Chapter 1: Moon-Silk Stolen, Fate Sealed

I never saw him coming. One minute, I was alone in the creek, the cold water biting at my bones, and the next, there he was on the bank, bold as brass, waving my clothes in the air like he’d just reeled in the catch of the day. The man had my spun moon-silk clutched high above his head, grinning wide—cocky, mischievous, like he was proud of himself for pulling off some grand prank. My stomach twisted. I’d grown up on stories whispered around smoky campfires—tales about folks snatching a swan maiden’s robe, the kind of thing you’d laugh about until the fire burned low. But this? This was the first time someone had the nerve to swipe moon-silk from a werewolf girl. And boy, was he pleased with himself. I could practically hear the “ta-da!” in his head.

The water was icy, but that was nothing compared to the shock running through me as I watched him. My spun moon-silk shimmered in the late sunlight, slippery and soft, like a skein of starlight you could barely hold. I’d heard plenty of those old campfire stories—folks stealing a swan maiden’s robe and trapping her for keeps—but this felt like a joke gone sideways. And the way he stood there, so proud, I wanted to snarl. For a second, I almost laughed at the absurdity. Then I caught his grin—wide as the county road, full of mischief—and the urge faded. Ha. If only I could shift right then and teach him a lesson.

Honestly, his smug grin threw me for a loop. He looked like he’d wandered straight out of some tall tale, only with mud-caked boots and a neck redder than a July sunburn. My pulse hammered, part fury, part disbelief. Was this really happening? The trees shivered overhead, their leaves whispering secrets, and a crow let out a raucous caw. I stood there, dripping and exposed, skin prickling, trying to decide if I should bolt or bite. Was I about to become the punchline of my own family’s favorite story?

I’d always rolled my eyes at those old legends—swiping a swan maiden’s robe, trapping her for life. But I’d figured I was too sharp for that kind of trouble. Guess not. The air between us crackled, electric and strange, like the woods themselves were holding their breath. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, wishing for claws, for fur, for a way out. If only I could shift now. But no, I was stuck, as naked and powerless as a plucked chicken.

He seemed to get a kick out of how stunned I looked. He rocked back on his heels, grinning like a kid poking a frog with a stick, just to see what would happen. There was a gleam in his eyes, boyish mischief not quite hiding something hungrier. I could almost see him mentally rehearsing a line, maybe one he’d practiced in the mirror. Was he really about to say something? I braced myself.

He cleared his throat, gave a little mock bow, and with all the awkward ceremony of a school play, delivered that classic line:

"I don’t mean you any harm. I just hope you’ll marry me—be my wife."

Did he really just say that? The words just hung there, ridiculous and bold as anything. For a heartbeat, I wondered if he was pulling my leg, but the look in his eyes said he was dead serious. His voice had that thick country twang, the kind you’d hear at the tractor pull or maybe down at Big Earl’s feed store—made the whole thing sound even more outlandish. I almost snorted, but the intensity in his gaze made me swallow the laugh. This was no joke to him.

Looking for any excuse to dodge that ridiculous proposal, I glanced past him—and spotted the old chestnut cow on the riverbank.

The cow, usually a model of sleepy indifference, now looked downright riled. Its ears were pinned back, tail swishing sharp as a whip. Those big brown eyes, always gentle before, now glared at me like I’d trampled its favorite patch of clover. Its nostrils flared, and for a second, I wondered if the cow was in on this whole mess, part of some twisted scheme.

Its usual lazy calm was gone—now those eyes were locked on me, full of resentment, almost as if I’d wronged it personally. The way it watched me, so nearly human in its judgment, sent a chill crawling up my spine. I shivered. Not from the cold this time. From the way the world suddenly felt off-kilter, like the rules had changed and nobody told me.

I opened my mouth to protest. Too late. He jumped in—lunged right at me.

The creek exploded into muddy chaos. Water splashed everywhere as he barreled toward me, arms flailing, moving with the stubbornness of a guy who never learned to swim right but wasn’t about to let that stop him. My heart thudded wild and fast. I tried to scoot back, but the rocks were slick as butter—no chance of escape.

He didn’t miss a beat, yanking me up onto the bank, his eyes raking over me in a way that made my skin crawl. I wrapped my arms around myself, every nerve screaming for fur, for claws, for any kind of armor. The world was too bright, too sharp, and he looked at me like I was a blue-ribbon hog at the state fair. "I really hit the jackpot this time."

"Jake, Jake, you’d better hide her clothes real good. Once she loses her moon-silk, she’ll have to stay and be your wife!"

The old chestnut cow suddenly spoke, its voice low and gravelly, like a grandpa whispering secrets over dominoes at the VFW. My jaw dropped so hard I thought it might hit the ground. Talking animals? Sure, I’d heard about them in fairy tales, but seeing it for real—well, that was a whole new level of weird.

Jake nodded, finally tearing his eyes away from me. "Thanks, old buddy. Tomorrow, I’ll bring you the freshest, sweetest hay this side of the county."

He gave the cow a friendly pat and called out, easy as pie, "Let’s go—time to head home!"

