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Seeing his wolf’s expression in comparison to mine is alarming. Well, not mine. The Winter Wolf. The one not actively trying to murder me.

This wolf would kill me without hesitation.

I swallow. My breathing is shallow. Every deeper inhale pulls at my screaming muscles. I can’t do much now, with empty hands and fear holding me hostage, and not enough magic to save me. If I even knew where to begin—which I don’t.

What good is magic if it can’t keep me alive?

The brown wolf collides with me, his claws catching my shoulders and forcing me to the ground. His hot breath hits my face, saliva dripping down on my skin with his growl.

I’m going to die.

The certainty hits me like a punch to the gut.

The panic that I felt with the white wolf is nothing compared to now. Fear explodes inside me, blotting out everything else. My magic swells—the small stream of it that I have always had access to suddenly floods. It builds until I can’t contain it anymore.

When I scream, it pours out of me.

My vision goes white.

There’s a pop, pressure changing, and then everything goes silent. The weight on me vanishes.

I open my eyes. The air smells different. It’s colder.

I’m not in the forest anymore. There are no trees hovering over me. The night sky is endless, spreading in every direction. A million glittering stars are almost close enough to touch. Cold wind pushes at me, and I inhale crisp, frozen air. I sit up and cry out. My back burns. It’s worse than any agony I’ve faced before. I try to look over my shoulder and only see my torn hoodie and blood.

The pain pulses through my torso. It’s worse now that I know it’s there.

I need energy. I need to heal.

I reach for something—anything—alive that can lend me its support.

But there’s nothing close. I’m on a slanted rock high above the tree line. The summit of a mountain looms over me.

I lie back down on my side, curling into myself. Tears flood my eyes, blurring my vision.

“Mom?”

She’s the one who sent me away before. Did she come to my rescue again? Why didn’t she show herself—or run with me?

The power didn’t come from me, that’s for sure. It takes powerful magic to do that. Far more powerful than I’ve ever been capable of reaching.

A witch’s magic awakens soon after she hits puberty. It’s a terrible double whammy. First comes blood, then comes volatile magic. And the Mark.

A memory resurfaces of my mother and I sitting outside our cottage. It was still new to us back then, half of our possessions still in boxes inside. She had been searching for a safe place for us, and she seemed determined that this would last us a while.

She was right. It did last a while. Not forever, though, but I digress.

My period had arrived, and I could feel a new presence in my blood. It pressed at me from inside, determined to seek escape.

My mother sat with me into the night until it happened. Until magic arched out from me and the Mark carved itself into my skin. I can still remember that pain, the way it felt like someone was dragging a hot poker across my neck.

I passed out.

When I woke up, it was just a tendril of power. A slow-moving stream that wound through me. It didn’t stop my mother from teaching me everything she knew, from spells to attacks. It didn’t matter to her that I could only master basic spells. Concealment charms for my Mark that never lasted as long as I wanted it to, alarm spells to guard my space. Simple earth magic, like flourishing a vine or forcing a bud to bloom.

We never sought out a coven for me to learn. She wrangled other teachers, passing witches who were drawn into her orbit, to teach me their specialties. They were just passersby on their way to their destinations, and what they could teach me only satisfied my mother.

I always wanted more.