The Rogue’s Savage Claim on Me

Chapter 7 - Truce

ELOWEN

I was losing my mind.

That was the only explanation. Stress, sleep deprivation, too much time alone in the woods — something had snapped in my brain, and now I was having a staring contest with a wolf the size of a small horse.

Except I wasn't imagining it. I had photos. I had paw prints. I had the memory of those golden eyes burning into mine through the window, the sheer presence of the thing, the way it had watched me with an intelligence that no animal should possess.

And now it was lying in my yard like a very large, very terrifying dog waiting for its owner to come outside.

I stood at the kitchen window, coffee in one hand, .22 in the other, and watched it watch me.

Then I set down the coffee, grabbed my phone, and took a picture.

The zoom wasn't great — the image came out grainy, more shadow than detail — but you could see it. The massive shape. The dark fur. And if you looked closely, two pinpricks of gold where the eyes caught the light.

I sent it to Rowan without a caption.

Her response came thirty seconds later: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

Then: IS THAT REAL

Then: ELOWEN CALL ME RIGHT NOW

Three days.

It had been three days since I'd first seen it — really seen it, not just evidence of its existence. Three days of this bizarre standoff, this silent negotiation neither of us had agreed to.

The rules seemed simple enough: I stayed close to the cabin, armed and alert. It stayed at the edge of the clearing, visible but not advancing. We watched each other across the distance, and nothing happened.

Nothing kept happening, and that was the part I couldn't wrap my head around.

If it wanted to kill me, it could. I wasn't stupid enough to think a .22 would stop something that size — slow it down, maybe, piss it off, definitely, but stop it? No. If it charged the cabin, broke through a window, caught me on the porch, I'd be dead before I got off a second shot.

But it didn't charge. Didn't break. Didn't attack.

It just... waited.

For what?

My phone rang, and I nearly dropped my coffee.

"Elowen Walsh, I have been calling you for twenty minutes." Rowan's voice was sharp with panic. "I saw that photo. What the f**k is that thing?"

"I don't know."

"You don't — El, that thing is the size of a bear. That thing is in your yard. Why are you not already in your car driving away as fast as—"

"I don't have a car."

"Then walk. Run. Crawl. I don't care, just get out of there!"

"I can't." I looked out the window. It was still there, a dark shape against the tree line, those golden eyes catching the morning light. "If I leave the cabin, I have to walk right past it. The bus stop is fifteen minutes through the woods."

Silence. Then: "Oh my god."

"Yeah."

"El. I'm coming to get you. Today. Right now. I'll rent a car, I'll be there by—"

"No."

"Elowen—"

"Rowan. No." I set my coffee down, switched the phone to my other hand. "I appreciate it. I do. But you showing up here won't help. It'll just put you in danger too. And if it sees a car coming, who knows what it'll do."

"So what's your plan? Just... coexist with the giant predator in your backyard?"

I didn't have an answer for that.

"Look," I said slowly, "I know this sounds crazy. But it hasn't tried to hurt me. It's been out there for days, and it hasn't done anything except watch. If it wanted me dead, I'd be dead."

"That's not comforting."

"It's not meant to be comforting. It's just... true." I paused, trying to find the words for something I didn't fully understand. "I think it wants something. I don't know what. But killing me isn't it."

Silence on the other end. Then: "I looked at that photo for ten minutes, El. I zoomed in. Those eyes..." She trailed off. "It doesn't look like a normal wolf. It doesn't look like a normal anything."

"I know."

"So what is it?"

"I don't know," I said again. "But I'm going to find out."

"How? What are you going to do, walk up and ask?"

"No." I hesitated. "I'm going to feed it."

"You're going to what?"

"Feed it. I have some steaks in the freezer. I'll thaw them, put them on the porch, see what happens. Maybe if I—"

"Elowen. No. Absolutely not." Rowan's voice went sharp. "You feed a wild animal, it comes to you for food. And when the food runs out? You become the food. That's like wilderness survival 101."

"It's already been leaving me food," I pointed out. "Dead rabbits. A whole deer. Maybe this is how I communicate back."

"Or maybe this is how you teach a giant murder wolf that you're a vending machine with legs. El, please. This is insane."

"Everything about this is insane. But it hasn't hurt me yet, and I need to understand why." I looked out the window at those golden eyes. "If feeding it makes things worse, I'll stop. But I have to try something."

