Bound By Magic And Moonlight

Hazel's Point of View

The afternoon sun casts a golden glow through the trees and over the ancient altar as I stand before it, ready to prove my coven wrong. My fingers brush over the smooth surface of the ritual stone, my heart pounding with anticipation. I silently run through the spell again, ensuring every word, every motion is precise. This is my moment.

Then, chaos erupts.

A blur of movement catches my eye as two massive wolves burst into the clearing, their snarls tearing through the silence. My breath hitches as my gaze locks onto the dark brown wolf. There's something about him, something I can't explain. But I don't have time to dwell on the strange pull I feel towards him. More wolves emerge from the shadows, launching themselves into battle, teeth bared, claws slashing.

I hesitate, my mind racing. I always believed all werewolves wanted the curse broken, yet here they are, fighting to stop me. Why?

Before I can make sense of it, the brown wolf is suddenly in front of me, his green eyes burning into mine. He shifts, his form twisting, fur receding, bones cracking, until he stands tall in his human form. My breath catches in my throat. He is breathtakingly beautiful, his chiseled jaw tight with fury, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

He snarls at me and steps closer, but I don't flinch. I meet his gaze head on, my fingers twitching towards the altar. If I'm going to break the curse, I need the stone.

Without hesitation my hand shoots out and I snatch the stone. My smirk widens as I see his body tense. The moment he lunges, I whisper the incantation, power surging through my veins. In the blink of an eye, the world bends around me, and I vanish, his furious gaze the last thing I see before I disappear into the forest.

I reappear in Zachary's office, my pulse still racing from my narrow escape. The room is dimly lit, the scent of old parchment and burning incense lingering in the air. I don't have time to waste. If I'm going to break the curse on my own, I need the spell Zachary has kept hidden away.

I stride over to his desk, my fingers curling around the drawer handle. With a quick tug, it slides open, revealing a stack of aged papers. My eyes scan the contents until I find it...the spell. The parchment is delicate beneath my fingertips, filled with intricate symbols and incantations. I roll it up carefully, securing it before murmuring another spell under my breath.

The world bends around me once more.

As the world sharpens into focus, I am no longer in the forest but standing at the edge of a small town. The air here is different, thick with the scent of salt and asphalt, tinged with the distant hum of civilization. A few feet away, a neon sign flickers against the dusky sky. A 24-hour gas station. Perfect.

Keeping my head down, I walk quickly across the pavement, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft hiss as I step inside. The harsh fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the aisles stocked with snacks, drinks, and cheap trinkets. I make my way straight to the checkout counter, where a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile greets me.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, her voice laced with concern.

I return her smile, slipping into the easy charm I've learned to wield like a weapon. "I seem to be turned around. Could you maybe help me?"

She nods her head without hesitation. "Of course! You're in Cape Point."

Cape Point. The name rings through my mind, a distant memory just out of reach. I repeat it in my head, testing its weight, until realization slams into me. A coven once thrived here... a coven that dabbled in dark magic.

My pulse quickens. This can't be a coincidence.

My gaze lands on a rack of folded maps by the register. Without missing a beat, I walk over, pluck one from the stack, and return to the counter. The woman scans it, still smiling as I hand over the money.

"Will you be able to find your way now?" she asks.

I nod my head, slipping the map into my hands. "Yes, thank you."

With that, I step back into the night, my heart hammering. I move swiftly towards the tree line, deeper into the cover of the forest.

When I'm certain no one can see me, I drop to my knees, spreading the map out across the damp earth.

I inhale deeply, centering myself as I murmur the spell under my breath. My fingers skim over the parchment, the power in my veins responding instantly.

A surge of energy ripples through my fingertips, and then...

Flames erupt across the map.

I don't flinch. The fire is controlled, consuming only what it needs. I watch as the flames lick over the surface, revealing the secrets buried within. When the last ember dies out, I lean in, my breath shallow.

Two burned spots mark the map. One is small, insignificant. The other, jagged, scorched, unmistakably larger, stands out like a beacon. That has to be the place.

I don't hesitate. Snatching up the map, I whisper the incantation once more.

The air around me hums with power. The ground shifts beneath me, the trees and sky bending, twisting, warping. My body is weightless, caught in the pull of magic as the world blurs out of existence once more.

The moment the world solidifies around me, I find myself standing at the entrance of a cave. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and something else, something ancient, something wrong. A shiver runs down my spine as I take in the jagged, yawning mouth of the cavern. Of course, they would choose a place like this.

