The Greywoods, 1980s

Seth gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as the truck rumbled down the dirt path leading into the Greywoods. The headlights barely cut through the oppressive mist, casting eerie shadows along the tree line. His leg bounced slightly, tapping the gas pedal more than necessary. He could feel it inside him—the dark, gnawing urge crawling up his spine, whispering in his ear. The Greywoods were calling; they always did.

He cut a glance towards the passenger seat, where she sat so calmly, so unaware of what was happening beneath the surface of this night. Her hands rested lightly in her lap, her eyes gazing out the window at the passing trees, oblivious to how close she was to being swallowed by something much darker than she could imagine. Seth swallowed hard. Fuck, she has no idea what she's in for, he thought, a muscle in his jaw flexing as he clenched it tighter.

He hadn't expected things to go this well. When he'd first invited her out to dinner, some part of him worried she'd say no, find some excuse not to come, or worse, find his invitation awkward and forced. But there they were—together, in his truck, heading back to his cabin like it was the most natural thing in the world. And that fact alone was driving him wild. She came with me... She's right here. He kept glancing at her from the corner of his eye, his heart thudding in his chest in a way he didn't like. His body was reacting to something deeper than just attraction.

Part of him wanted to slam on the brakes, spin the truck around, and take her back to town before it was too late. But the other part—the stronger, darker part—urged him forward. His heart pounded in his chest with a primal beat that matched the growing erection straining against his jeans. Every inch closer to his cabin made it harder to think clearly, to separate himself from that animalistic need clawing at him from inside.