Rowan was quiet for a long moment. "You're going to do this no matter what I say, aren't you?"

"Probably."

"I hate you."

"I know."

"If you get eaten, I'm putting 'died doing something stupid' on your headstone."

"Fair."

She sighed — the long-suffering sigh of someone who'd known me too long to expect anything different. "You sound like someone in a horror movie right before they do something stupid."

"Probably."

"El. Please. Come into the city. Even just for a day. Get some distance, get some sleep, let your brain reset."

I thought about it. Really thought about it.

The problem was, I couldn't leave. Not wouldn't — couldn't. The walk to the bus stop would take me right past the tree line, right past it. I'd have to walk within fifty feet of a predator that could cover that distance in seconds. And even if I made it to the bus, what then? I'd come back eventually. I'd have to walk that same path, in the dark, alone.

Unless I never came back at all.

"I need a few more days," I said. "Just to... figure things out."

"Figure what out? How to communicate with wolves? How to become a Disney princess?"

Despite everything, I almost laughed. "Maybe."

"You're impossible."

"I know."

Rowan sighed. "Fine. But I'm calling you every six hours. And if you don't answer, I'm sending the national guard."

"I don't think they handle wolf situations."

"They do if I lie convincingly enough."

"If you're really going to do this," Rowan said, "I'm staying on the phone."

"Ro—"

"Non-negotiable. If that thing attacks you, I want to hear it. I want to be able to call 911. I want—" Her voice cracked. "I want to know, El. Okay? I need to know."

I swallowed hard. "Okay."

I went to the freezer, phone wedged between my ear and shoulder. Two steaks — the good ones I'd been saving for some occasion that never came. I set them in the sink.

"They need to thaw," I said.

"I'll wait."

So we waited. Rowan stayed on the line while I ran warm water over the steaks, while I watched the wolf through the window, while I tried to convince myself this wasn't the stupidest thing I'd ever done.

"It's just lying there," I told her. "Like a dog in a yard."

"A dog the size of a horse."

"A very large dog."

As if it heard me, the wolf stretched — a long, full-body stretch that showed every line of muscle beneath that dark fur. And then, to my complete disbelief, it rolled onto its back.

"Oh my god," I breathed.

"What? What's happening? El—"

"It's... it rolled over. Onto its back. Like a dog."

"What?"

"Its legs are in the air. It's just lying there with its belly up." I watched, transfixed, as it wiggled slightly, rubbing its back against the grass. "Rowan, predators don't do that. That's a vulnerable position. That's..."

"Okay, you know what? No. I can't do this." Rowan's voice was sharp with frustration. "I need to see this. Video call. Now."

"Ro, I don't think—"

"Elowen Marie Walsh, if you make me listen to you narrate your own mauling without letting me see it happen, I will never forgive you. Video. Call. Now."

I switched to video.

Rowan's face appeared on screen — messy hair, no makeup, eyes wide with a mixture of terror and exasperation. "Okay. Show me."

I flipped the camera and aimed it at the window.

"Holy s**t," Rowan whispered.

The wolf was still on its back, legs folded, belly to the sky. As we watched, it rolled onto its side with a heavy sigh that fogged the grass beneath its muzzle. Then it settled its head on its paws and resumed watching the cabin.

Watching me.

"El. That thing is massive."

"I know."

"Like, the photos didn't... I thought maybe it was the angle, or..." She trailed off. "That's not a wolf. That's not a normal anything."

"I know."

"And you're going to feed it."

"Yes."

"With steaks."

"Yes."

Rowan was quiet for a moment. On screen, her face cycled through about five different emotions before settling on resigned horror. "Okay. Okay. Show me the steaks. Let's do this."

I prodded them. Almost thawed. "Few more minutes."

"I'll wait. And El?"

"Yeah?"

"Keep me on video the whole time. I want to see everything."

"Even if it eats me?"

"Especially if it eats you. I want to be able to describe it to the cops in vivid detail."

Despite everything, I almost laughed.

By mid-morning, the steaks were ready. I put them on a plate, propped my phone on the windowsill so Rowan could see, and took a breath.

"Okay," I said. "I'm going to the back door."

"I see you. I see the wolf." Rowan's voice was tight. "It's watching you."

I opened the door.

The wolf's head came up immediately. Those golden eyes locked onto me.