The darkness beyond is absolute, swallowing any trace of light. My instincts scream at me to turn back, to leave this place untouched. But I can't. I've come too far, and this may be my only chance to set things right.

I clench my fists, my nails biting into my palms. This was never how it was supposed to go. I thought breaking the werewolf curse would finally prove my worth to my coven. I thought all werewolves wanted to be freed from it. But now, an entire pack is hunting me.

Still, if I can find a way to break the curse without bloodshed, maybe they'll leave me alone. Maybe I can slip back into my old life, pretend none of this ever happened.

I take a steadying breath and step forward. The darkness swallows me whole, pressing in from all sides like a living thing. I murmur, "Incendia."

Flames flicker to life all at once, filling the cave with a warm, flickering glow. My breath catches in my throat as the cave is revealed before me.

The walls are lined with intricate markings, their meanings lost to time, but I can feel the raw power thrumming from them. Symbols of protection, of sacrifice, of forgotten magic pulse faintly beneath the grime. The air is thick with dust and the lingering scent of burnt herbs, as if the last ritual cast here still lingers, waiting.

My gaze sweeps over the space, taking in the remnants of a once thriving coven. Tattered scrolls and brittle pages lie scattered across stone tables, their ink faded but not yet lost. Dried herbs hang from the ceiling in brittle clusters, their colors long drained.

And then, I see them.

Grimoires. Spells. Stacked haphazardly on a worn wooden altar, untouched by time.

A thrill of triumph sparks in my chest. This is exactly what I need.

If I can decipher their work, I might be able to find another way to break the curse, one that doesn't end with me torn apart by werewolves.

One that might get me out of this mess.

I step cautiously over the uneven stone floor, making my way to a small altar nestled against the far wall of the cave. A single wooden stool sits before it, its surface worn smooth by time. Dust and dried wax coat the altar, remnants of past rituals staining the stone. I swipe my hand over it, clearing a space big enough for what I need.

Settling onto the stool, I reach into my bag and pull out a pen and a worn notebook, the edges of its pages curled from use. Next, I unfold the delicate parchment I took from Zachary's office, carefully smoothing it onto the altar. The ink is faded, but the script, written in a language long forgotten by most, remains sharp and precise. Beside it, I place the stone, the cold, smooth surface pulsing faintly beneath my fingertips.

I take a steadying breath and begin reading through the spell from start to finish, whispering the unfamiliar words under my breath.

The ancient symbols weave together in intricate patterns, each syllable carrying weight, a hum of power lingering in every phrase.

But I need to truly understand it.

Grabbing my pen, I start translating line by line. The language is complex, filled with double meanings and metaphors that twist and tangle like vines. Some words have no direct English equivalent, forcing me to interpret them through context. Others change their meaning depending on placement, one symbol could mean gift or sacrifice depending on what follows it.

I scribble furiously, my handwriting messier with each passing moment. My heart pounds as the spell unfolds before me, revealing its requirements piece by piece.

To perform the spell, five things are needed:

- The stone that binds the curse.

- The blood of a human.

- The blood of a werewolf.

- The blood of the gifted wolf.

- A celestial event to draw power from.

I pause, tapping my pen against the altar as I reread the words. My stomach sinks.

There's nothing. No loophole, no hidden meaning, no alternative path. The spell is clear, this is what it demands, no exceptions.

But magic is rarely so rigid. There's always a way to bend it, to twist its purpose without breaking it entirely.

I go back, dissecting each line, searching for inconsistencies. Could the blood of the gifted wolf be substituted? Could the celestial event be manipulated? Could the stone itself hold a secret I haven't uncovered?

My fingers tighten around the pen as frustration coils in my chest. There has to be something. I refuse to believe this spell is absolute.

The flickering candlelight dances over the pages, the shadows shifting as if the cave itself is watching, waiting.

I won't stop. I can't stop. Not until I find a way out of this.

I take a deep breath, pressing my fingers to my temples as frustration gnaws at the edges of my thoughts. The spell in front of me is unyielding, its requirements absolute. But I refuse to accept that. There has to be another way. Magic is never as rigid as it seems. It bends, it shifts, it has loopholes. I just need to find one.

Slowly, I turn on the stool, my gaze locking onto the towering stack of grimoires and spell scrolls left behind by the coven that once called this cave their sanctuary. Dust clings to their cracked leather covers, their pages worn with time. Some are stacked neatly, others are haphazardly piled, as if their owners had left in a hurry or never expected to return.

