in any shape to perform. But the alternative was staying here, alone, jumping at every sound until I drove myself crazy.

"What time?"

"Eight to two. Standard rate plus the party bonus."

I looked at my laptop. At the three garbage paragraphs that were going nowhere. At the window, where the afternoon light was starting to slant toward evening.

"Yeah," I said. "I'll be there."

Getting ready felt like putting on armor.

I showered, dried my hair, watched the pink strands fall into place around my face. Makeup next — more than I usually wore, enough to hide the shadows under my eyes and make me look like someone who had her life together. Then the clothes: a dress for the bus, easy to change out of once I got to the club.

The knife went in my bag. It always went in my bag, but tonight I zipped the pocket closed with more force than necessary.

I checked the locks three times before I left. Stood on the porch for a full minute, scanning the tree line, daring something to show itself.

Nothing.

Just the woods. Just the silence. Just my own heartbeat, too fast in my ears.

I walked to the bus stop faster than usual.

The club was exactly what I needed.

Noise. Light. People. The bass thumping through the floor, the chatter of customers, the familiar chaos of a Monday night that was busier than expected. The tech company had booked the VIP section and showed up with enthusiasm and corporate cards, and by ten o'clock I'd made enough in tips to justify leaving my haunted cabin.

Not haunted, I corrected myself. Watched. Something is watching you.

I pushed the thought away and climbed the pole.

Dancing helped. It always helped. When I was up there, spinning, inverting, feeling my muscles work and my body move, there wasn't room for anything else. No dead deer. No drag marks. No unseen eyes in the darkness. Just me and the music and the men who watched without knowing anything about my life.

I did three sets, worked the floor between them, smiled until my face hurt. Mina was on tonight too, and she found me during a break, sliding into the seat next to me at the bar.

"You look like s**t," she said cheerfully.

"Thanks."

"Seriously. When's the last time you slept?"

"I sleep."

"Uh-huh." She flagged down the bartender, ordered us both waters. "What's going on? And don't say nothing, because you've got that look."

"What look?"

"The 'I'm pretending everything's fine but actually I'm one loud noise away from a breakdown' look." She raised an eyebrow. "I know it well. I invented it."

I almost told her. Almost opened my mouth and said something is stalking me and I found a dead deer on my porch and I think I'm losing my mind. But what would she say? What could anyone say?

"Just tired," I said. "Cabin life. You know how it is."

"I really don't. I can't imagine living out there alone. Aren't you scared?"

Yes.

"No," I said. "It's peaceful."

"It's creepy as f**k is what it is." She shook her head. "You're braver than me. I need neighbors. Noise. The ability to scream and have someone actually hear me."

I thought about the scream I'd let out when I found the deer. How it had echoed off the trees and disappeared into nothing.

"It's not so bad," I said.

Mina didn't look convinced, but she let it drop. We finished our waters, and she squeezed my shoulder before heading back to the floor.

"Get some sleep, babe. You look like a ghost."

I felt like one too.

The bus ride home was quiet.

Fewer passengers than usual — just me and an old man who got off three stops before mine. The driver gave me his usual look when I stood to exit, that silent question: are you sure?

I was sure. I had to be.

The walk felt longer tonight. Every shadow seemed deeper, every rustle louder. I kept my hand in my bag, fingers wrapped around the knife handle, and made myself breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. One foot in front of the other.

You're fine. You're safe. Whatever it is, it hasn't hurt you.

But the gifts — the rabbit, the deer — those weren't random. Those were deliberate. Purposeful. Something was trying to communicate, and I didn't speak its language.

The cabin appeared through the trees, porch light glowing. I almost sobbed with relief.

I did my usual scan of the tree line. Nothing. Did my usual check of the porch. Nothing. Unlocked the door, stepped inside, locked it behind me.

Safe.

The word felt hollow, but I clung to it anyway.

I changed out of my dress, pulled on my sleep shirt, poured myself a glass of rosé tequila. The ritual was the same as always, but tonight my hands shook slightly as I lifted the glass to my lips.

I stood at the window, looking out at the darkness.

Are you out there?

The thought came unbidden, and I shoved it away. I didn't want to know. Didn't want to think about what might be crouched in the shadows, watching me through the glass.

But somewhere deep in my gut, beneath the fear and the exhaustion, I felt it.

Eyes. On me. Always on me.

I closed the curtains for the first time since I'd moved in.

It didn't help.

Sleep came eventually, shallow and restless.

I dreamed of wolves. Of yellow eyes in the darkness. Of something massive and patient, circling my cabin, waiting for me to step outside.

I woke at 3 a.m. to the sound of something moving on the porch.

I lay frozen, barely breathing, straining to hear. A creak. A shuffle. The soft pad of something heavy.

Then silence.

I didn't get up to check. I couldn't make myself move. I just lay there, .22 clutched in both hands, safety off, waiting for dawn.

When I finally gathered the courage to open the front door, the porch was empty.

But in the dirt at the bottom of the steps, I saw it: a single paw print.

Massive. Canine. Bigger than any dog I'd ever seen.

I went back inside and called in sick to my freelance client.

I wasn't leaving this cabin until I figured out what the hell was hunting me.