When Elijah Harrow returns to Lupin Hollow to settle his estranged uncle’s estate, he expects a short trip, not a confrontation with the ghosts of his past, and definitely not a reunion with Caleb Morgan, the boy he once loved and the wolf he never understood. The Hollow, a forgotten town buried in Oregon’s dense woods, is alive with magic and memory. And beneath the ash tree that marks its heart, something ancient is waking. Elijah's blood carries secrets he never asked for, and Caleb’s bond might be the only thing standing between salvation and ruin.
As lust rekindles into something deeper and the lines between man, wolf, and myth blur, Elijah must face the legacy that chased him away and the power surging in his veins. With a rogue pack threatening to breach the Hollow and an ancient pact unraveling, the only way out is through blood, bond, and the forest’s unspoken law. Will Elijah become the savior of the Hollow? Or the monster it’s been waiting for?
Downtown was quiet, almost eerily so. The wooden buildings leaned with age. The wind carried a strange stillness, like the town was holding its breath. He passed the diner, the post office, and the little church that had probably never seen more than twenty people at once. Then he saw it.
The Den.
It hadn’t been here when he left. The bar looked newer than everything else around it -- warm lamplight glowing from the inside, condensation on the windows, a wooden sign with a carved wolf’s head over the door. It was quiet, alive in a way the rest of the town wasn’t. New wasn’t an adjective often used to describe the hollow. The coal miner’s haven which turned sour when the mine was condemned in 1989 had quickly become abandoned.
Elijah hesitated, then stepped in.
The scent hit him immediately -- woodsmoke, sweat, whiskey, and something beneath all that. Something animal. Not unpleasant. Familiar in a way that made his skin prickle. Something like aftershave mixed with raw passion.
The interior was all exposed beams and antler chandeliers. Redneck chic. A couple sat near the fire, whispering. A man at the bar sipped something dark, his back turned. A guitar player strummed a soft, sad tune from a stool in the corner.
Elijah took a seat at the bar. The bartender, a redheaded woman with a leather vest and tattoos of thorned vines spiraling down both arms, gave him a once-over.
“Outsider?” she said, not unkindly.
“I used to live here,” Elijah replied, trying to keep his voice even.
She gave a dry smile. “That’s what they all say.”
“Elijah Harrow,” he added.
The smile vanished. “Zeke’s nephew?”
He nodded. The guitar singer continued to croon.
“I’m Dana,” she said, pouring him a bourbon without asking what he wanted. “On the house. Sorry about Zeke.”
“Thanks.” He took a sip. It burned perfectly on the way down. A rye -- he thought with nothing but bitterness. Something only he drank.
“He and I weren’t exactly close.”
Dana raised an eyebrow. “No one was close to Zeke. But he had his reasons.”
Elijah leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Do you know what he was into?”
Dana shrugged, polishing a glass. “Zeke read too many old books and talked to too many dogs. That’s all I’ll say.”
Elijah blinked. “Dogs?”
She smiled like she knew a joke he didn’t. “Something like that.”
Before Elijah could press further, the door creaked open behind him. Cold air slipped into the bar -- and with it, a presence that made his spine stiffen.
He turned.
A man stepped in, tall and solid, wrapped in a black jacket and dusk-colored jeans. His boots were mud-caked. His hair was wild, falling just past his brow, and his jaw was rough with stubble. He moved like a threat -- calm, steady, powerful. The way wolves moved when they knew exactly where they were in the pack.
And he looked right at Elijah.
It was like being punched through the chest by memory.
“Elijah Harrow,” the man said. His voice was deeper now, edged with something raw. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”
Elijah’s mouth was dry. “Caleb.”
Caleb Morgan. His first kiss. His first fight. The boy he’d fallen for, once, completely and recklessly. The boy who had stood over a mangled body in the woods ten years ago and told Elijah to run.
He was no boy now.
Caleb walked toward him with quiet steps, eyes golden-brown and unblinking. Elijah stood slowly, unsure if he should offer a handshake, a hug, or a confession.
“You’re still here,” Elijah said.
“I never left,” Caleb replied. “The Hollow’s my home.”
Elijah smiled tightly. “Didn’t exactly feel like mine.”
Caleb tilted his head. “That why you ran?”
“That’s why I stayed gone.”
They stared at each other for a beat too long. Dana had vanished to the far end of the bar, giving them space, or to save herself.
“I heard about your uncle,” Caleb said finally.
“Yeah,” Elijah said. “I came back to take care of it.”
Caleb’s eyebrows raised knowingly. “Is that the only reason?”
Elijah hesitated. “Why else would I come back?”
“I don’t know,” Caleb said, voice rougher now. “Maybe because you felt it.”
“Felt what?”
“That something’s not right.”
Elijah’s stomach twisted. “You don’t know what I feel anymore.”
“I know you, Eli. That hasn’t changed.”
Elijah flinched at the nickname. No one else had ever called him that. He hated it. Eli.
“Elijah,” he spat.
“Huh?” Caleb asked, already knowing.
“Elijah.”
“Ah, my mistake. Elijah.”
He stepped back, the air between them thick with old tension and things unsaid.
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