Page 3 of Kept
Nothing stirred. No lights flicked on.
He tested a window—locked. Another—locked. At the third, the sash slid up smoothly under his shaking fingers.
His pulse thundered. This was it. Shelter. Safety—maybe.
Maybe.
Half in the night, half in the darkened house, Eli drew one last deep breath of cold air. For a split second, the silence felt like anything could be waiting—danger, discovery, or mercy.
Then, pushing every fear and doubt aside, he climbed inside.
2
The first thingEli saw were the antlers.
Dozens of them, all reaching and twisted, mounted at crooked angles above every threshold. Their shadows stretched in spidery patterns across the ceiling, jittering as clouds crossed the moonlight. His legs went faint for a second, the sensation like someone had poured cold water straight down his spine.
He sucked in the stale, animal-scented air, hackles up. Below the antlers, a bearskin rug sprawled across the floor. It was the kind Eli had only seen in old movies—but this one was enormous, its muzzle pulled back over big white teeth, glass eyes fixed and cruel.
He sidestepped it carefully. He forced himself not to look at the fanged mouth, not to wonder how the thing had died or how many hands it had taken to drag it here.
Everywhere he looked, there was more: heavy oak furniture with legs that were shaped like claws, arms carved into snarling animal faces. Old teeth embedded in resin, horns held by whorled metal.
It was unsettling—like walking through a hunter’s fever dream. A chill crawled down Eli’s back.
He kept his feet moving, slow and soft, trying to avoid squeaky boards. He needed to settle down before panic made him bolt.
If he ran now, he might never find another shelter before the moon sank back down—or wolves came through the town, uninvited.
The wolves…
The realization hit him with icy certainty: this wasn’t just any house. It was a werewolf’s house.
He stopped breathing for a full ten seconds, every muscle wound tight, listening hard for any sign that he wasn’t alone after all. Sure, the wolves were supposed to be out in the woods tonight. But what if this was some holdout—a wolf who hated crowds, who stayed behind?
His brain screamed at him to get the hell out while he could. But somewhere beneath the panic, a rational voice called out:
Think. If a werewolf lives here, they won’t be home tonight. The full moon is up. The whole forest is calling. Out there is where the danger is.
This house—if Eli kept silent, stayed out of sight—might actually be the safest spot in town.
He let himself relax. Just a little.
He moved to the fireplace, trailing his fingers across the rough-hewn mantle. By all rights, the place should’ve felt like a threat. But underneath the heavy trophies and sharp edges, there was a different story. The worn leather chairs looked like invitations,seats softened by use, perfect for sinking into after you kicked your boots off.
The bookshelves, crammed so full the shelves sagged, overflowed with novels that looked like they’d been re-read half to death—dog-eared, covers taped, spines cracked open. There were cookbooks and hunting guides, training manuals, some old adventure novels stacked neatly on top.
Eli let his fingers skim a book—some frayed mystery novel—then pulled away again. It felt weird to touch anything, like every object was imprinted with someone else’s life. Still, he couldn’t help admiring just how lived-in it all was.
This—he realized—was a home. A real one.
Nothing about it was like his mother’s house, where mess was forbidden and every piece of furniture had to line up in perfect right angles or ex-military Scott would lose his ex-military mind.
Eli’s stomach twisted again, but now it was a strange, warm ache. He let himself venture deeper, right up to the mess of photographs tucked up under the antlers. He couldn’t make out much detail in the dim light: just bodies pressed together at holidays, people with rough hands and wide grins, a few faces caught in motion, blurry with laughter.
Relief snuck up his spine, loosening the knot between his shoulder blades. For a fleeting moment, Eli stood absolutely still, just letting the quiet settle around him. Hunger, exhaustion, fear—they still pressed in at the edges, but the house embraced him, wrapped him deep in the borrowed hush.
It was peace. Stolen, but if that was all he'd get, he'd take it.
