a.Unseen hunger
Chloe was halfway through Professor Hargrove's lecture on post-modern literature when her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen—Mom. Her stomach dropped. Her mother never called during the day unless it was important. Sliding out of her seat, she ducked into the hallway, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead as she answered.
"Chloe," her mother's voice was tight, strained. "It's Grandpa. He's... he's gone."
The words hit her like a punch to the chest. "What? When? How?"
"Three days ago," her mother said, her tone heavy with regret. "They found him by the roadside, near the woods. He collapsed—heart attack, they think. But..." She hesitated, and Chloe could hear the unease in her voice. "There were scratches on his chest and neck. Like something had... attacked him. His gun was beside him, and there was blood. A trail leading into the woods."
Chloe's mind raced. Scratches? Blood? None of it made sense. Grandpa was careful, always prepared. He wouldn't have let some animal get the better of him.
"The house," her mother continued, pulling Chloe back to the present. "We need someone to stay there. It's close to your college, and it'll save you rent. You could use the money for something better."
Chloe opened her mouth to protest, but her mother cut her off. "You're nineteen, Chloe. It's time. We'll visit in the spring, once the snow clears."
The call ended, leaving Chloe standing in the empty hallway, the weight of her mother's words pressing down on her. She didn't want to go back to that house, not after what had happened. But what choice did she have?
 *******************
By the time Chloe stepped out of the Uber, the sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across Luc's Farm. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and something metallic she couldn't quite place. The house loomed ahead, its windows dark and uninviting. She fished the key from the mailbox, her fingers brushing against the cold metal as she unlocked the door.
Inside, the house was eerily tidy, as if Grandpa had known he wouldn't be coming back. The furniture was arranged just so, the floors spotless, and the air carried the faint scent of wood polish and something else—something sharp and coppery. Chloe shook off the unease and made her way to the shed, her flashlight cutting through the growing darkness.
The shed was worse. The beam of her flashlight caught the glint of something metallic—a bear trap, its jaws clamped around nothing but air. But then she heard it: a gasp, low and pained, coming from the corner. Her heart leapt into her throat as the beam of light landed on him.
A man, hanging upside down, his leg caught in the trap. Blood had dried in dark streaks down his thigh, and his face was pale, almost ghostly in the dim light. His long black hair hung like a curtain, obscuring his features until he lifted his head, his eyes locking onto hers.
"Help," he croaked, his voice soft but urgent.
Chloe's breath hitched. "Oh my God," she whispered, rushing forward. "What happened?"
Chloe's hands trembled as she reached for the rope holding the bear trap. The man's eyes followed her every move, his gaze intense despite his weakened state. She fumbled with the knot, her fingers slipping as she tried to loosen it.
"Hold on," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "I've got you."
Finally, the rope gave way, and the man dropped to the ground with a thud. He groaned, clutching his leg as Chloe knelt beside him, her heart pounding.
"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice shaking. "Are you okay? How did this even happen?"
The man winced, his voice low and rough. "I came to return your grandfather's shears," he said, gesturing weakly to the pair lying on the ground nearby. "I didn't find him in the house, so I came out here. Next thing I knew, I was caught in this damn thing. I've been here for... hours."
Chloe's chest tightened. Eighteen hours, hanging upside down in the cold, dark shed. She couldn't imagine the pain he must have endured. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, her voice softer now. "My grandfather died a few days ago , I'm here to house sit for now, and probably all winter to come. Now, Let's get you out of there."
She grabbed the bear trap, her hands slipping on the cold metal as she tried to pry it open. It was heavier than she expected, the rusted jaws stubbornly clamped around his leg. The man reached down, his hand brushing against hers as he helped her pull. Their eyes met for a moment, and Chloe felt a strange jolt of electricity—something she couldn't quite explain.
With a final, desperate tug, the trap sprang open, and the man pulled his leg free. He let out a shaky breath, his body sagging with relief. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Chloe nodded, her cheeks flushing as she helped him to his feet. He was taller than she'd realized, his frame lean but strong. He tried to put weight on his injured leg, but it buckled, and he stumbled forward. Instinctively, Chloe reached out to steady him, her hands gripping his arms. For a moment, they were chest to chest, their faces inches apart. His breath was warm against her skin, and she could see the faintest hint of stubble along his jawline.
"Sorry," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "I'm not usually this clumsy."
Chloe laughed nervously, her heart racing. "It's okay. You've been through a lot."
She helped him to the front porch, where he sank into a weathered wooden chair. The moonlight bathed the yard in a silvery glow, casting long shadows across the grass. Chloe fetched a bowl of water and a clean cloth, kneeling beside him to clean his wound. As she worked, she couldn't help but notice how quickly the cuts were healing—far faster than any normal injury should.
"You're... healing really fast," she said, her voice tinged with disbelief.
The man glanced down at his leg, his expression unreadable. "I heal quickly," he said simply, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Chloe wanted to press him further, but something in his eyes stopped her. There was a depth to them, a sadness that made her chest ache. Instead, she focused on cleaning the dried blood from his skin, her touch gentle.
When she was done, she sat back on her heels, studying him. "Are you sure you don't want me to take you home? It's no trouble."
He shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I'll be fine. It's not far." He stood, testing his weight on the injured leg. This time, it held. "Thank you, Chloe. For everything."
She blinked, surprised. "How do you know my name?"
