Chapter 13

Clara’s hands still shook as she fumbled with her house keys. The porch light buzzed faintly overhead, casting the old wooden steps in a halo of pale yellow. Her heart thudded too hard, too fast, refusing to settle even though she was finally home.

She’d driven the whole way with her knuckles white on the steering wheel, the shadows of the trees looming larger than ever before. Every time a branch cracked in the woods, she’d jumped, convinced something was following.

Now, standing in front of her own door, she still couldn’t shake the feeling.

“Come on, Clara,” she whispered to herself, sliding the key into the lock. “It was nothing. Just nerves. You’re fine.”

But she wasn’t. She knew what she’d felt—that hot pulse of fear that had prickled across her skin when the man in the shadows had stepped too close. And then Rowan had been there.

Rowan.

The memory of him surged again—broad shoulders, hazel eyes burning with something she couldn’t name, the way he had stepped between her and danger without hesitation. She pressed the door shut behind her, leaning against it, dragging in a shaky breath.

Safe. She was safe.

She set her purse down, forcing herself through the motions—kick off her shoes, hang up her coat, breathe. But no matter how many deep breaths she took, the adrenaline still hummed in her veins.

A soft knock jolted her.

Her head whipped toward the door, heart leaping. It was too soon for a neighbor, and she wasn’t expecting anyone this late. Fear surged again, sharp and sudden. She stood frozen, every instinct screaming to stay quiet.

Then a low voice carried through the wood.

“Clara. It’s me.”

Rowan.

Her knees nearly gave out with relief. Without thinking, she undid the lock and pulled the door open.

He stood on her porch, tall and unshakable, though there was a rawness to his expression, a shadow that hadn’t been there earlier. His shirt clung damply to his skin, and a faint coppery tang—blood?—hovered around him, though his stance was steady, protective.

“Rowan?” Her voice cracked on his name. “What—why are you here?”

He scanned her quickly, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe, like he needed to reassure himself she was whole. Only then did his shoulders ease a fraction.

“I wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he said, his voice low, rough.

Something in her chest twisted. No one had ever said that to her with that kind of certainty, that kind of quiet promise. She hugged her arms around herself, suddenly aware of how fragile she must look, standing there barefoot in the doorway.

“I… I did.” She swallowed, trying to steady herself. “Thanks to you.”

His hazel eyes caught hers, unflinching. The air between them thickened, pulling taut. For a heartbeat, she forgot the fear, forgot the forest and the shadow that had followed her. All she could feel was him—his nearness, his strength, the strange safety that came with it.

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Rowan said finally, his tone careful but firm. “Not after that.”

Clara blinked. The words should have unnerved her, but instead they sank into her like warmth after a long chill. Still, she shook her head faintly, unsure. “I can’t just… invite you in.”

One corner of his mouth tugged, not quite a smile. “I won’t push. But I’ll be outside. Close enough if you need me.”

Her lips parted, a protest caught in her throat. Outside? All night? He was serious.

And despite the voice in her head telling her this was far from normal, another part of her—the part still trembling, the part that had leaned into his presence—wanted him there.

She nodded, just once. “Okay.”

Rowan inclined his head, as if sealing a pact, and stepped back into the shadows. For a long moment, she stood in the doorway, watching his broad frame blur with the night.

Then she shut the door, her pulse still unsteady—but this time, it wasn’t just from fear.