Chapter 3 The Guardian

Ivy didn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that transition-the way the boy had simply folded into the wolf. It shouldn't have been possible. It defied every science textbook she'd ever read in the city. The next morning, the cabin was filled with the smell of frying bacon and the sound of her dad humming to the radio. "You're up early," Sloane said, wiping a dusty windowpane. "You look like you saw a ghost last night, Ivy. You okay?" "Just... the mountain air," Ivy lied. Her heart was still racing. "I'm going back out to draw.

I found a good spot yesterday." "Stay close," Liam called out, his voice muffled by the cupboard he was organizing. "I heard from a neighbor down the road that there's been some bear activity lately. Don't go past the creek." Ivy nodded, but she was barely listening. She grabbed her bag and slipped out the door, her boots crunching on the frost-covered grass. She didn't want to find a "spot." She wanted to find him. She reached the mossy log and waited. The woods were quiet-too quiet. The birds weren't singing today. Ivy sat on the log, her sketchbook open to a blank page, but she didn't draw. She just watched the shadows. "I know you're there," she whispered. The sound of her own voice felt small against the vastness of the forest. "I saw you." Nothing moved. She stood up and decided to walk a bit further, crossing the small creek that her father had warned her about. The ground here was steeper, the trees older and draped in gray lichen. She was so focused on looking for a flash of charcoal fur that she didn't hear the low, guttural vibration coming from behind the thicket of berry bushes to her right. Then, the smell hit her: something musky, rotten, and heavy. A branch snapped. A massive grizzly, easily twice her size, lumbered into the path. It wasn't like the bears in documentaries; it looked agitated, its coat matted and its eyes narrowed. Ivy froze. Her breath hitched in her throat. Don't run, she remembered reading somewhere. Don't make eye contact. But as the bear let out a deafening roar and rose onto its hind legs, her instinct took over. She stumbled backward, her heel catching on a root. She hit the ground hard, the air leaving her lungs in a painful wheeze. The bear dropped back to all fours and charged, a mountain of fur and teeth closing the distance in seconds. Ivy closed her eyes and threw her arms up to shield her face. The impact didn't come from the bear. Instead, a blur of dark fur slammed into the grizzly's side with enough force to crack a tree trunk. A chorus of snarls and high-pitched yelps filled the air. Ivy scrambled backward on her elbows, watching in terrified awe as the charcoal wolf she had seen yesterday fought the bear. It was a chaotic swirl of claws and teeth. The wolf was smaller than the grizzly, but he was faster, more surgical. He bit at the bear's throat, dodging the heavy swipes of its paws. But the bear was desperate. With a final, powerful swing, its claws raked across the wolf's shoulder, tearing through fur and skin. The wolf let out a pained whimper and made one last, lunging snap at the bear's face. Reeling and bleeding, the grizzly decided the fight wasn't worth it. It turned and crashed through the brush, retreating into the darkness. The wolf stood there for a second, his chest heaving. Blood was matted in his dark fur, dripping onto the pine needles. "You're hurt," Ivy breathed, her voice shaking. The wolf looked at her, his golden eyes hazy with pain. Right before her eyes, the bones began to shift again. The fur receded, the shape shrunk, and within seconds, the boy was back. He was slumped against a tree, clutching his shoulder. He was wearing tattered jeans, but no shirt, and his skin was deathly pale. He groaned, his head lolling back against the bark. "Hey, stay with me," Ivy said, rushing to his side. She didn't care that he was a monster, or a myth, or a stranger. He was bleeding, and he had saved her life. She ripped the flannel shirt she was wearing over her t-shirt and pressed it against the deep gashes on his shoulder. He flinched, his eyes snapping open. "Go," he rasped, his voice sounding like it hadn't been used in years. "You shouldn't... be here." "I'm not leaving you," Ivy said firmly. "My parents' cabin is just over the ridge. They have a first aid kit. Can you walk?" Silas looked at her, truly looked at her, for the first time. He saw the smudge of charcoal on her cheek and the fierce determination in her eyes. He nodded weakly. Ivy draped his good arm over her shoulder, bracing herself against his weight. Together, the human girl and the bleeding boy began the slow, painful trek back toward the world of fences and rooftops. The walk back felt like it took hours, though it was likely only ten minutes. Silas was