Lyra Voss gripped her camera, the cold metal grounding her as she stepped into the forest surrounding Hollow Vale. The town was a whisper on the map, a place of strange beauty and stranger rumors—perfect for her next photography project. At thirty, she’d fled the city, her ex’s betrayal, and the nightmares that clawed at her sleep. Hollow Vale was her escape, but the air here felt alive, heavy with secrets that made her skin prickle.

The trees loomed, their branches twisting like skeletal fingers. She adjusted her lens, capturing the moon’s glow through the mist, when a low, melodic hum stopped her cold. It wasn’t human—it was too deep, too primal. Her pulse quickened, but curiosity pulled her toward the sound, deeper into the woods.

In a clearing, she saw him. He stood by a massive tree carved with glowing runes, his back to her. Shirtless, his muscles rippled under moonlight, his dark hair falling in waves. He turned, and his eyes—silver, almost luminescent—locked onto hers. Her breath hitched. He was beautiful, dangerous, and impossibly familiar, like a dream she’d forgotten.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the heat pooling in her core.

“Silas,” he said, his voice a velvet growl that slid over her skin. “And you’re Lyra. The one who hears the whispers.”

Her heart stuttered. “How do you know my name?”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, like a storm about to break. “This place knows you. So do I.” His gaze roamed her body, lingering on the curve of her hips beneath her tight jeans. “You shouldn’t be here, but I’m glad you are.”

She should’ve run. Instead, she stepped forward, drawn to the heat in his eyes. “What are you doing out here?”

“Calling to the old ones,” he said, his lips curving into a wicked smile. “Care to join me?”

Before she could answer, he closed the distance, his hand brushing her cheek, then sliding down her neck. His touch was fire, igniting a hunger she hadn’t felt in years. “You feel it too,” he murmured, his lips inches from hers. “The pull.”

She did. It was reckless, insane, but undeniable. When he kissed her, it was a claim—fierce, hungry, his tongue teasing hers until she moaned. Her camera fell to the grass as she pressed herself against him, feeling the hard planes of his body. His hands roamed, cupping her breasts through her thin shirt, thumbs circling until she arched into him.

“Not here,” he growled, pulling back, his eyes blazing. “The runes… they’re watching.”

Her body ached for more, but his words sent a chill through her. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he took her hand, leading her deeper into the forest. “Come with me. There’s a place we can be alone.”

They reached a hidden grove, where a stone altar stood, draped in vines. He pinned her against it, his hands deftly unbuttoning her shirt, exposing her lace bra. His mouth followed, kissing a trail down her chest, his teeth grazing her skin. She gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he knelt, his lips brushing the waistband of her jeans.

“Silas,” she whispered, half-plea, half-prayer.

He looked up, his eyes molten. “Say you want this, Lyra.”

“I do,” she breathed, and he didn’t hesitate. Her jeans hit the ground, and his mouth found her, drawing a cry from her lips. The night dissolved into sensation—his tongue, his hands, the cold stone against her back. When he rose, shedding his pants, she pulled him close, their bodies joining in a rhythm as old as the forest itself.

But as they lay spent, the runes on the altar pulsed, and a shadow moved in the trees. Silas tensed, his arm tightening around her. “They’ve seen us,” he whispered.

“Who?” she asked, fear cutting through her haze.

“The ones who own this place,” he said, his voice grim. “And they want you.”

Chapter 1: The Call of the Vale

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