Next thing I knew, I was tied to the cow’s back, wrapped up in his rough, sweat-stained flannel. I had to keep a death grip on the hem or risk flashing half the county.

The cow’s hide was warm against my bare skin, but the rope bit into my wrists and ankles. The flannel reeked of woodsmoke, sweat, and a whiff of hay. Every step jostled me, threatening to show more than I wanted. My face burned hotter than the midday sun. I felt like a trussed-up deer on opening day of hunting season, waiting for the worst.

He didn’t care if I was humiliated.

He led the cow along, yammering nonstop about how tough his life had been, like he was auditioning for a hard-luck contest.

"Name’s Jake Miller," he finally said.

His mom was the town’s resident oddball, always holed up in the old barn. Nobody realized she was pregnant again until the day she gave birth out there.

He was the second kid born out in that barn—hence Jake Miller, barn kid number two.

He told the story with a kind of pride, like being born in a barn was a badge of honor, not something to be ashamed of. He talked about his mom like she was half legend, half cautionary tale. I could tell he liked being the town’s oddball—wore it like a medal.

"So what about the first?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

Jake looked surprised I’d spoken, glancing back with raised eyebrows.

But he dodged the question, shifting gears fast:

"Don’t worry. My family’s been honest farmers for generations—we treat our wives right. You won’t regret marrying into the Millers."

He puffed up, trying to sound like a real catch, but his words wobbled with nerves. I could practically see him working to convince himself as much as me. His grip on the reins tightened, knuckles turning white.

Honest folks, huh? Honest people steal clothes and drag women home?

I rolled my eyes and kept my mouth shut.

The sun was sinking, stretching our shadows long across the dirt road.

The road wound up steep and narrow, ruts deep from years of wagon wheels. After what felt like forever, battered ranch houses appeared on the horizon.

The air smelled of dust, manure, and the faint sweetness of clover. Dogs barked in the distance, laughter drifted through the hills, and the world felt small-town and suffocating all at once.

It was about dinnertime, and folks were heading home, work gloves tossed over their shoulders.

Someone hollered from down the lane:

"Hey Jake, what’d you drag back from the woods this time?"

"A fairy!" Jake shouted back, puffing out his chest.

His voice rang out, proud and a little daring, like he wanted someone to challenge him. Heads popped up behind fences, curiosity lighting up their faces.

"Ha! You’re so desperate for a wife you’re seeing fairies? You don’t even have a single girl at home!"

"He got knocked silly by a cow when he was born—just like his crazy mom."

"Come on, y’all, come see!"

"Jake’s bringing home a fairy wife!"

The commotion grew as folks stepped out onto sagging porches to watch. Someone banged a dented tin pan, calling the whole neighborhood over. Barefoot kids tore across the grass, yelling for their mamas. It was the kind of spectacle folks in a town like this lived for—something to chew over at supper for weeks.

Tied up tight, all I could do was rest my cheek against the cow’s back, my wet hair plastered to my face.

The old chestnut cow slowed as the crowd pressed in, a living wall of stares.

"She’s real pale, huh?"

Someone poked at my leg, testing if I was even alive.

"Ain’t moving—she dead?"

A couple of the braver kids crept closer, whispering and giggling. The air buzzed with curiosity and the smell of fried onions wafting from an open window. I kept my eyes half-lidded, hoping they’d get bored and wander off.

…

Their chatter was a mess of noise, but I couldn’t help curling my lip. Quite the crowd. There was a twisted satisfaction in being their main event, like a blue-ribbon hog at the county fair. For a second, I wanted to let out a howl—see if I could scatter them like chickens.

Suddenly, someone yanked my wet hair from my eyes.

A man with a thick, meaty face leaned in, way too close.

I shrank back, but he only came closer. His breath stank of cheap whiskey, making my eyes water.

"Damn, you really lucked out."

His hands hovered, too close for comfort. I tried to pull away, but the ropes held tight. My heart hammered, wild and cornered.

Then, a hard slap landed on my butt.

Jake snapped out of his daze, shoving the man away, voice sharp and annoyed:

"What are you doing? She’s my wife now!"

His voice cracked, tangled up in embarrassment and anger. He squared his shoulders, trying to look tough, but his hands shook. The crowd hooted, loving every minute.

The man just grinned, rubbing his hands together, beady eyes narrowing:

"Let’s make a deal—how about I trade you my wife for her?"

He leered at me, all teeth and bad intentions. The others cackled, egging him on. It felt like a backwards auction, and I was the prize pig.

Jake didn’t answer, so the man punched him in the arm, sounding put out:

"I paid thousands for my wife, you know! Bought her fair and square!"

"No trade! My wife’s a fairy."

Jake clammed up, leading the cow away toward home.

His jaw was set, cheeks burning with a mix of pride and shame. He kept his eyes glued to the road, ignoring the catcalls and laughter. The cow plodded on, steady as ever.

The man, seeing he’d lost, spat in the dirt:

"Whose wife don’t kick up a fuss her first day home? If she don’t cry or scream, maybe she’s simple too!"

Jake hustled off, putting the gossip behind us as quick as he could.