My fingers twitch with anticipation.

This is where the real work begins.

Pushing to my feet, I step closer, reaching for the first book on the pile. Its spine creaks in protest as I pry it open, the scent of aged parchment and dried herbs rising to meet me. The text is written in the same ancient script as the spell I translated, its ink faded but still legible.

I scan the pages quickly, searching for anything that might reference the werewolf curse, dark magic, or alternative rituals. The words blur together in long, winding descriptions, spells of protection, curses of binding, invocations to gods long forgotten.

Not what I need.

I set the book aside and grab another.

Hazel's Point of View

I don't know how long I've been here, buried in ancient texts, my fingers stained with dust and ink. Time has lost all meaning in the flickering candlelight, my world reduced to the fragile pages before me. My back aches from hours hunched over these books, and my eyes burn with exhaustion, but I don't stop. I can't stop.

And then, I find it.

Not in a grimoire, not hidden within the pages of some elaborate tome, but on a single loose sheet, wedged between a stack of forgotten spells. The parchment is brittle, its edges frayed as if handled in a hurry, like whoever last held it knew its worth but had no time to use it.

I lift it carefully, my pulse thrumming as I scan the inked symbols and lines of ancient script. My breath catches.

The handwriting, it's the same as the first spell. The curves of the letters, the way certain symbols are drawn, the unmistakable rhythm of the incantation, it all matches. And then, I see it.

It mentions the stone.

Excitement surges through me as I rush back to the altar, laying the newly found spell beside the one I stole from Zachary. My hands tremble slightly as I smooth both parchments against the altar's surface and begin comparing them, line by line.

Both spells require the stone, the key to the werewolf curse. Both require a celestial event, the energy drawn from the heavens to fuel the ritual. But the difference... the difference is everything.

This spell... this one, doesn't require blood.

No human sacrifice. No werewolf blood. No gifted wolf's essence. The one thing that made the original spell so dangerous, so brutal, is missing from this one entirely.

My fingers trace the symbols, my mind racing to decipher the finer details. Could this be the loophole I've been searching for? A way to break the curse without shedding a single drop of blood?

The more I study it, the more certain I become. The structure is similar, almost identical in some places, but this version redirects the energy in a different way. Instead of binding itself to the life force of those involved, it channels raw celestial magic, using the stone as a conduit rather than a vessel for blood.

It's risky.

It's untested.

But it could work.

A breathless laugh escapes me as I lean back, running a hand through my hair. I did it. I finally found it.

Now, all I have to do is wait.

The celestial event will come, and when it does, I will be ready.

***

Tonight is the night.

I stand at the altar, the weight of the ancient stone pressing against my palm as I stare up at the sky. The lunar eclipse has begun, the moon bathed in an eerie red glow, casting long, shifting shadows across the cave walls. This is my moment, the culmination of all my research, all my desperate searching. If this spell works, I will finally be free.

No more werewolves hunting me. No more packs demanding my help. No more being tangled in a world I never truly belonged to.

I spent the entire day preparing, ensuring every detail was perfect. Candles encircle the altar, their flames flickering as the celestial energy in the air thickens. Symbols are drawn in careful, precise strokes across the cold stone floor, lines of power converging where I now stand. The stone, the key, rests in my hands, its surface impossibly smooth, humming faintly with the weight of the magic trapped within it.

I take a slow, steadying breath and begin.

My voice is strong, unwavering, as I chant the incantation. The ancient words roll off my tongue, each syllable thrumming with raw energy as the spell takes hold. The air crackles around me, the candles flaring higher, their light casting shifting shadows across the cave walls. A force builds beneath my skin, rising like a tide, seeping into my bones, rushing through my veins.

The moon above reaches its apex, the eclipse at its peak. The power surges.

The stone in my hand grows hot, too hot. A sharp, searing pain shoots through my palm, and I cry out, my fingers forced open as the stone drops to the floor with a dull thud.

Then, everything shifts.

A presence fills the cave, suffocating in its intensity.

A woman stands before me, her pitch black hair falling in thick waves over her shoulders, her crimson eyes burning like embers in the dim candlelight. She is unlike anything I have ever seen, beautiful and terrible, ancient beyond comprehension. Power radiates from her in waves, warping the air around her, and I know, instinctively, that I have made a mistake.

