Black Hollow 1: Spellbound Luna
Автор
Lee Ellis
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“Stay out of my way,” the grump growls… while standing way too close. Kat came to Black Hollow for a fresh start, not a tall, feral man who acts like she’s a problem he can’t stop staring at. Before any of the weirdness, she’s just a competent vet tech with a motel hangover and a new job at Thorn Veterinary. Then Kael walks in with an injured German Shepherd and that “touch my dog wrong and I’ll bite” attitude, and Kat has to kneel in front of him to bandage the paw. You’d think he’d say thanks. He says her full name like it tastes good. Which is… rude. Later she follows her tiny black cat into the woods and finds Kael shirtless at an outdoor gym, all sweat and muscles and bad decisions, and he still tries to boss her around (she should hate him—she does hate him). But he grabs a flashlight and leads her onto “pack land” to help her search anyway, and yes, you’re coming with her. They step into the tree line together. Will he pin her to the wall or protect her first?
Chapter 1
KAT
If someone had told me six months earlier that I would end up elbow-deep in a Saint Bernard’s butt in a town that wasn’t even on Google Maps, I would’ve laughed, cried, and probably poured myself another glass of wine. But that was where I ended up on my first day in Black Hollow: wearing a scrub top with a suspicious stain, holding my breath, and seriously questioning my life choices.
The town sign had read, Welcome to Black Hollow. Population: Mind Your Business.
Cute. Real friendly.
I arrived here a few weeks ago. I had only been in town for thirty-seven minutes before I was offered a job by a vet with more secrets than a true crime podcast and the emotional range of a taxidermized squirrel. Dr. Elias Thorn. Cold. Quiet. And just broody enough to ward off the Grim Reaper.
But as it turned out, the weirdest part wasn’t the eerie forest, the townsfolk who seemed to sniff me before saying hi, or even the fact that the local bar only served meat—no veggies, no salads, just…meat.
The weirdest part was him.
Tall, inked, and angry at the world, Kael was the kind of man who made you forget your own name. The first time I met him, he glared at me like I had just peed on his carpet. The second time? He told me to stay away from his pack.
I didn’t even know what that meant. Yet here we were.
And apparently?
I was mated to the alpha.
Who thought I was too stubborn to live and who I thought was too grumpy to function.
But let’s be honest—if anyone was surviving this town full of secrets, territorial wolves, and men who growled when they were frustrated…
It was me.
Because sarcasm was my love language.
And nobody, not even a six-foot-four furball with a jawline of death, was going to boss me around.
SEVERAL WEEKS EARLIER
I had exactly three things going for me when I rolled into Black Hollow:
1. A semi-functioning car with a mysterious rattle that could either be the exhaust or a small ghost.
2. A shiny new vet tech certification and exactly zero job offers in the city.
3. A can-do attitude that was heavily caffeinated and entirely faked.
The clinic sat at the edge of town like it was hoping to make a run for it into the woods. Thorn Veterinary was scrawled on the sign in faded white paint, and the building itself looked like it was one thunderstorm away from collapsing. Charming.
A bell jingled overhead when I pushed the door open, and I was immediately hit with the scent of antiseptic, wet dog, and something else. Muskier. Earthier. Almost…wild?
“Hello?” I called, stepping into the front room.
A golden retriever with a cone around its head blinked up at me from behind the reception desk like it was working the phones. No humans in sight.
“You must be the new vet tech,” came a voice from behind me.
I turned, almost knocking over a rack of chew toys. The man standing there was tall—tall-tall—with dark hair that had a hint of silver, rolled-up sleeves, and the kind of stillness that made you feel like he could hear your heartbeat. His eyes were a strange shade of gray. Not stormy. Not sad. Just…cold. Guarded.
“I’m…not. Not officially,” I said, lifting my chin. “But I do have a résumé that includes being puked on by both cats and dogs, so I’d say I’m qualified.”
He didn’t smile. God, this guy was fun.
“Dr. Thorn,” he said, sticking out a hand like he was offering me a business transaction, not a job. “You’re hired. You start now.”
“Now?”
“You’re wearing scrubs.”
“Because I’ve been driving for seven hours, and they have an elastic waistband,” I deadpanned. “Not because I expected to be hired by a man who looks like he buries secrets in the woods for fun.”
His lip twitched. Not a smile. But maybe the ghost of one.
I followed him into the back, where a cranky bulldog with a head cone the size of a satellite dish was trying violently to chew on his own foot. Dr. Thorn handed me gloves and gestured like he expected me to just jump in.
“Quick question,” I said, snapping the gloves on. “Am I being punked? Is this a horror movie setup? Because this definitely has ‘disappear and no one investigates’ energy.”
He arched a brow. “Do you always talk this much?”
“Only when I’m uncomfortable. Or hungry. Or when I sense someone is clearly a repressed emotional disaster with unprocessed trauma and a god complex.”
He stared at me for a second too long. Then handed me a syringe.
“Congratulations,” he said. “You’re the only person in Black Hollow who talks to me like that. The pack’s going to love you.”
I paused. “Pack?”
He blinked. “Back. Back staff. That’s what I said.”
Sure.
And I was the Queen of England.
Later that afternoon, I wandered into the break room (which was really just a corner with a mini fridge and a passive-aggressive note about labeling food) and found a man sitting at the tiny table with a cup of black coffee and enough tattoos to make a biker blush.
He looked up, and I swear my ovaries committed ritual sacrifice.
He had that bad-boy thing down to a science—jawline that could cut glass, a sinfully tight black shirt, and a stare that said, Touch me and die. And when he met my eyes, something flickered across his face.
Surprise? Confusion? Fury?
Cool.