heavy, his heat radiating off him in waves that felt almost feverish. Every time he stumbled, Ivy braced her feet in the dirt, her heart hammering against her ribs. When the wooden frame of the cabin finally appeared through the trees, Ivy didn't hesitate. "Mom! Dad!" she screamed, her voice cracking the morning quiet. The porch door flew open. Liam ran out, still holding a dish towel, with Sloane right behind him. They stopped dead at the edge of the steps, staring at their daughter, who was covered in dirt and blood, propping up a half-conscious, shirtless stranger. "Oh my god," Sloane gasped, rushing down. "Ivy, what happened? Are you hurt?" "I'm fine," Ivy panted, her voice urgent. "A bear-he saved me. He's hurt really bad. We have to help him." Liam didn't ask questions. He saw the deep, jagged red lines on the boy's shoulder and immediately stepped under Silas's other arm. Together, the two of them hauled him up the stairs and into the small living room, laying him out on the oversized plaid sofa. The Recovery The next hour was a blur of warm water, antiseptic, and hushed whispers. Ivy watched from the corner of the room as her mother-who had been a nurse before moving into hospital administration-worked with steady hands. She cleaned the wounds on Silas's shoulder, her brow furrowed in confusion. "These are deep," Sloane muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "But the way the skin is already... it's like he's clotting faster than anything I've ever seen." "He saved her, Sloane," Liam said, leaning against the kitchen counter, his face pale. "The kid took a hit from a grizzly for our daughter. We owe him everything." Silas didn't wake up while they worked. He stayed in a deep, heavy sleep, his breathing ragged at first, then smoothing out into a low, rhythmic hum. Ivy stayed in the chair beside him, refusing to go to her own room to wash the dirt off her face. She kept her eyes on his chest, watching the way it rose and fell. She knew what she had seen. She knew the blood on her flannel shirt came from a creature that shouldn't exist. But looking at him now-the way his dark hair fell over his forehead and the vulnerability in his sleeping face-he just looked like a boy. A lonely boy, just like her. Two Days Later The sun was streaming through the cabin windows when Silas finally bolted upright. He didn't wake up slowly. He snapped awake, his eyes flashing a bright, startled amber before fading back to a deep brown. He gasped, his hand flying to his bandaged shoulder, his body tensing like a spring. "Easy, easy," Ivy said, leaning forward. She had been sketching him while he slept-just the lines of his jaw and the way his hands rested on the blanket. Silas looked around the room, his nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of old wood, coffee, and human laundry detergent. He looked at the bandages, then at Ivy. "Where... how long?" he rasped. "Two days," Ivy said softly. "You lost a lot of blood. My parents helped you." "Two days?" Silas's face went from pale to ghostly white. He tried to swing his legs off the sofa, but a wave of dizziness hit him, and he slumped back. "No. No, no. They'll be looking. They'll know I crossed over." "Who will?" Ivy asked, though she already suspected the answer. Before he could answer, the kitchen door swung open and Liam walked in, holding a mug of tea. "Hey! You're awake. Scared us for a minute there, son." Silas froze, looking at Liam like he was a predator, despite Liam being the one offering a drink. "Thank you," Liam said, his voice thick with genuine emotion. "For saving Ivy. I'm Liam. My wife, Sloane, is out getting more supplies. We don't know who you are or where you live, but you're a hero in this house." Silas looked at the floor, his shoulders trembling. He wasn't used to kindness from humans. He was used to being told they were the enemy-weak, loud, and dangerous. "I have to go," Silas whispered, his voice shaking. "I'm in trouble. I'm in so much trouble." "You're not going anywhere until you can stand up without falling," Ivy said, her voice firmer than she usually allowed it to be. She looked at her dad. "Can you give us a minute?" Liam nodded, sensing the shift in the room, and stepped back out onto the porch. Once the door clicked shut, Silas looked at Ivy. "Why didn't you tell them?" "Tell them what?" Ivy asked quietly. "What you saw. In the woods. What I am." Ivy looked down at her sketchbook-at the drawing of the wolf and the drawing of the boy. "I don't think I have the words for it yet," she said. "Besides... it's our secret, isn't it?" For the first time, a small, tentative shadow of a smile touched Silas's lips. It was the first "adventure" he had ever had that felt real. Silas has to head back to the pack now to face his punishment, but the bond is already formed.