She stares at me, her lips curling slightly, as if she is amused by my fear. My heart pounds in my chest, my breath coming in shallow gasps. Every fiber of my being screams that she is dangerous, that she should not be here.

And then, just as suddenly as she appeared, she is gone.

The air stills. The cave falls silent. The candles flicker weakly, their flames dimmed.

The stone no longer glows. Its surface, once burning hot, is now ice cold as I cautiously reach down and pick it up. I clutch it tightly, my mind racing, trying to understand what just happened.

I was supposed to break the werewolf curse. But deep in my gut, I know, whatever I just did... it wasn't that.

***

Three months.

Three long, grueling months, and I am no closer to finding an answer.

I sit cross legged on the cold stone floor, a grimoire splayed open in front of me, its pages brittle beneath my fingertips. The candle beside me has burned low, wax pooling around its base, a reminder of just how long I've been at this. I drag my eyes across the inked symbols, searching, desperate, for something, anything that might explain what happened the night of the eclipse.

But it's useless.

This book, like the dozens before it, holds nothing but half forgotten spells and fragments of magic lost to time. I've read through it twice now, and yet I keep flipping the pages as if the answer will suddenly appear. As if I somehow missed something.

I sigh, pushing the book away and rubbing my temples. My head pounds from hours of reading, my fingers are stiff from tracing old text, and exhaustion clings to me like a second skin.

I've scoured this cave, turning over every single scrap of magic these witches left behind. I've memorized their spells, studied their rituals, even visited the second location burned into the map, hoping for anything, but I found nothing.

Nothing that tells me who or what that woman was.

Nothing that explains what I really did that night.

Nothing about the werewolf curse, or why I can still feel something wrong lingering in the air around me.

I press my hands into my face, frustration bubbling in my chest. I can't keep going in circles. I need a new approach.

And then, it hits me.

What if the answer isn't buried in this place? What if it's closer to home than I thought?

I glance toward my satchel, where tucked deep inside, I have a key, one that opens the trunk in my home, filled with generations of magical knowledge. My ancestors were powerful witches, collectors of lost spells and forgotten magic. Among them are grimoires from other bloodlines, stolen or gifted, bound in leather and inked in secrets.

If there are answers anywhere, they might be there.

I stand abruptly, the decision solidifying in my mind. I have wasted enough time here. It's time to go home.

Moving quickly, I gather my things, stuffing the last grimoire back onto the stack and dousing the candles. The cave plunges into darkness, but I don't hesitate. I whisper a teleportation spell, feeling the familiar pull of magic wrap around me.

The world bends, and then... I'm gone.

The world sharpens around me, and the scent of damp earth and pine fills my lungs as I blink into focus. My cottage stands before me, untouched, exactly as I left it. The wooden porch creaks beneath my boots as I take a step forward, the familiar sight of the worn door grounding me.

I murmur a soft incantation, and the lock clicks open in response. The door swings inward, revealing the dim, dust laced air of my home. It's quiet, too quiet after months of pouring over ancient spells in the depths of forgotten caves.

I flick on the lights, golden warmth spilling across the room, chasing away the cold that has settled into my bones. I don't pause, I move with purpose, heading straight for the large wooden chest nestled against the far wall.

Reaching behind my back, I pull out the small brass key, its edges worn smooth from years of use. My fingers tremble slightly as I slide it into the lock. A quick turn, a sharp click, and the lid creaks open, revealing stacks of aged grimoires, their spines cracked from years of study.

I sink to the floor, cross legged, and pull out the first book. Dust rises in thin, ghostly tendrils as I flip through the pages, my eyes scanning each carefully inked spell, each carefully preserved scrap of knowledge. My heart pounds with renewed determination. This time, I will find the answer.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. I lose myself in the texts, fingers tracing symbols, eyes flicking over incantations in languages I barely remember.

And then...

A chill slithers down my spine.

The air in the room shifts, a subtle pressure change, a disturbance in the stillness. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, my instincts screaming before my mind catches up.

I am not alone.

I snap the book shut and push to my feet, whirling around just as a figure steps through the doorway.

My breath catches.

He stands there, impossibly tall, framed by the dim light of the porch, his presence overwhelming the small space. His dark brown hair is tousled from the wind, his piercing green eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that makes my pulse stutter. Broad shoulders, lean muscle, everything about him radiates raw power, an untamed strength barely restrained beneath his calm exterior.

I know him.

The dark brown wolf from the clearing.

