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More people, more connection, more tools.

Moving to town was my attempt to procure that for myself, but fear held me back from the witches. Working at the newspaper, although I didn’t do anything very important, helped me connect with humans. Coworkers. Imagine that, after more than a decade of running and hiding, I was allowed to live in a town with people who didn’t have any inkling about the paranormal.

And no matter how hard I tried to break through my fear, I still lived by the rules embedded in me by my mother: no covens, no friends.

How did I get here?

I search deep inside myself, but my thoughts are muddled. Memories and nightmares blend together. A white wolf pacing the edge of our property, flashing through the trees. The white wolf has been stalking us, his blue eyes always locked on me. Blood flowing from my mother’s palms. A storm racing across an open sky. Black birds taking off amidst flashes of lightning.

The magic I rely on is gone.

But there’s something else.

An ache that sits behind my ribs, almost tangible.

Instinct drives me to touch it with my energy. That hurts, too, so I let it go. The pain fades along with my consciousness. My vision flickers with black spots, and it could be a lot easier if I just laid back and closed my eyes.

I should want to stay awake. I should want to live.

But I’m not sure how I can survive this.

“Get up,” I mumble to myself. “Get up, get up, get up.”

I force my limbs to move. My legs tingle, and my head swims when I try to stand. My balance is shot.

I crawl. Hands and knees, shuffling and sliding and scraping my skin open. A screaming pain yawns through me, tempting me into the darkness.

I want to survive, so I hold it off as long as possible. I keep going until my muscles give out, and I fall face-first onto the rock. My mouth opens and closes, but I’ve lost control of my body. Blood trickles down my arms, dripping onto the rock. I’ve been bleeding too much.

Lost too much blood. I close my eyes.

I just need a little rest. Then I’ll keep going.

Chapter 6

Astra

“You brought a witch here?” Female. Angry.

“She called to me.” The white wolf. Winter Wolf. Whatever name he goes by. His gruff voice is unmistakable and sends a trickle of warmth through me. “What was I supposed to do? Leave her to die? You know how rare⁠—”

“You’re putting our pack in jeopardy,” a third voice whispers. “You could’ve taken her anywhere, and you come here.”

“I will not be questioned,” he thunders. “Not even by you, sister.”

First thought? He has a sister.

I’m not sure why that surprises me, but it does. It’s like learning the monster under your bed has a baby at home.

Second thought: What does he mean, I called to him? I most certainly did not call to him. I think I’d rather choke on my own blood… which I was well on my way to doing. On the top of a mountain that I didn’t climb.

I crack my eyes open and glance around. My mouth is dry, my lips bleeding. I lick them to no avail—there’s not even a speck of liquid on my tongue. I’m in a large bed, the thick blankets tucked in around me. The only light source comes from a fireplace, the yellow and orange flames crackling through a log. The room itself is spacious, but it gives the impression of being cozy. There are two chairs in front of the fire. Framed photos on the mantel above it.

Here must be his pack’s territory. And I’m in someone’s room, borrowing their bed.

My chest tightens. I push myself upright, and a flash of pain lances through my back. I groan and fall back, waiting for the residual feeling to subside.

The door swings open, and the Winter Wolf fills the frame. Human, of course. And thankfully clothed. He flicks a switch on the wall closest to him, and the lamps on either side of the bed flare to life.