Page 50 of Alpha Charmed

Mistvale’s cultivated woods give way to wilder terrain—trees that predate the town, magic that existed before anyone thought to draw Warding Lines or build protective spells. The paths here don’t follow any map I’ve seen. They shift with the light, rearrange themselves between heartbeats, respond to intentions rather than footsteps.

My wolf knows this territory. Has run it since I was a pup learning to track, to hunt, to read the language of wind and shadow. But I’ve never brought anyone here before.

Anouk walks beside me, her hand clasped in mine like it’s always belonged there. Which it has. I’m only just now accepting that truth.

She’s different since last night. Not just the looseness in her shoulders or the way she leans into my side when the terrain gets rough. Every time I catch her watching me—which happens often—heat flares through my chest like an ember that refuses to die. She’s steadier.

Something settles deep in my chest. I don’t bother fighting it.

“You’re doing that thing again.” Anouk’s voice carries dry amusement. “The quiet, knowing smile.”

“I wasn’t aware I had a quiet, knowing smile.”

“You have several. This one means you’re thinking about a topic that pleases you, and you’re choosing not to share.”

“I’m thinking about you.” The admission comes easier than I expected. “How you look in this light. How your magic feels when it brushes against my senses. How you taste.”

Color climbs her cheeks. “That’s—we’re in the middle of a forest.”

“I’m aware of our location.”

“On a mission to find an ancient dragon.”

“Also aware.”

“With potentially hostile forces tracking our movements.”

“Deeply aware.” I stop walking, pulling her around to face me. “And still thinking about you. About last night. About tonight, if we survive the dragon and the politics and whatever else Cordelia throws at us.”

I watch her composure crack—just a little, just enough—and possessive satisfaction moves through me, warm and certain.

I kiss her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

She rises on her toes and kisses me properly, her hands fisting in my shirt, her body pressing against mine with the familiarity of someone who’s learned exactly how we fit.

The forest approves. I can feel it in the way the trees lean closer, the way the light warms, the way a bird somewhere overhead sings with suspicious enthusiasm.

“We should keep moving.” She pulls back, breathless, her lips swollen. “Before we give the squirrels a show.”

“The squirrels have seen worse. Pack territory, remember. Young wolves have very little shame about where they⁠—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence.”

I grin. “As you wish.”

We resume walking, but I keep her hand in mine.

The terrain grows steeper as we climb toward the Thornback Mountains.

Ancient pines give way to older growth—trees that were ancient when my great-great-grandmother was young, their bark scarred with symbols I recognize from Grandmother Sylvana’s oldest records. The magic here is thick enough to taste, heavy on the tongue like honey aged in darkness.

“Tell me about Chione.” Anouk pulls Grandmother Peach’s charm from her pocket, turning it over in her fingers. The stone catches the filtered sunlight, glowing with contained power. “The real stories. Not the sanitized versions meant for visitors.”

“There aren’t sanitized versions. There are just… varying degrees of terror.” I guide her around a patch of ground that smells wrong—old magic playing tricks on unwary travelers. “The pack says she was ancient when Mistvale was just a handful of cabins in a clearing. That she watched the Warding Lines being drawn, the first familiar bonds being formed, the wars that came before the peace.”

“Wars?”

“The magical world wasn’t always unified. Shifters and witches fought. Vampires carved out territories through blood and fear. Dragons…” I pause, considering how to frame it. “Dragons watched. Accumulated knowledge. Waited.”