The one who tried to stop me.

The one I ran from.

My heart pounds against my ribs as we stare at each other in tense silence, his gaze burning into mine like wildfire. I don't move. I don't breathe.

He's found me.

1788

Aiden's Point of View

Another dead end.

I stand in the mouth of the cave, the dim light from outside barely reaching the smooth, empty walls. No scent, no markings, no trace of Hazel. Just silence and dust.

Frustration coils tight in my chest as I take another slow step inside, scanning the empty space, searching for something, anything, that might tell me she was here. But there's nothing. Just cold stone and wasted time.

I exhale sharply through my nose, my jaw clenching as I turn on my heel.

Damn it.

I kick a loose rock, watching it skitter across the ground before clattering against the far wall. The sound echoes in the hollow space, mocking me. I've searched countless places, followed every lead, but she keeps slipping through my fingers. Three months of chasing shadows, of tracking a ghost who doesn't want to be found.

I rake a hand through my hair as I step back into the light, the fresh afternoon air a stark contrast to the stale nothingness of the cave.

My truck is parked just down the dirt path, dust still clinging to the tires from the last hunt.

I move towards it, my boots crunching against gravel, my mind racing.

Where the hell are you, Hazel?

I climb into my truck, slamming the door shut behind me harder than necessary. Frustration courses through me, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. Another cave. Another dead end. Not a single trace of Hazel, no remnants of magic, no footprints, nothing. It's as if she's a ghost, always one step ahead, always slipping through my fingers.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I grab the worn map from the passenger seat. The paper is creased and smudged from months of use, the red Xs marking each failed attempt standing out like scars. I stare at the newest mark, the ink still fresh from the marker I just used. Three months. Three months of searching, chasing shadows, and turning up with nothing but disappointment.

I drag a hand through my hair, my exhaustion weighing on me. How much longer can I keep this up? But giving up isn't an option, not when I made a promise to Drake, to Nicole, to myself. I will find Hazel.

Shaking off the doubt, I scan the map for the next location. My eyes land on a cave roughly a day's drive from here. It's remote, deeper into the mountains, further off the beaten path than the others. If Hazel is hiding, a place like that would make sense.

Folding the map, I toss it onto the passenger seat and reach for the keys in the ignition. The engine roars to life, the familiar rumble grounding me for a brief moment. I take another deep breath, gripping the wheel tightly.

One more cave. One more chance.

With that, I shift the truck into gear and head towards the unknown, determined to find the witch who has eluded me for far too long.

I've been driving for hours, the road stretching endlessly before me, but now I have to stop. The gas gauge hovers near empty, and my stomach grumbles, reminding me that I haven't eaten since early this morning.

Spotting a small, rundown gas station on the side of the road, I pull in next to pump one. The place is quiet, with only one other car parked near the entrance. A few flickering lights buzz above the store's entrance, casting a dull glow on the cracked pavement.

I step out of the truck, stretching my legs before grabbing the pump and filling up the tank. The cool evening air brushes against my skin, a brief moment of relief from the heat inside the truck. Once the tank is full, I place the nozzle back, screw the cap on, and head inside.

The store is small, with aisles packed tightly together. The air smells like coffee and something fried, probably from the hot food section near the register. I wander through the store, grabbing a bottle of water, a sandwich from the refrigerated section, and a few more snacks to last me through the long drive ahead.

When I reach the register, the cashier, a woman with bright red lipstick and kind eyes, flashes me a warm smile. "Will this be all for you today?" she asks, scanning my items.

I return her smile, nodding my head. "Yes, thank you. I also filled up my truck at pump one."

She nods her head and quickly rings everything up. I hand her the cash, grab my bag, and make my way back to the truck.

As I settle into the driver's seat, reaching for the keys in the ignition, my phone vibrates in my pocket. The sudden sound makes my heart jump, my mind instantly flashing to the worst case scenario.

Pulling it out, I glance at the screen. Drake.

A pit forms in my stomach. I hope everything is okay.

Swiping the screen, I bring the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

Drake's voice comes through, steady but laced with something unspoken. "Aiden. How are you?"

Relief washes over me, at least he doesn't sound panicked. "I'm fine, thanks. Is everything okay back home?"

A brief silence follows, and I grip the steering wheel tighter. Then Drake speaks again. "Have you made any lead way in finding Hazel?"

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. "No, not yet. I'm on my way to another cave right now. What's wrong, Drake? I know you, you wouldn't call for no reason. Something must have happened. Do you need me to come home?"

