It’s a thread of fire woven through damp air, sharp and unforgiving.
It’s like a heartbeat, erratic and uneven.
It’s undeniably hers, like the smell of lavender and rosemary.
The forest holds its breath as I close my eyes, letting the sensation crawl under my skin. Her magic is wild and untamed, a hurricane barely leashed, leaving traces in its wake like claw marks across the earth. It calls to me, not with words, but with the unmistakable promise of defiance. She’s close now—so close I can taste her fear, laced with the bitter tang of her stubbornness.
She knows I’m coming.
And she knows there’s no escape.
I move silently, weaving through the trees with deliberate steps, my senses honing in on the flickers of her presence. The rain slows to almost nothing and the forest is a blur of gray and green, muted by the storm’s retreat. The weather doesn’t matter and it won’t keep her safe or cover up her tracks. She can’t hide from me. Not forever.
My feet grow weary as I follow her trail, taking every twist and turn as the trace she’s left behind leads me through a labyrinth of shadows and undergrowth. My patience thins with every step and her magic teases and taunts me, and I lick my lips in anticipation as it shifts. It’s growing sharper and more focused, stronger even, drawing me toward a clearing up ahead.
And there she is.
Zara.
She’s crouched by a fallen tree, her hands working over a small satchel. Her silver hair clings to her face in damp, matted strands, her clothes muddy and torn. She’s smaller than I thought she’d be, somehow more innocent than a witch ought to be, despite her pitch black nails and pale white skin.
The girl looks like the prey she is—cornered, desperate, and painfully unaware that the hunter is already upon her. But there’s a fierceness in the way she moves, in the way her frame coils with tension, and I watch her as she lets herself take a free breath, shedding her worry as she exhales.
She’s exhausted. Vulnerable.
It’s perfect.
I take a step forward, careful not to make a sound, my blade glinting faintly in the dim light. My fingers stretch and my magic ripples through the air, a subtle pulse that brushesagainst her senses. She freezes, her head snapping up, her eyes scanning the surrounding forest. Their emerald dazzles, even among the greens of the woods, and for a split second, I almost fall under their intoxicating spell.
“Who’s there?” she calls, her voice steady despite the edge of fear beneath it.
I don’t answer. Not yet.
I’m relishing this game and I don’t want it to end so soon.
I step closer, letting the shadows cloak me. The anticipation is a slow burn in my chest, a delicious tension building with each passing second. I can feel her fear, taste it in the air, and it’s intoxicating.
“Show yourself,” she demands, her voice sharper now, laced with defiance. She dares to stand, her head turning left and right as she searches for me in the shadows. The girl is clever but not clever enough, and I conceal myself in the darkness, letting her panicked movements feed my excitement.
I chuckle softly, low and menacing.
“You’re in no position to make requests, Zara.” I laugh again and delight as she shudders. “Let alone demands.”
The girl stiffens as my presence floods the space around her, my magic overwhelming hers. Her eyes narrow as she scans the darkness, still trying to find me despite the discrepancy in our powers. She fails, and her heart races as the realization she’s out of her depth dawns on her.
Her fear spikes, and I revel in it.
“Who are you?” she screams.
I wait until the last echo fades into oblivion before answering. “You already know who I am, Zara.”
“A fucking warlock,” she spits and I refuse to take the bait. “One of the Senior Council, I assume?”
“Clever girl,” I reply, stepping closer, still cloaked in the shadows. My voice is calm, laced with just enough venom to make her flinch. “But you knew that already. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be running.”
Her hands curl into fists, and I see the faint glow of magic building in her palms. A warning. A threat. An amusing gesture that doesn’t come close to intimidating me.
“Do you think that will save you?” I ask, letting a growl rumble low in my throat. The glow in her palms flickers at my words, a subtle crack in her facade of bravery. “Do you think a rogue witch, alone and outmatched, has any hope of standing against me?”