He hesitated, then gestured to the house. "Your grandfather talked about you. A lot."
Chloe's throat tightened. She hadn't realized how much she missed her grandfather until that moment. "Oh," she said softly. "I didn't know."
The man reached out, his hand brushing hers lightly. "He was a good man. I'm sorry for your loss."
His touch sent a shiver through her, and she looked up at him, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Then he stepped back, his hand slipping away.
"I should go," he said, his voice quiet. "But... I'll see you around, Chloe."
She watched as he limped down the porch steps, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the yard. Her heart was still racing, her mind swirling with questions. Who was he? Why had he really been here? And why did she suddenly feel so drawn to him?
 *****************
Chloe had just finished plating the pasta when she saw it—a dark shadow moving across the window. Her breath hitched, and she froze, her eyes locked on the silhouette. Before she could react, a knock echoed through the house, sharp and deliberate.
Her heart raced as she approached the door, peering through the peephole. It was *him*. The man from the shed, now dressed in a tailored black coat that hugged his broad shoulders, the fabric catching the dim light. His long black hair, which had been wild and tangled earlier, was now neatly tied back, revealing sharp, angular features. His jawline was strong, softened only by the faintest shadow of stubble, and his eyes—those piercing, almost otherworldly eyes—seemed to glow faintly in the darkness. He held a bottle of wine in one hand, its deep crimson label catching the light, and in the other, he casually tucked his gloves into his coat pocket. He looked like he'd stepped out of a Gothic romance novel—handsome, mysterious, and just a little dangerous.
She opened the door, her voice trembling slightly. "Hi. I wasn't expecting you."
He smiled, a slow, warm curve of his lips that made her stomach flutter. "I wanted to thank you properly for earlier," he said, his voice smooth and low, like velvet. He held up the bottle. "This is *Vino della Luna Nera*—Black Moon Wine. It's... special. I thought you might like it."
Chloe glanced at the label, which featured a silver crescent moon against a dark background. The name was elegant, almost mysterious, and the bottle looked expensive. She stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. "Thank you. That's really kind of you. I just finished making dinner, actually. Would you like to join me?"
He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the table set for two. "I don't want to intrude."
"You're not intruding," she said quickly, her cheeks flushing. "I always cook for two. My friend used to visit a lot, but... well, she hasn't been around lately. Please, stay. It's the least I can do since you brought such a nice gift."
He studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. But only if you're sure."
"I'm sure," she said, smiling as she led him to the table. "I made *Pappardelle al Cinghiale*—it's a wild boar ragu with wide pasta ribbons. My grandfather taught me the recipe. It's... kind of a family tradition."
He raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Sounds delicious. I haven't had homemade Italian food in years."
They sat down, and Chloe served the pasta, the rich aroma of the ragu filling the room. For a while, they ate in comfortable silence, the only sound the clink of forks against plates. The man took a bite and nodded appreciatively. "This is incredible. Your grandfather taught you well."
Chloe smiled, a warmth spreading through her chest. "Thank you. He was an amazing cook. I miss him."
The man's expression softened, and he reached for the wine bottle. "Shall we try this? I think it'll pair well with the meal."
He uncorked the bottle with practiced ease and poured two glasses. The wine was a deep, velvety red, its aroma rich and complex—hints of black cherry, dark chocolate, and a subtle earthiness. Chloe took a sip, her eyes widening in surprise. "Wow. This is... amazing. I've never tasted anything like it."
He smiled, his gaze lingering on her. "It's from a small vineyard in Tuscany. They only produce a few hundred bottles a year. It's meant to be savored."
Chloe felt a flutter in her chest as their eyes met. There was something about him—something magnetic and enigmatic. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she found herself wanting to know more.
As the evening wore on, they talked about everything and nothing—her studies, his travels, the strange beauty of the countryside at night. The wine flowed, and the tension between them grew, subtle but undeniable. At one point, their hands brushed as they reached for the bottle at the same time, and Chloe felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her.
"Sorry," he murmured, his voice low and warm.
"It's okay," she replied, her heart racing. She glanced at the clock and realized how late it had gotten. "I should probably clean up."
He stood, picking up his plate. "Let me help."
They moved to the kitchen, their shoulders brushing as they worked side by side. Chloe rinsed the dishes while he dried, his movements deliberate and unhurried. Every so often, she caught him glancing at her, his gaze lingering a moment too long. When their hands touched as they passed a plate, neither of them pulled away immediately, the contact sending a shiver down her spine.
At one point, she reached for a glass on the top shelf, standing on her tiptoes. He was there in an instant, his body close behind her as he effortlessly retrieved it. "Here," he said, his voice soft, his breath warm against her ear.
"Thanks," she whispered, her cheeks flushing as she turned to face him. They were standing so close she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, feel the heat radiating from him. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with unspoken words.
Then he stepped back, his hand brushing hers lightly. "You're incredible, Chloe," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for tonight."
She smiled, her heart pounding. "I'm glad you came."
He hesitated, then reached out, his fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was so intimate, so tender, that it took her breath away. "So am I," he murmured.
For a moment, they stood there, the silence between them heavy with possibility. Then he stepped back, his hand slipping away. "I should go. It's late."
Chloe nodded, though a part of her wished he would stay. "Will I see you again?"
He smiled, a hint of mystery in his eyes. "Count on it."