"It sees you," Rowan said. "El, be careful—"

"I know." I stepped onto the porch. "Okay," I said louder, my voice steadier than I felt. "I'm going to put these on the porch. They're for you. A... a trade. You've been bringing me things, so I'm bringing you something. Understand?"

"Did you just talk to it?" Rowan hissed from the phone.

"Shut up."

I set the plate down at the edge of the porch, near the steps. Backed away slowly, keeping my eyes on the wolf. Retreated inside. Closed the door. Locked it.

"I'm in," I said, grabbing the phone. "Door's locked."

"I saw. I saw everything." Rowan's face was pale on the screen. "Now what?"

"Now we watch."

The wolf rose.

"Oh f**k," Rowan breathed. "Oh f**k, it's coming, El, it's—"

"I see it." I kept the camera aimed at the window, my hand trembling slightly. "It's not charging. It's just walking."

"Walking toward you."

"Toward the food."

It climbed the porch steps. On screen, I saw Rowan's hand come up to cover her mouth.

"It's on the porch," I whispered.

"I see it. God, El, it's right there—"

The wolf stopped at the plate. Lowered its head. Sniffed.

And then, delicately — almost politely — it took one steak in its jaws and retreated to the yard.

"Holy s**t," Rowan said.

"Yeah."

We watched together — me through the window, Rowan through my phone screen — as it finished the first steak. Watched it return for the second, just as carefully, just as politely. Watched it lick the plate clean, then settle back in its spot at the edge of the clearing.

It looked directly at the window.

At me.

"El," Rowan said slowly. "Did that wolf just... thank you?"

"I don't know." I stared at those golden eyes. "Maybe."

"That's not how wolves work."

"No. It's not."

We were both quiet for a moment.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Rowan finally said, "but that didn't look like a predator sizing up its next meal."

"No. It didn't."

"It looked like a dog who just got a treat from its favorite person."

"Yeah." I leaned my forehead against the cool glass. "That's what I thought too."

After we finally hung up, I made myself eat.

Not because I was hungry — my appetite had disappeared somewhere around the second dead animal — but because I needed fuel. Whatever was coming, I couldn't face it on an empty stomach.

I sat at the kitchen table, forcing down toast and eggs, watching the wolf through the window. It hadn't moved since finishing the steaks. Just lay there, head on its paws, like it had all the time in the world.

What do you want?

The question circled endlessly. I'd asked it a hundred times, gotten no answers. But now, with three days of not-dying under my belt — and one successful feeding — I was starting to form theories.

Theory one: It was sick. Rabid, maybe, or brain-damaged somehow. That would explain the size (mutation?), the strange behavior (confusion?), the refusal to attack (inability?).

Theory two: It was hunting me the way a cat hunts a mouse. Playing with its food, waiting for me to run so it could chase. Some predators did that — enjoyed the game as much as the kill.

Theory three: The impossible one. The one I kept pushing away because it made no sense, because it sounded like something out of a fairy tale or a fever dream.

It was courting me.

The gifts. The watching. The way it had stood perfectly still when I looked at it, like it wanted me to see, wanted me to know it was there. The way it stayed close but not too close, present but not threatening. The way it had taken my offering so gently, like it understood this was an exchange.

Like a suitor trying not to spook the object of his affection.

I shoved another bite of toast in my mouth and told myself I was being ridiculous.

Wolves didn't court humans. Wolves ate humans. Whatever was happening here, it wasn't... that.

Then why did it eat from your plate like a gentleman?

I didn't have an answer.

By late afternoon, I'd run out of excuses.

The cabin was clean — obsessively clean, every surface scrubbed, every item organized, the kind of deep cleaning you only did when you were avoiding something bigger. The laundry was done. The dishes were done. And the article — the goddamn sustainable packaging article I'd been avoiding for over a week — was finally, finally finished.

It had taken hours. Hours of forcing myself to focus, of typing sentences that felt meaningless while a monster lounged in my yard. But I'd done it. Sent it off with an apology for the delay and a silent prayer that the client wouldn't fire me.

Small victories.

But the refrigerator was almost empty. The pantry was down to crackers and canned soup. And Carmen had texted three times today — first checking in, then asking if I was okay, then a pointed reminder that I'd already called out twice this week and she couldn't keep covering for me.

I know you don't work weekends, but I need you Thursday. No excuses. Please.

I'd sent back a thumbs up emoji because I didn't know what else to say. I couldn't exactly tell her I was being stalked by a wolf the size of a small car.

