Different Monsters

Different Monsters
Seraphina sat in the dim, unfamiliar room, her breathing shallow, her fingers clutching the edges of the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the walls, but its warmth did little to chase away the cold lodged deep in her bones.
She wouldn’t say it. She wouldn’t admit it.
But she had been scared.
Not just startled. Not just wary. Terrified.
She could still feel the ghost of the boar’s tusk grazing her skin, the thunderous weight of its charge shaking the ground beneath her.
She could still hear the monstrous snarl that tore through the silence of the woods—the sound of death coming for her.
And for the first time in her life, she had thought—this is it.
She hadn’t been ready.
She had faced many things before—hunters, battles, the weight of her family’s expectations—but never had she felt so powerless.
The memory gripped her like a vice.
#####
The air had been thick with silence.
That eerie kind of stillness where even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
The woods stretched endlessly around her, dark and unwelcoming, trees looming like silent sentinels.
Something had been wrong. She had felt it creeping along her skin, that strange prickle of unseen eyes watching her.
She had ignored it.
Her mind had been too tangled, too burdened with the weight of everything Adolphus had thrown at her.
The revelation of what her family had done. The destruction of her home.
The truth that had shattered the foundation of everything she thought she knew.
She had been distracted.
And that had almost killed her.
A sudden rustling in the underbrush had snapped her attention back to reality.
Too late.
The boar had burst from the darkness, massive, monstrous, unnatural. It wasn’t like any ordinary beast she had ever seen.
Its fur was coarse and dark, its eyes gleaming with something more than just animal instinct. Something hateful.
She had no time to think.
Only to react.
She had spun on her heels, trying to dodge, but the beast was too fast. Its tusks caught her side, tearing through fabric, grazing flesh. Pain. Blinding, searing.
She had staggered back, her breath punched from her lungs.
The boar let out a deep, guttural snort, pawing at the ground, preparing to charge again.
She wasn’t going to outrun it.
She had drawn her knife, though she knew it was useless. The blade felt too small in her grip, her arms too weak, her body already failing her.
She had been trapped. Alone.
No way out.
Her vision blurred, panic clawing at her chest. She had never been this afraid before.
Not when facing enemies, not even when she first realized her world was falling apart.
This fear was primal. The kind that seized your body and wouldn’t let go.
She had thought, this is it.
This was how she would die.
Then—a snarl.
Deep. Powerful. A force of nature.
And then—Adolphus.
He had appeared as if the night itself had birthed him, a blur of movement, a storm in the form of a man.
No. Not a man.
A werewolf.
His transformation had been swift, effortless—terrifying.
Fangs bared. Claws flashing. Eyes glowing like twin moons in the dark.
The boar had turned its rage on him. But it had been nothing against him.
Seraphina had watched, frozen, as Adolphus tore through the beast.
Brutal. Efficient. Merciless.
The sound of tearing flesh, the pained squeal of the dying creature—those sounds had settled deep in her bones, shaking her in ways she hadn’t expected.
Not because she pitied the beast.
But because she had realized, in that moment, how powerful Adolphus truly was.
And she had no control over him.
Then, silence.
The boar lay lifeless at his feet. Blood pooled beneath its massive body, its dark eyes glassy, unseeing.
Adolphus had turned to her then, his chest heaving, his face still half-wild, still carrying the remnants of the beast he had unleashed.
But his eyes—they had softened when they met hers.
And that had terrified her more than anything else.
She had expected triumph. Expected a sneer, a reminder of her weakness.
Instead, he had knelt beside her.
“Seraphina.” His voice had been rough, but not unkind.
He had reached for her wound, his touch almost hesitant, as if he feared she might flinch away.
She should have.
She should have slapped his hand, shoved him away, screamed at him for everything he had taken from her.
But she hadn’t.
She had just sat there, staring at him.
Because she couldn’t understand him.
Couldn’t understand why he had saved her.
Why he had looked at her like she was something fragile.
She had been scared.
Not just of the boar.
But of him.
And of the way, deep down, some part of her had felt—safe.
#####
Now, back in the quiet of the unfamiliar room, the fear still lingered.
Her wound still ached. Her hands still trembled.
But the worst part?
She wasn’t sure who she was more afraid of anymore.
The monsters in the woods.
Or the one who had saved her.
#######
Seraphina didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment, she had been sitting there, lost in her thoughts, the next, darkness had swallowed her whole.
Sleep had not been peaceful. It never was anymore.
The boar’s tusks loomed in her dreams, the weight of its charge pressing down on her, the smell of blood thick in the air. And always—always—him.
Adolphus.
The way he had torn through the beast like it was nothing. The way his eyes had softened when he looked at her, something unreadable lurking beneath the surface.
She had woken to the dim light of evening seeping through the windows, her body stiff, her leg still aching from the fall.
The room was silent, but she wasn’t alone.
Adolphus stood by the door, his tall frame blocking out the last slivers of daylight. In his hands, a tray—food.
She said nothing as he walked in.