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1
Snow was a thief of color. This blizzard was a thief of my sanity. Chunks of ice struck my frozen face, and wind lashed from all sides. No matter how many steps I managed through calf-deep snow, it felt as if I’d never reach the inside of the tavern drawing me in. Calling me like a ship’s beacon.
Raising my shoulders to block the wind creeping around my neck and down my spine, I grumbled, squinting through Mother Nature’s fury. I needed to see the world surrounding me to feel safe; to know that my stalker wasn’t lurking nearby. I was the hunter and the hunted, as of late. Hazard of the job, though I hadn’t seen him in months. But the storm raged on, and the power pulsing through my body became the overwhelming priority. I was going to burst soon, within hours likely, exposing everything if I wasn’t fast enough, and the goddess would not approve of that. Because above all else, my spell was her secret. And my damnation.
I could feel him. My prey. A vigorous pull and a pulse of magic, urging me onward. Power swirled in my veins, pounding in a way I rarely felt. Ready. Eager to hunt down the goddess’ next victim.
I’d been to the Fire Coven’s main village before. Most hadn’t. Few traveled to this conundrum of a territory. The easy mixture of witches and shifters living side by side unsettled most of this world. Things were changing, though. Or so we were told.
Still, through the storm, I couldn’t see the closely built homes, the brick sidewalks, or the ground that had once been nothing but black ash. Only white, miserable snow and scattered street lamps with no glow. Technically, it wasn’t nighttime yet, and, hopefully, the small blizzard would settle by then.
When I finally reached the tavern, I expected the door to be old and heavy. Shoving my body into it, seeking whatever meager warmth might be inside, it swung easily, throwing me forward. I slipped on the melted snow and would have crashed to the ground, had it not been for the mysterious man who caught me as if he’d been standing there waiting to rescue a stranger.
The second we collided, my magic threatened to burst. Snapping my mouth shut, as if my breath alone would expose me, I pushed the urge down as far as I could, praying to buy myself time. Of all the places to reveal myself, a tavern full of people staring would absolutely be the worst.
As I glanced into icy blue eyes, the left saved in spite of whatever caused the scar cutting this man’s brow, something profound snapped between us. Something that made me buckle in a way I’d never known. His stare locked with mine, his stubble-covered jawline twitching. The smallest of indications but enough. He’d felt the magic, too.
I gasped as realization flittered over my sensitive skin. This was not a man. This was the wolf. Hand of the Dark King and legendary for losing his shifter ability trying to save our world. The ashy white hair framing his handsome face was a dead giveaway.
“I… uh…”
Words. What were words?
His sturdy arms didn’t falter for a second as he brought me upright, our faces inches from each other.
Smoothing down the sleeves of my fur-lined coat, he stared down at me with a lopsided grin. “I promise there’s nothing worth rushing in for, love.”
Another swell of uncontrollable magic nearly burst from my fingertips. I gasped. It was him. The wolf was my target. That pulse was a warning, telling me not to trust the facade of this new witch. To let go of my control and release the power caged within me. But it was more than that. More than I’d ever experienced before. I stepped out of his arms and instantly felt the absence.
I needed composure immediately. I had a role to play, and I could not lose control. None of this had to be done publicly, and I could save us both from that, at the very least.
“Thank you… stranger.”
“I’m nobody’s stranger.” He reached for my hand, brushing a thumb across the top of my knuckles as those eyes met mine again, his shoulder-length hair falling into his brow. “You can call me Atlas if you let me buy you a drink.”
I wondered if he’d felt the electricity there. Too bad I’d been down this road before. Handsome man, full of charm, surface level, of course. Beneath, he was probably the worst kind of person. I knew his type. I hunted his type. I spent my life helping to change his type, but I couldn’t fight the flush to my cheeks or the heat to my belly as I pulled back, shoving away the threat of exposure because I was weak, and this beautiful man took up so much space, tricking my mind into thinking we were alone.
“I’m not a drinker, but maybe something warm. Just this once.”
Looking across the room, he called to the barkeep. “Something warm, Anna. For my new friend who doesn’t have a name.”
I had a name, of course, but I wouldn’t offer it just yet. There was magic in the mystery. She flung a white cloth over her shoulder, smiling in a friendly way at Atlas before waving a hand. Her palm glowed orange as a steaming mug moved through the air and landed with a slosh upon an empty table on the far side of the room.
I pushed my hood down, revealing my thick red hair. If I were home in the Storm Coven, it might have been my calling card. But here, I was an outsider. Atlas shuffled back, his shock as his eyes fell down my curls nearly stole my breath, though I didn’t understand the reason behind it.
Emotional sensing, True Sight. Another spell I’d received. I could cast upon anyone, and tell you how they were truly feeling, if I wanted. And, sometimes, when I didn’t want to. But more than that, the goddess had decided, when I was seventeen, that it wasn’t enough of a burden for a witch, and so I’d received the magic of the Heart Seeker. Power that made me the huntsman of lost witches’ fates.
Atlas turned to walk away.
“You’re not joining me?” I asked, knowing I didn’t have a lot of time.
Running his fingers through his hair, he flashed a smile and shook his head. “Maybe next time.”
I should have tried to coax him outside. Especially with the magic pushing on my insides, eager to be released. I could nearly hear his name, coated in power, coursing through my mind. But curiosity got the better of me, and instead, I crossed the busy room, squeezing past other patrons crowding their tables, to take a lone seat in the corner, half-covered in shadows. It was drafty, but Anna’s tea was warm and calming.
The door slammed open again, flurries rushing inside as another colossal man, similar in stature to Atlas, stomped in, kicking the snow from his hefty boots before puffing breaths of air into his brown hands. Draped in thick fur pelts that broadened his massive shoulders, he could have been mistaken for a baby giant if I hadn’t already known him to be the strix.
“Cold as a witch’s nipple out there, huh, Tor?”