I couldn't hide in this cabin forever. At some point, I had to leave.

I stood at the window, watching the wolf, doing the math. The bus stop was a fifteen-minute walk. Normally, I'd do it in the dark, after a shift, tired but unafraid. Now the thought made my stomach clench.

But it's been watching you for days and hasn't attacked.

True.

It's lying in your yard right now and hasn't even tried to approach.

Also true.

Maybe it won't attack you on the walk either.

Maybe. Or maybe the moment I stepped off the porch, the moment I put myself in the open, it would finally make its move.

I looked down at the .22 in my hand.

Only one way to find out.

I didn't leave that day.

Cowardice, maybe. Or common sense. I told myself I needed a plan, needed to be strategic, needed to wait for the right moment. But the truth was simpler: I was scared.

I ate crackers and canned soup for dinner. I watched the wolf watch me. I called Rowan at the six-hour mark, told her I was fine, listened to her threaten creative violence if I got myself killed.

Then night fell, and the wolf crept closer.

I saw it move — a slow, deliberate shift from the tree line to the edge of the clearing. Thirty feet closer than it had been this morning. It lay down in the grass, settled its massive head on its paws, and resumed watching.

My heart pounded. My hand tightened on the gun.

But I didn't close the curtains.

I don't know why. Some instinct, some stubbornness, some crazy voice in my head that said if you hide, it wins. So I stood at the window and stared back, and we spent another night in our impossible standoff.

It was there when I fell asleep on the couch.

It was there when I woke at 3 a.m. to check.

It was there when dawn broke, gray and cold, and I realized I couldn't do this anymore.

Thursday.

I had to go to work tonight. Carmen's text from yesterday echoed in my head: No excuses. Please. She'd already covered for me twice this week. If I called out again, I'd be pushing the limits of even her patience — and Carmen had been good to me. I couldn't repay that by hiding in my cabin because of a wolf.

And I needed groceries. The crackers were gone. The canned soup was gone. I'd eaten the last of the eggs this morning and washed them down with black coffee because I was out of milk. If I didn't leave today, I'd be feeding myself condiments and desperation by tomorrow.

At least I'd finally sent off the sustainable packaging article — one less thing hanging over my head — but I still had bills to pay. Rent. Electricity. The life I'd built here, however small, still cost money.

I had to leave the cabin. I had to walk to the bus stop. I had to walk right past the thing that had been stalking me for a week.

Maybe that's what it's waiting for.

The thought chilled me. Maybe that was the game — wait until I had to leave, then strike. Patient hunter, patient prey.

But I couldn't stay here forever. And I was done being afraid.

I packed my bag. Changed into clothes I could run in. Put the .22 in the back of my waistband — probably stupid, probably dangerous, but I couldn't carry it openly on the bus, and I wasn't leaving it behind.

Then I stood at the door, hand on the knob, and took a breath.

You've walked this path a thousand times. It's just a walk. You can do this.

I opened the door.

The wolf was exactly where it had been all night — at the edge of the clearing, lying in the grass, golden eyes fixed on the cabin.

On me.

I stepped onto the porch. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else.

"I have to go to work," I said, and my voice only shook a little. "I'm going to walk to the bus stop. I'd appreciate it if you didn't eat me."

No response. Obviously. It was a wolf, not a conversation partner.

But those eyes tracked me as I descended the porch steps. As I crossed the yard. As I approached the tree line, the path that would take me past it, close enough to touch if it lunged.

My hand drifted to my back. To the gun.

The wolf didn't move.

I walked. One foot in front of the other. Past the clearing, into the trees, onto the path I'd taken a thousand times before. My heart hammered so loud I could barely hear the birds.

Behind me, I heard it rise.

Don't run. Don't run. If you run, it'll chase.

I kept walking. Didn't look back.

The footsteps followed. Heavy. Deliberate. Matching my pace, staying the same distance behind me.

It was following me.

Not attacking. Not charging. Just... following.

What the hell do you want?

I made it to the bus stop without dying. Stood under the shelter, shaking, waiting, listening to the rustle in the trees that told me it was still there.

Watching.

Always watching.

The bus came. I got on. And as we pulled away, I looked out the window and saw it — standing at the edge of the trees, those golden eyes following the bus until we rounded the bend and it disappeared from view.

It let me go.

I didn't understand why.

But tonight, I'd have to come back.

And something told me the walk home would be very different.