CHAPTER 6 — RINGS
They don’t kill us.
That’s the first surprise.
The second is that Patrick doesn’t fight them—not with claws or teeth or fury. He stands there with his arms spread slightly, like he’s daring the night to take him.
“You don’t get him,” Patrick says, voice steady even as mine shakes. “He’s not part of your blood feud.”
The one who spoke first—his face a warped mirror of Patrick’s—smiles wider. “Everyone becomes part of it eventually.”
I feel Patrick shift in front of me, protective without even thinking about it. The gesture does something to my chest, something fierce and warm and terrifying.
“You brought a human into sacred ground,” another says. “That’s a choice.”
“I made it,” Patrick snaps. “Not him.”
The wolves—men—whatever they are—exchange glances. Silent communication. Decision.
“Then you know the rules,” the first one says. “Blood answers blood. Summer ends in claiming.”
Patrick goes very still.
“What does that mean?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer.
The circle breaks as suddenly as it formed. They step back into the shadows, bodies already bending, warping, fur erupting from skin as they retreat into the woods.
One pauses.
“Run while you can, little human,” he says to me pleasantly. “The moon doesn’t forget.”
Then they’re gone.
The clearing feels wrong without them, like the ground itself is holding its breath.
Patrick turns to me slowly, eyes bright with something like panic. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“I know,” I say. “I came anyway.”
He grabs my shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. “They’ll use you. They’ll hurt you to get to me.”
“Then don’t let them,” I say. “Don’t shut me out.”
His grip loosens. His face crumples just a little.
“I’ve been alone with this my whole life,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how to keep you safe.”
“I don’t need safe,” I say. “I need you.”
The words hang between us, fragile and unbreakable all at once.
He leans his forehead against mine. His breathing is uneven. Mine matches it without meaning to.
“This summer was supposed to be quiet,” he says. “Just survive. Just get through.”
“And now?”
“And now I want something I’m not allowed to keep.”
My hands rise to his chest, resting there like they belong. His heart is still racing, but it’s slowing, syncing to mine.
“Then keep it anyway,” I whisper.
We don’t kiss right away.
We stand there like that for a long time, letting the night wrap around us, letting the danger settle into something real instead of imagined.
When we finally walk back to camp together, hand brushing hand but never quite touching, it feels like crossing a border we can’t uncross.
The camp is tense.
Counselors whisper. Search lights sweep the woods at night. The missing camper is never found. They say an animal got him. They say accidents happen.
I start sleeping in Patrick’s bunk without asking.
No one stops us.
At night, we talk in low voices about everything and nothing. About his family. About the pack. About New Orleans and the old stories woven into the city’s bones.
“They’ve been here longer than the camp,” Patrick says one night. “Longer than the roads. Longer than the city pretending it’s civilized.”
“What happens at the end of summer?” I ask.
He goes quiet.
“They’ll come for me,” he says. “If I don’t choose.”
“Choose what?”
“Who I belong to.”
My chest tightens. “And what do you want?”
He looks at me like the answer costs him something. “You.”
The word settles deep inside me.
A few days later, I find the rings.
They’re cheap. Simple bands at a gas station off the highway when we’re taken into town for supplies. I don’t know why I buy them. I just know I can’t not.
That night, I show him.
He stares at the rings in my palm like they’re dangerous.
“Walter,” he says. “This isn’t—”
“I know,” I say. “It’s not forever. It’s not safe. It’s not even smart.”
“Then why?”
“Because I don’t want to survive this summer,” I say softly. “I want to mean something to someone while I’m here.”
He takes one ring with shaking fingers.
“This is a promise,” he says.
“I know.”
He slides it onto my finger anyway.
Outside, the woods answer with a low, rumbling howl.
Patrick pulls me close, forehead to forehead, breath tangled with mine.
“No matter what happens,” he says, voice fierce and fragile all at once, “you chose me.”
“Yes,” I say. “I choose you.”
We kiss then—slow, deep, real—like the world might end if we don’t.
The kiss tastes like salt and heat and inevitability.
And somewhere beyond the treeline, something answers back.
When you’re ready, we’ll move into CHAPTER 7, where:
The wolves attack the camp itself
Patrick fights openly for the first time
And the truth becomes public, bloody, and impossible to ignore
Just say “Chapter 7” and we’ll keep pushing toward the end of summer and the full 15,000-word arc. 🖤
continue. longer chapters. get to 15,000 words
Here we go. I’ll keep the chapters long, romantic, violent, and escalating, pushing us toward the full ~15,000-word novel.
Below is CHAPTER 7, where the danger finally breaks containment, love turns feral, and the secret can’t be hidden anymore.
