Chapter 7
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My life continued in this delicate balance. During the day, I studied the secret historical accounts of vampires "dictated" by Silas, transforming them into the framework of my novel; after sunset, I had to endure his contemptuous gaze—like that of a "rural alchemist"—whenever I used modern kitchen appliances. Our relationship was less like landlord and tenant, and more like a temporary peace treaty between a researcher stranded on a deserted island and the island's only "native"—dangerous yet fascinating.
The torrential rain destroyed a row of wooden fences at the edge of the garden. Those wind-blown stakes lay askew in the mud, like a row of fallen soldiers. Looking at that mess, my OCD kicked in. As an independent woman accustomed to being self-sufficient, I couldn't tolerate such obvious disrepair in my "territory." So, on a sunny afternoon with gentle warmth, I dug out hammers and nails from the tool shed, changed into old clothes that I didn't mind getting dirty, and began my clumsy repair work.
I was completely immersed in this pure physical labor. Re-straightening the wooden stakes, hammering them piece by piece into the damp soil, then securing them with wire. This work was much more exhausting than it looked; before long, my forehead was covered in sweat, and at some point, a streak of mud had smudged across my face. But I didn't mind at all. This feeling of restoring order with my own hands allowed me to temporarily forget those supernatural troubles.
I failed to notice that, just a hundred meters away at the edge of the forest, under the densest shadows, a pair of amber eyes was watching me without moving.
Finn Grimm had been monitoring this place for several days. He had expected to see a woman bewitched by ancient evil entities, corrupted and degraded within the manor. He had imagined countless scenarios filled with dark rituals, evil dealings, and that corrupting atmosphere that pollutes the air. But what he saw before him was merely a... somewhat silly woman, covered in sweat as she repaired a fence.
Her movements were clumsy, and several times the hammer nearly struck her own hand. Dirt had soiled her fair cheeks, making her look like a cat with a spotted face. Yet her gaze was extraordinarily focused, with an almost stubborn seriousness, as if what she was repairing wasn't just a worn-out fence, but an important work of art. She wasn't destroying this land, but maintaining it, in the most simple and primitive way.
The vigilance and killing intent in Finn's eyes were imperceptibly replaced by a hint of confusion that he himself failed to notice. The image of the "invader who brought the plague" in his cognition, for the first time, began to waver.
Although repairing fences, a repetitive physical labor, allowed my mind to empty, it also completely dried up my inspiration. The records about Silas in my "Field Notes" were already rich enough, but I needed something different, something more primitive and natural to balance the tone of the story. So, I picked up my sketchbook and a charcoal pencil, deciding to take a walk in the forest behind the manor.
"I'm going out to find some inspiration, I'll be back before dinner," I called out to the empty hall, considering it a greeting to my two "roommates," whether they could hear me or not.
The air in the forest was crisp and damp, with sunlight filtered through layers of tree canopies into scattered spots of light that sprinkled on the thick fallen leaves. I walked aimlessly along that vague trail, my eyes searching among various plants. Soon, at the base of an ancient oak tree, I discovered a peculiar patch of moss. It wasn't the common green, but rather displayed a strange, metallic silver-gray color, glimmering with a faint light in the dim illumination, like moon dust scattered across the forest floor.
I was immediately captivated and sat down on the spot, opened my sketchbook, and began to meticulously depict its texture and form. I became completely immersed in the wonder of this microscopic world, and the concept of time grew hazy. When I finally finished the last stroke and looked up with satisfaction, I realized with horror that darkness had fallen around me.
The sun has set. The twilight in the forest was so brief it barely existed; once the light began to fade, darkness would devour everything with astonishing speed. I hurriedly packed my things and stood up, only to find that I could no longer tell which direction I had come from. The trees around me all looked identical, silent and menacing.
A cold wind blew, bringing with it the howling of distant beasts. Fear began to wrap around my heart like vines. I forced myself to stay calm, choosing a direction that I believed was the way back, and trudged forward unsteadily. Just then, my ankle was violently caught by a protruding tree root.
"Ah!" I cried out in pain, falling to the ground as a piercing pain shot through my left ankle. It was sprained.
Despair instantly overwhelmed me. Darkness, being lost, a sprained ankle—this was like the standard opening of a horror movie. Just as I was about to give up struggling, I heard a low, threatening growl from not far away. By the dim light of my phone screen, I saw two pairs of eerie green eyes glowing in the bushes ahead.
Wolves. And more than one.
They emerged from the darkness, moving with agile grace, saliva dripping from their sharp teeth as they approached step by step toward me, their immobilized prey. My mind went blank, the shadow of death never before looming so clearly over me.
Just a second before the lead wolf was about to pounce on me, a thunderous roar filled with absolute authority and power erupted from the dense forest behind me. The intimidating force contained in that sound was so powerful that the two wolves preparing to attack me instantly tucked their tails between their legs, emitting fearful whimpers, and without even daring to look back, they fled frantically into the darkness.
I turned around, still shaken. There I saw a massive black wolf, far larger than any I had ever known, slowly emerging from the shadows. Its body was almost the size of a small cow, with fur of pure, unadulterated black that seemed to absorb all light in the dim glow. It had bright, amber-colored eyes like molten gold, which were now coldly fixed on me.
