Jack lived alone, nestled deep in the Appalachian woods, where the trees whispered secrets and the night often brought silence heavy enough to drown in. His cabin was modest but fortified, every inch of it hand-built and hardened by years of solitude. After serving with the Marines, he’d chosen isolation over chaos—until one night, chaos came looking for him.

The wind was stiff with cold, rustling through the pine needles, and the fire crackled low in his stone hearth as Jack sat sharpening his hunting knife. The rhythmic rasp of steel on stone was broken by a distant scream. High. Desperate.

He froze.

Then came the crashing of underbrush. Running footsteps. Someone was coming—fast.

Jack moved without thought, every instinct honed by combat. He snuffed the lantern, kicked out the fire, and stood in the darkness, a shadow among shadows. Just as he reached for the doorknob, it flew open.

A woman burst inside, barefoot, breathless, her dress torn and stained. Her eyes—wild with terror—locked onto his. “Please,” she panted. “He’s coming. He—”

“Down,” Jack whispered, grabbing her arm and pulling her to the floor behind his workbench.

Seconds later, another figure crashed through the trees. Then two more.

Jack saw them through the slats of his shuttered windows—men with blades, moving fast, reckless, and loud. Amateurs.

The first one reached the porch and opened the door with a sneer. “We know you’re in here, girl. Don’t make this worse.”

That’s when Jack struck.

Like a ghost, he emerged from the dark, silent as death. His knife found flesh, and the man crumpled without a word. The second saw the motion too late. Jack moved fast, dodging the swing of a bat and countering with a bone-shattering strike to the throat. The last one ran—but Jack ran faster.

Minutes passed. The silence returned, thick and final.

When Jack came back inside, the woman was still on the floor, knees pulled to her chest. She looked up at him, her breathing ragged, and in that moment—when he locked the door and finally exhaled—something shifted between them.

“You’re safe now,” Jack said.

She rose slowly and walked to him. Her fingers brushed his arm, then held it, strong and trembling. “You didn’t even flinch,” she whispered.

“Old habit,” he muttered.

Her lips parted, and she stepped closer, the heat between them undeniable despite the cold. “I don’t know who you are, but I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Jack didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The air between them crackled like the fire that once warmed the room.

He reached for her, and she met him halfway. The kiss was urgent, deep—born from fear and gratitude, but quickly turning to hunger. Her hands explored the hard lines of his body, scarred and powerful, and his mouth moved from her lips to her throat, to the place where her breath caught and moaned.

Clothes fell to the floor. The fire, forgotten, smoldered behind them as the night filled with a different kind of heat—rough, tender, and wild as the woods outside.

By morning, the forest would forget the screams, the blood. But inside that cabin, something new had begun—raw and real.

And Jack? For the first time in years… he wasn’t alone anymore.