This time, Drake's response is immediate, his voice firm. "No, don't come home. But yes, something has happened." Another pause, and then... "Nicole is pregnant."

For a moment, I just sit there, stunned. Then a wide grin spreads across my face. "That's great news! Congratulations, Drake!"

"Thank you," Drake says, but there's a weight in his tone that doesn't match the excitement of the moment.

I frown. "You don't sound happy about it."

"I am happy," Drake says quickly. "Extremely happy. But at the same time, I can't shake this feeling in my chest. As long as Hazel is out there with that stone, Nicole will never be safe. And neither will our baby. Any time someone tries to break the curse, they'll come for Nicole."

The weight of his words settles over me like ice. He's right. That stone is too powerful, and Hazel will do anything to protect it. If anyone tries to challenge her, Nicole, and now the baby, will be targets.

My jaw tightens, a new determination settling in my chest. Nicole is one of my closest friends. I refuse to let anything happen to her or that child.

"Drake," I say, my voice low and resolute, "I promise you, I'll find her. I won't let anything happen to Nicole or that baby."

Drake exhales heavily, and even though I can't see him, I know this moment means as much to him as it does to me.

"Be careful, Aiden," he says. "We're all counting on you."

I grip the phone tightly before nodding my head, even though he can't see me. "I won't fail."

With that, I end the call, toss my phone onto the passenger seat, and take a deep breath. Then I start the engine, pull onto the road, and continue towards the next cave feeling even more determined now then ever to find Hazel.

The hum of the truck's engine fills the quiet night as I drive down the empty stretch of road, my thoughts still lingering on my conversation with Drake. The weight of my promise to him presses heavy on my shoulders. I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white. I have to find Hazel.

Reaching for my water bottle, I take a deep sip, hoping the cold liquid will settle the restless energy coursing through me. But before I can even place the bottle back in the cupholder, my phone starts ringing again.

I glance at the glowing screen on the passenger seat, Colton. My pulse quickens. He wouldn't call unless it was important.

Snatching up the phone, I bring it to my ear. "Hello, Colton. Is everything okay?"

His voice is sharp, urgent. "She's back. The witch just showed up at her cottage."

My entire body tenses. Hazel.

For a split second, I freeze, my heart slamming against my ribs. "Are you sure?" I manage to get out.

Colton doesn't hesitate. "Yes. It's definitely her."

My mind snaps into focus, adrenaline flooding my veins. This is it. After three months of dead ends, of caves leading nowhere, of chasing whispers and shadows, this is finally a real lead.

"Send me the coordinates. I'm on my way."

The moment Colton confirms, I end the call and pull off to the side of the road. A second later, my phone buzzes with the incoming location. I tap the screen, my eyes locking onto the map.

Two hours away.

In the opposite direction.

I don't waste another second. Shoving the truck back into gear, I spin the wheel and make a sharp U turn, the tires kicking up dust and gravel. My foot presses hard against the gas pedal, my truck roaring forward, headlights slicing through the darkness.

My heart pounds with a mix of determination and anticipation.

I'm coming for you, Hazel.

***

The truck skids to a stop, gravel crunching beneath the tires as I kill the engine. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly, my pulse hammering in my ears. This is it. The coordinates led me here, Hazel's home.

A small cottage stands before me, nestled among the trees, its weathered wood and warm glow almost too peaceful for the storm raging inside me. I don't waste a second.

I throw the door open and step out, my boots hitting the ground hard. Every muscle in my body is tense as I move towards the house, my instincts screaming at me to hurry. The front door is open, not a good sign. My heart pounds harder as I reach for the handle, pushing it the rest of the way.

The moment I step inside, my eyes lock onto her.

She's sitting on the floor at the far wall, surrounded by old books and parchment, her bright red hair falling over her face as she pores over something. But the second she senses me, she's on her feet, turning to face me.

And then... The scent hits me.

Warmth, wild magic, something intoxicatingly hers. It slams into me like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. The room tilts, my vision narrowing until all I can see is her.

Even before our eyes meet, I know.

She is mine.

My mate.

A low growl rumbles deep in my chest, raw and instinctive, the wolf inside me rising to the surface in an instant. My hands clench at my sides as I fight the sudden, overwhelming urge to reach for her. To claim. To touch.

The word slips from my lips before I can stop it, deep and rough with emotion.

"Mate."