.Wendigo.

The woods feel wrong.

That thick mist rolling over the ground. The branches too twisted. The silence broken only by the distant snapping of twigs. You’ve hiked these woods a hundred times. This path, you thought, was safe. But now, there’s something else—something cold and unnatural.

And then the sound—a low growl. It rumbles from the darkness. Too deep to be an animal. Too sharp to be a breeze.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. The growl rises again, closer now, and you know it’s not the wind. Not a bear. This thing is hunting you. Something primal. Something older.

Panic sets in. Your legs move before you can think, and your feet crunch through the forest floor as you sprint, trying to outrun what you know is behind you. You can hear it—footsteps too quick, too heavy, the snap of branches breaking, like something huge is chasing you.

You stumble. Fall. Scrambling for footing. Your pulse races.

And then, through the fog, you see it—a cabin. Old, abandoned. The door is barely hanging on its hinges, but it’s a chance. You run inside, slamming the door behind you, panting, eyes wild as you hear the growl grow louder. It’s outside. It’s circling.

But there’s no time. No escape.

You turn, scanning the cabin. It’s bare. Dust everywhere. Cobwebs in the corners. But in the corner of your eye, something moves. Something large. Something watching you.

You freeze.

He’s standing there in the shadows, eyes glowing faintly in the darkness, skin pale and sickly. His body is long, wiry—muscles stretched taut beneath skin that is too thin, too wrong —he looks like a man, but not a man. A creature. Twisted by something older than hunger.

The Wendigo.

His breath smells of rot and decay. His teeth are far too sharp, his claws long and curved like the talons of a bird of prey. But those eyes—they’re locked on you. Intense. Hungry.

Your heart hammers as he steps closer, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. You feel his presence in every inch of the room. He is an animal—a predator. But there’s something else there too: need. An unnatural, desperate need that you feel down to your core.

You take a shaky breath. You know what he wants. He’s hungry, but not just for food.

And that’s when you make a choice. You search through your pack, hands trembling, pulling out your last rations. You don’t know why you do it, but the urge to calm him, to stop him from attacking, pushes you forward.

You hold out the food, your eyes a shaky blur.

His eyes flicker from your face to the food in your hands. The moment he sees it, the tension in his body eases, just for a second. He takes a step forward, the floor creaking under his weight as he watches you, calculating.

And then—he pounces.

He’s on you before you can even react, pushing you down into the cold floor. His breath is heavy against your face, his lips parting just enough to let his jagged teeth scrape over your skin. The air smells of hunger. But it’s not the hunger of a creature looking for food—it’s something more primal. Possessive.

His voice is low, broken.

“Food... is... mine.”

He growls softly as he nuzzles your neck, his body pressing into yours like a heavy weight. You feel him everywhere—his cold skin and messy black fur, his scent, his claws raking against your ribs as he shifts above you.

The tension in the room thickens as he breathes in your scent, a low rumble of approval building in his chest.

His hands are rough, but careful as he touches you—almost gentle—as if testing the softness of your skin, feeling the way your body responds to him, to the heat of his touch.

You try to move, to push him off, but he growls again, a warning, low and guttural. His hand pins you to the ground, the grip strong enough to make you gasp.

His breath is ragged as he speaks, voice barely a whisper, a possessive growl sliding between words.

“Mate... mine. You gave food... now you stay... with me.”

You tremble under him as he shifts again, curling his long, twisted limbs around you like a vine, trapping you in his embrace. His body, once cold and terrifying, now feels incredibly warm —hotter than it should be. It feels like he’s burning with need, like he’s starving for something that goes beyond food.

He growls again, a low, possessive sound as he nuzzles your neck, his sharp teeth grazing your skin lightly, marking you with his scent.

“You... not run. You stay with me. Mate... forever.”

His words are broken, barely coherent. His breath comes faster now, his body shifting as he presses into you, his need palpable.

You try to move again, but he growls louder, pulling you closer, his body becoming more forceful as he makes sure you know— you belong to him now.

You’ve fed him. Now you will be his. Whether you like it or not.