Chip’s already sound asleep next to Leisel’s head on her pillow, and it takes only twenty minutes for her to join him in dreamland. Once I’m sure she’s in a deep sleep I stand, set down the book, and turn out the lights before leaving and quietly closing her door behind me.
Then, blowing out a deep breath, I get to work bolstering the protective wards I carved into every corner of the cabin years ago withthe help of my mother. Pricking my finger with a sharp knife, I go to each symbol—a small conglomerate of squiggles, barely visible—and use a smidgen of my blood to power them up.
All witches have magical blood—even my mother, who never manifested any powers. The stronger the magic in your blood, the more effective it is in rituals and practices. Even though I have every confidence that the Rockwell Pack will see no reason to disgrace my home with their presence, it never hurts to have an extra boost of protection.
The symbols themselves, in essence, beseech the gods for favor and to protect the occupants of this residence. Adding my blood to them on occasion strengthens them. Although the wards aren’t actually capable of keeping people out—I don’t have access to spell work that powerful—at minimum they bring a bit of luck to my life.
Afterwards, I pour myself a small glass of wine—a delicacy I can only get my hands on maybe once every few months—and head to the spare room at the rear of the cabin, flicking on the lights. It’s a modest studio of sorts. There’s a rickety old desk set up in front of the window with a few palettes, an assortment of ancient brushes in a wooden cup, and a colorful array of paints in glass jars, along with smaller containers of pigments. On the edge of the desk stands a large tub of linseed oil.
In the center of the room is an easel, with my half-finished painting of a startlingly bright moon and sky full of stars above a forest propped on it. On the walls hang other paintings I’ve completed, and several of my mother’s as well.
I head over to the table, set down my wine, and get to work mixing a few greens on a palette before moving in front of the easel and getting to work. The sky is almost done—it’s the forest that needs the most work. I lose myself in the shades of the colors and the strokes of the brushes on the canvas.
Despite trying not to recall the past, I can’t help but remember how many nights I watched my mother paint in this exact spot. My father would sometimes pull up a chair, and the three of us would discuss anything and everything. Then, when Papa passed away, it was just me and Mom here—but somehow, she never allowed me to be melancholy. Even though she was a single mother to a teenager with a baby on the way, her spirits were always high.
It's been many years since my parents passed, but I still feel their presence so acutely they might as well be here. I feel them every day while doing the things they taught me—caring for horses, farming, hunting, painting, teaching Leisel—and it never fails to make me miss them.
Truly, having Leisel in my life was the only thing that kept me going after Mom’s death. Ihadto be capable for her,hadto learn how to provide for both of us. There was no other option since I absolutely refused to lose yet another family member. If it had been just me, alone, I doubt I would’ve forced myself to become an adult and work as hard as I have.
It’s just as I’ve finished my wine, and head to the kitchen to wash the glass in the sink that I feel a prickle of awareness race up my spine. That in itself makes me freeze because the only time I feel such a thing is when danger’s approaching.
My entire body tenses when three thunderous booming knocks sound on the front door. They’re so loud and aggressive that I fear the wood just might splinter.
Mariketa warned me that the Alpha’s family would be passing through Aesara tonight to scent out mates, but there’s no possible way for either Leisel or me to be a mate to a shifter, since we’re not quite human. At least, there’s never been a recorded case of an earthly witch being the other half to any type of mythic.
Then again, the number of earthly witches in existence can be counted on one hand. Could Leisel or I possibly be the other half to a shifter?Just because it’s never happened before doesn’t mean it’s impossible.
I give my head a shake. My fear is probably a needless one—the knocks could’ve come from any one of the villagers.
At this time of night? With the sort of force that rattled the entire house?
Trying to ignore the small warning voice in the back of my head, I pick up a knife from the knife block in the kitchen, slide it into my back pocket, and slowly walk towards the door. Three more knocks resound, nearly blowing the door off its hinges, and making me wince.
Swallowing as I approach it, I tentatively call out, “Who is it?”
A female voice answers from the other side. “By decree of the Rockwell Pack, entrance into this home is demanded.”
The fact that the voice is female doesn’t calm the panic her words ignite. Shifters travel in groups; just because a female is knocking on the door, doesn’t mean there aren’t males around her. One of which could potentially upend my entire life.
Oh gods, Leisel. If my worst fear is true, and I’m the unlucky mate of a mutt, I don’t know what would happen to my little sister. I’d have to be dragged out of this home kicking and screaming to abandon her, but the fact of the matter is that she very well might end up alone.
I frantically think through options when it comes to her. Just about every villager adores her, so I have no doubt someone would be willing to take her in, in the event of my absence. Mariketa would surely do so happily, but even the thought of separating from her makes me nauseous. Although Leisel is technically a sister, I’ve raised her as my own from birth. Sheltered, nurtured, and cared for her. I can’t imagine having distance between us.
“If this door isn’t opened within thirty seconds, it will be broken down,” warns whoever’s on the other side of the door.
A wave of disgust towards mythics—shifters in specific—washes over me, and the anger gives me the necessary gumption to unlock and swing open the entrance to my home.
As soon as I do, a wave of cold fresh fear washes over me. The woman banging on the door, as I suspected, isn’t alone. She’s accompanied by three men, all of whom watch me with expressions of partial curiosity, partial irritation—likely at how long it took me to follow an order. I very much doubt any shifter is accustomed to not being instantly obeyed by humans.
The woman takes my measure with sharp eyes, her brows furrowed as she looks me over. She looks to be in her late twenties, but that’s no real indicator of her age. Once mythics reach mid-twenties, their aging slows to a crawl. She could be half a century old despite her somewhat youthful features. Her eyes are a deep amber, and she has shoulder-length blonde hair. She’s two or so inches taller than me, standing at around five-six.
One of the men with her steps forward, drawing my attention to him. The breath catches in my throat as we make eye contact. His eyes are a peculiar silvery blue—a color that I know is unique to Alphas. He’s tremendously tall, towering well over a foot above me. He has short, light-brown hair that’s wind-tousled, and his body consists of pure powerful muscle, visible underneath his simple white shirt and dark pants. His feet are encased in riding boots, made of what appears to be fine leather.
Forcing aside the urge to step back and slam the door in his face out of fear, I keep my tone as bored as possible. “May I inquire as to why four shifters are gathered on my porch?”
The Alpha seems amused by my words, and one corner of his full lips ticks up. That small gesture sends a flare of lust so strong through me that my knees almost buckle as heat pools low in my stomach, the sensation completely foreign and entirely unwelcome.
Fucking. Shit.That’s the sort of reaction I’ve read and heard mates have towards each other; soul-rending lust.Shit, shit, SHIT!
