1: Unsafe Harbor
The last sliver of twilight bled from the sky, painting the pines in shades of bruised purple as Lola Renaldo strummed a familiar chord on her battered acoustic. Inside the Starcaster, the fairy lights she’d painstakingly wired cast a warm, defiant glow against the creeping chill of the Wisconsin wilderness. She’d parked the old shuttle bus deep in the national forest, the protective runes of crushed silver and herbs she’d painted into the ceiling still faintly shimmering. They were just for comfort, she told herself, a silly habit from her grandmother’s eccentric stories.
Lola closed her eyes and let the first verse of her latest song spill out. It was a raw, aching lament that usually quieted the restless ghosts of her past. Tonight, though, the air felt thick. Heavy. Like something vast and ancient was pressing down on the trees. When the bridge hit, her voice swelled, vibrating through the floorboards and into the earth itself.
Suddenly, the forest went dead silent. No crickets. No wind. Then a dull roar—louder and louder and louder—until, after a few moments to process, she recognized the sound as the heavy thud of a motorcycle engine cut off. Close—too close. How had they found her here? Just as it all clicked, the bus shifted. It didn’t just rock; it groaned under the weight of someone stepping onto the reinforced bumper. Lola snatched up the iron poker she kept by the door, heart hammering against her ribs. The door shook once, twice, three times by the force of a powerful hand. An impatient hand. Before she could reach the latch, the door blasted open, revealing the calloused palm that had effortlessly broke through all three deadbolts and the runes meticulously etched into every inch of wood. Only a human could get through those, she thought. Right?
A woman stood there, framed by the moonlight. She was tall—well past six feet—with a sharp undercut and eyes that glowed a terrifying, predatory gold. Oh. She wore a black tactical vest over a crisp white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms covered in shifting, ink-black tattoos. OH.
This stranger didn't move like a human. She moved like a landslide—controlled, heavy, and inevitable.
"Well hello, siren," her deep voice rasped, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate right through Lola’s chest. She stepped further into the small sanctuary, closing the distance until Lola was backed against her small kitchenette. The large figure leaned in, one hand bracing against the wall beside Lola’s head.
“You need to come with me—now. Are you trying to make yourself a rogue’s dinner?”
She was close enough to smell—earth and burnt cedar, and something bright Lola couldn’t place. Shaking off this strange sensory distraction, Lola focused on the intense eyes boring into her. They seemed to glow—embers imbedded in a dark complexion that didn’t hide their urgency.
“That song you were just singing... it wasn't just music. It was a beacon. And every hungry thing for fifty miles just heard it."
Lola’s breath hitched, terrified of this stranger and even more scared of what she was saying. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just a songwriter. Please get out of my home."
The stranger’s golden eyes flared. "Your home is a shuttle bus with plywood walls. Outside that door, there’s a pack of rogues who would tear this thing apart just to get a taste of your throat. You have two choices. You can stay here and find out exactly how those wards hold up... or you can come with me and find out why the most powerful Alpha in the state just dropped everything to find you."
The most powerful Alpha? Siren? What kind of fanfiction nonsense was she spewing? Before Lola could find her voice, a deafening, inhuman howl ripped through the forest. Then came the sound of long, sharp claws screeching against the metal side of the bus.
Lola froze, but the towering woman didn't flinch. She just looked at her coldly. "Make your choice. We have exactly ten seconds before they break the glass."