The powerful, primal sense of pressure emanating from it was even stronger than what I had felt from the man I encountered at the forest edge earlier. But strangely, I couldn't sense any malice from it, only an absolute, indisputable power.
It approached me, lowered its enormous head, and gently sniffed at my injured ankle. Then, as I gasped in surprise, it opened its mouth and with an incredibly, extremely gentle force, gripped my collar like a mother beast carrying its young, and tossed me onto its broad back.
I lay prone on its warm, substantial back, my hands instinctively clutching its smooth fur. It set off with steady strides, heading in a direction completely unknown to me. The wind whistled past my ears, but lying on its back felt remarkably stable. I even had the presence of mind to appreciate the texture of its fur—a wild quality that was nonetheless exceptionally clean and soft to the touch. I couldn't help but reach out my hand to gently, soothingly stroke its neck.
It seemed not to particularly enjoy this intimate gesture, letting out a small, protesting growl from its throat, but it didn't break its stride.
I was completely intoxicated by this extraordinary encounter. As a writer, this was nothing short of heaven-sent inspiration. I had met a wolf king! A beautiful, spiritual creature that guarded this forest!
It carried me all the way to the iron gate of the estate before stopping, then carefully set me down. It gazed deeply into my eyes, its amber eyes glowing in the darkness, then turned and silently melted back into the shadows of the forest.
I limped back to the estate, still in a state of excitement. The first thing I did was rush back to my room and eagerly write a new chapter in my "Field Notes," even sketching from memory a drawing of the "Wolf King."
After finishing the drawing, I finally felt the soreness throughout my body and the swelling in my ankle, so I decided to go to the bathroom to draw a bath. Just as I opened the bedroom door, a powerful force pulled me inside, and immediately after, I was lifted completely off the ground.
"Silas!" I exclaimed in surprise, recognizing that the arrival was indeed him. His handsome face was now covered with frost, and his crimson eyes burned with undisguised anger and disgust.
"You," he said in a voice so cold it could form ice crystals, "reek of a revolting, wild dog stench!"
Before his words had even finished, he picked me up and strode into the bathroom, then without any gentleness or consideration, threw me directly into the empty bathtub, clothes and all. With a "whoosh" sound, he turned on the shower head, and ice-cold water poured down on me.
"Ah! Are you crazy?!" I screamed, frozen by the cold, completely soaked and utterly miserable.
He stood by the bathtub, looking down at me, with possessiveness and fury in his eyes almost consuming me. "Clean yourself thoroughly. I do not allow the scent of any apex predator other than myself... in my house." After saying this, he turned and left, slamming the bedroom door shut with a loud "bang."
Sitting in the bathtub, after the initial shock and anger, my heart began to beat faster against my will. I refilled the tub with hot water and immersed myself in the warm water, then asked loudly through the door: "Why do you hate wolves so much? Just because of those ancient war legends?"
There was silence outside the door for a moment, then came Silas's cold voice: "Those are not legends, but hatred carved into our bloodlines. We and those mindless beasts are eternal enemies - it's either they die or we perish."
"But the black wolf I met today, it saved me." I couldn't help defending my "wolf king," "It drove away the wild wolves that attacked me and brought me back here. It seemed... to have no ill intentions."
"No ill intentions?" Silas's voice suddenly rose, carrying a dangerous tone of being provoked, "Nora, that pitiful, human naivety of yours will get you killed sooner or later! You think you understand them? You think a moment of 'friendliness' can erase the bloodthirsty nature carved into their bones? Don't forget whose property this is, who allows you to live here!"
He was almost roaring, his voice filled with intense, undeniable possessiveness. My heart skipped a beat again, my cheeks flushed red from the bathroom steam, not knowing whether it was from embarrassment or his unreasonably domineering declaration. For the first time, I clearly felt that to him, I might not merely be an interesting "landlord" or a walking "blood bag."
Early the next morning, the swelling in my ankle had subsided considerably. Just as I was brewing coffee for myself in the kitchen, there was a knock at the door. Somewhat puzzled, I walked over and, looking through the peephole, saw a figure I hadn't expected.
It was Finn Grimm.
He still had that wild, untamed appearance, but the expression on his face was no longer one of warning and threat, but rather... a mixture of awkwardness and discomfort. He was holding something in his hand.
I opened the door and cautiously asked, "Do you need something?"
He didn't speak, just roughly handed over what he was holding. It was a wild rabbit that had been thoroughly cleaned, its fur removed and innards cleared away, leaving only the bright red muscle.
"This is..." I was somewhat at a loss.
"Compensation for trespassing in your territory." He said stiffly, his eyes unable to meet mine, "The rules of the forest."
Before I could process this unexpected "gift," an elegant yet cold voice sounded from behind me.
"I'm afraid Miss Vince's taste leans more toward civilized food."
Silas had appeared behind me at some point, elegantly positioning himself between Finn and me. He wore a perfect, aristocratic smile on his face, but those crimson eyes were like two poisoned daggers, shooting straight at Finn.
Smiling, he added word by word: "Rather than this... bloody refuse from the jungle."
The air suddenly froze. Finn's face instantly darkened, his hand holding the rabbit showed bulging veins, and his other fist clenched so tightly that it made cracking sounds. An intense gunpowder scent spread between the two of them—one embodying classical and deadly darkness, the other primal and ferocious wildness—and I found myself trapped in the center of this imminent storm.
