1 Chapter 1 : The Attack

Bree woke to the smell of smoke.

This, in and of itself, wasn’t terribly unusual. Living in a community of witches, it was inevitable that sometimes, people would lose control of spells, or combine potion ingredients wrong.

But when Bree wrinkled her nose against the acrid smell, there was something different about it. It was strong—much too strong to just be a lingering scent from a mis-brewed cauldron.

She blinked, sitting up in bed. There was light outside her window, but when Bree checked the alarm clock at her bedside, it was still too early for the sun to have begun to rise. The orange glow seeping underneath her shutters had to be something else.

Bree threw back the comforter and got out of bed, padding over to the window to investigate. She half-assumed that one of the kids who lived nearby would be outside, playing around with bonfire magic again, but when she opened the window, she immediately realized how mistaken she was.

Smoke billowed into her face in a fierce, black cloud, and Bree waved it away, coughing harshly.

Through her watering eyes, she could see tongues of flames licking at the forest nearby, numerous houses in her neighborhood already consumed by the fire. Worse than that, however, were the screams that Bree could hear rising over the crackle of flame.

And then, much closer than Bree had ever heard before, the howl of a wolf.

Bree staggered back from the window.

“Mom!” she screamed, nearly tripping as she scrambled to grab her coat from its hook, sliding her arms through as she tore open the door to her room. “Grandma!”

There was no answer, and Bree reached the stairs, looking down to see that the front door was open.

That wasn’t surprising. Her mother and grandmother were two of the most powerful witches in their small community, which was outside of the main witch’s city, Talmeria, so they would definitely already be out, defending their neighbors.

Bree wanted to help as well, but more than that, she wanted to find her family. She didn’t have the water manipulation abilities that her mother did, but she could at least try to redirect some of the winds so that the flames wouldn’t be able to catch on other houses.

She ran out of the door, determined to be useful—but before she could go anywhere, a warlock appeared in her path, his hands raised, crackling with electricity.

“Move!” he cried, and Bree ducked to the side. Just in time—a huge beast, its eyes glowing and its mouth open in a snarl, launched itself into the empty space that Bree had occupied moments before.

The warlock tried to send a bolt of lightning through it, but the werewolf had already sunk its claws into his chest, jaws going for his neck as they tumbled backward.

Bree’s mouth fell open, but she didn’t have the breath to scream.

She staggered back, turning on her heel in an attempt to get away from the fight. She had to find another way to help.

She ran through their neighborhood, past the burning houses. Every so often, she would hear someone’s scream, though whether it was a witch or a werewolf, Bree couldn’t tell. The smoke blinded her to her surroundings, and she coughed as she called out, trying to find anyone that she recognized.

Suddenly, a pair of bright eyes appeared through the smoke.

Bree barely had time to react before a shape was lunging at her, appearing from the darkness as though it had been summoned. The werewolf pounced on her, sending them both to the ground, where the back of Bree’s head hit the dirt hard, sending sparks shooting in front of her eyes.

She groaned, staring in terror at the snarling face above her as the beast raised its claws to strike.

But before they could, another shape burst out of the shadows, slamming into the side of the wolf and knocking it to the side.

Bree nearly sighed in relief, wanting to thank her savior, but then the figure growled, and her heart sank as she realized that it was just another werewolf—probably eager to claim a kill for himself.

I’m sorry, Mom, Bree thought. Grandma. I wasn’t strong enough.

She felt her grip on consciousness slipping, and was grateful that at least she wouldn’t have to feel the pain of her death as the werewolf moved over to her slowly, the lines of his body tight and tense.

Just as Bree lost her battle with awareness, she saw a brilliant pair of green eyes, shining with rage, more intense than anything she had ever known.

***

Dallas’ evening had been going perfectly.

After campaigning for months, he had finally gotten the approval of the wolf-elders to carry out an attack on the outskirts of Talmeria.

His best wolves were alongside him, and they caught the witches by surprise, leaving them with hardly any defense in place. Dallas and his fighters swept through the small cluster of houses easily, attacking anyone they came across and destroying as much property as they could.

Dallas broke away from the rest of his pack, sprinting towards the center of the neighborhoods, where the witches’ power felt the strongest. That was where the elders would be; he was sure of it.

Before he could strike, though, his inner wolf howled.

Dallas had never had that happen before, but he had heard about it. The overwhelming urge to find, find, keep, protect had been described to him by others who had found their bond mates—but he hadn’t ever felt it himself, despite already being the King of Lycantor.

The elders had been harping him to find his mate for ages, and his first instinct was to be thrilled that he would finally be able to report the arrival of his soulpair—but then he realized where he was.

The only reason his bond senses would be going off in the middle of an attack was if his mate was nearby, and if they were in danger. And he hadn’t already felt the bond sense with any of these wolves, who he had known for years, which meant that his mate wasn’t one of them.

Which meant that they were a witch.

Dallas tried to curb his wolf’s base instincts, to focus on the mission at hand—the mission he had been planning for weeks—but the desire and worry that raged inside him was too strong, and he turned away from the witches, tearing back through the village, hardly knowing where he was going. His bond sense knew, however; it felt like there was some sort of lead attached to his gut, yanking him forward and directing him where to go.

He sprinted into a clearing, and his bond sense shrieked. He barely registered the wolf that was crouched over a smaller figure before he had tackled them away from their prey, sending them skidding in the dirt as they looked at him, a little balefully. They were one of his lower-ranking wolves, though, so they just slunk away to find a new target, unwilling to challenge their alpha.

Dallas whirled towards the figure on the ground.

It was a young woman, splayed out in the dirt, her clothing torn and dirty, streaks of soot on her cheeks. Dallas met her eyes for a brief moment, and then they fluttered closed, a tiny moan escaping the girl as she passed out, her head lolling.

She was very obviously not a wolf.

Dallas’ inner wolf nudged him to get closer, and Dallas bent over the girl, sniffing at her neck.

She didn’t smell particularly strange, or particularly witch-like, as a matter of fact. Her features were delicate and slight, dirty-blonde hair spooling out in a halo around her face.

If Dallas were a stronger wolf, he would have slit the girl’s throat as soon as he realized who she was. Damn the pain of a broken mate-bond; he couldn’t possibly be the Alpha King with a witch as a queen. It was unheard of. It was impossible. He hated witches just as much as any other werewolf, maybe even more so.

Even so, even with his hand raised in the air, claws extended, a strike ready inside of him, Dallas found that he couldn’t bring himself to make the kill.

His shoulders slumped, just a little, and he sighed. Suddenly, the screams of witches and the victorious howls of the other wolves weren’t as enticing as they had been a little while ago.

He shifted out of his wolf-form, grabbing the witch girl by the wrists, pulling her up and over his shoulder easily. Then, he turned and howled their retreat command to his fighters, hardly waiting for their answering calls before he was running back into the forest, heading to the palace. He needed to get this girl inside and away from everyone else before people discovered what had happened.

F*ck. Fate must hate him.