That’s always a great combo on first meetings.
“You’re not from here,” he said. Not a question. A low, gravelly statement.
“And you must be the welcoming committee,” I said, dropping into the chair across from him. “Let me guess—you’re here to warn me about the dangers of small-town living. Or are you just naturally this friendly?”
He didn’t smile. Of course he didn’t. His entire personality seemed to be built on brooding silence and violent eye contact.
“I’m Kael,” he said eventually, eyes still locked on mine. “Stay out of my way.”
I blinked. “Oh! Is this the part where you reveal you’re secretly a serial killer and that this town is hiding all your naughty little secrets and I’m the clueless outsider who ruins everything just by existing?”
His jaw twitched.
I laughed. “God, you’re intense. Did you growl at me just now? Is that like…a town greeting?”
He stood, chair scraping back, and for one glorious second, I thought I saw the faintest blush creep up his neck.
“You’ll find this place isn’t as quiet as it looks,” he muttered, walking out of the room like the wind had offended him.
I leaned back in the chair and took a slow sip of coffee.
Black Hollow, you strange little town.
I think I’m gonna like it here.
***
By the time I left the clinic, in addition to the suspicious Saint Bernard stain, I had a bloody paw print on my shoulder, three unsolicited warnings about “going into the woods alone,” and a creeping suspicion that Dr. Thorn didn’t blink like a normal person. Honestly, I was grateful to change my clothes and head out.
The sun was already bleeding orange as it sank below the hills, and the streets of Black Hollow were starting to empty out like the townspeople had a collective bedtime they didn’t want to talk about.
I asked Siri for food options. Siri laughed and showed me one pin: “The Rusty Fang—Bar, Grill, and Live Music Every Thursday.”
Perfect.
The building looked like it had been converted from a barn by someone who’d never seen a barn—or a building permit. I pushed the heavy door open and immediately walked into a wall of silence.
Every head turned.
Forks froze mid-bite. Beers hung halfway to mouths. One guy—mid-chew—stared so hard he forgot to close it.
I froze in the doorway, smile wavering. “Hi?” I tried. “I come in peace. Mostly just hungry.”
No one responded.
For a full five seconds, the only sound in the room was the soft creak of the ceiling fan, spinning like it had seen too much and was just trying to hold on.
Then a voice called out from behind the bar. “Well, shit. You must be the vet girl!”
I turned to see a tall redhead with thick eyeliner and a grin that made me feel like I wasn’t about to get pitchforked.
“Stacy,” she said, sliding a bottle of beer across the counter with professional flair. “And you’ve got the same expression I had when I moved here—equal parts horror and hunger. Come. Sit. Before Hank over there has a full stroke trying to scent you from across the room.”
I blinked. “Trying to what me?”
“Scent,” she repeated breezily. “He’s always sniffing. Don’t worry, he’s mostly harmless.”
I slowly approached the bar and climbed onto the stool like it might bite me.
“You new folks always come in acting like you walked onto a set of The Twilight Zone,” Stacy said with a wink, tossing a menu in front of me. “Relax. We don’t bite.”
“Unless provoked?” I deadpanned.
She snorted. “Exactly. You’ll get the hang of it.”
I skimmed the menu. It was ninety percent meat, five percent meat in a different shape, and a suspiciously blank vegetarian section that just said, “Don’t.”
“Is there…a salad?” I asked.
She leaned in with a mock whisper. “Don’t say that word in here. You’ll cause a panic.”
I liked her already.
I ordered the least threatening item on the menu—something called the “Wolf burger,” which I was told came with “real meat, no questions asked”—and tried not to stare at the group of people still obviously trying not to stare at me.
I wasn’t paranoid. I swear. But I also wasn’t blind.
One woman near the jukebox actually sniffed the air. Sniffed. Like I was a Yankee Candle.
“So, what’s the deal with this town?” I asked Stacy. “Is it always this…welcoming?”
She shrugged. “They’re just not used to outsiders. We don’t get many visitors. You’re kind of a…surprise.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should,” she said, her expression softening a little. “Most people who show up here either leave quickly or don’t get jobs at the clinic their first day. Thorn doesn’t usually hire strangers.”
I frowned. “Why’d he hire me, then?”
Stacy gave me a long look. “Maybe he didn’t think you were a stranger.”
Okay. That wasn’t cryptic at all.
After dinner—and after I survived a local bar trivia round that included the question “Which meat is safest to eat raw?” (I did not get it right)—I decided to walk back to my motel.
It was only a few blocks away, and I needed the fresh air.
Stacy handed me a brown paper bag on my way out with a wink. Inside was a cheap bottle of red wine and a sticky note that read, For surviving Day One. Drink like no one’s watching. They are.
Charming.
The motel was old, creaky, and definitely the kind of place that charged by the hour. My room smelled like mold and childhood trauma, and the curtains did absolutely nothing to keep the moonlight—or the sounds of distant howling—out.
So naturally, I cracked open the wine with a keychain corkscrew, took a long swig straight from the bottle, and wandered out to sit on the splintered bench in front of my room.
“Cheers to moving to a town where everyone stares like I’m the main course at a midnight buffet,” I muttered.
I leaned back and looked up at the moon, already full and glowing like it knew something I didn’t.
Somewhere in the distance, something howled.
And not like a coyote.
No. This one was longer. Lower.
Close.
I took another swig.
“If this place turns out to be a cult, I’m joining,” I muttered. “Nothing to lose.”
And with that, I pulled my hoodie tighter, cradled my wine like it was emotional support juice, and tried not to think about Kael’s eyes—or the way he’d looked at me like I was either a threat…
Or a promise.
Either way, I had a feeling things were about to get very weird.
