Page 6 of His Spellbound Mate

She left the woods with Jacob happily in tow and telling her all about his great adventure. As she approached Mary’s house, the sheriff was just coming out.

“Jacob!” his mother cried, running to scoop the little boy up in her arms and carrying him back into the house.

“Tamzyn,” said the sheriff. “How did you get involved in this?”

“Mary asked for my help,” she said with a shrug. “I know those woods as well as anyone and better than most. I found him playing down by the creek.”

“I suppose I should thank you for your help.”

“You should, but you probably won’t,” Tamzyn laughed. “I know professionals hate amateurs who get involved.”

“We could have ended up trying to find both of you.”

“And yet you didn’t. Jacob’s home. I didn’t get lost. Call it a win, sheriff.”

Tamzyn didn’t wait for his reply. She simply turned her back on him and started back toward the town, her mind racing with the possibilities. The game had changed, and she was no longer just a bystander. She was a player, and she would do whatever it took to protect Silver Ridge from the darkness that threatened to consume it.

But first, she had to find Neville.

And pray that she could trust him.

Chapter Four

Neville

The air was crisp with the approach of autumn, carrying the scent of pine and earth through the dense woods surrounding Silver Ridge. Neville moved silently through the underbrush, his senses heightened, every sound and scent sharper as the full moon loomed nearer. His patrols always took on an edge of urgency during this time of the month, when the pull of the moon made it harder to keep the beast within him under control. But tonight, something was different. There was a strange energy in the air, a scent that didn’t belong, tinged with something dark and foreign.

He crouched low, inhaling deeply, trying to isolate the scent from the familiar mix of woodland aromas. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but there—an unfamiliar musk that made his hackles rise. In all that time, he had never encountered anything like this.

His wolf, always just beneath the surface, stirred uneasily, urging him to follow the scent, to hunt. Neville’s jaw clenched as he fought the urge down. He couldn’t afford to lose control, not now. Not when something was clearly amiss.

He straightened, scanning the darkened woods. The night was quiet, too quiet. The usual sounds of nocturnal creatures were absent, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. Neville’s instincts screamed at him that something was wrong. He moved swiftly but cautiously through the trees, following the trail of the unfamiliar scent.

The scent grew stronger as he neared the edge of the woods, where the trees thinned out to reveal a small clearing. Neville’s heart pounded as he recognized the spot—it was the same area where, several months ago, the search for a missing child had been focused. The child of a tourist who had been kayaking in the area. The child had never been found and was now presumed dead or worse.

And now, another child had been missing for a number of hours and the official search had proved fruitless, but Garrett had just reported the child had been found by Tamzyn March, a local shopkeeper of some sort. A woman Neville avoided as each time she was in his proximity, troubling symptoms manifested themselves—nausea, dizziness, disorientation. Symptoms that led him to believe she was his fated mate. The last thing Neville needed was a human-fated mate and one whose past seemed to be shrouded in mystery.

Neville had been briefed on the situation by his beta, Garrett Steele, who doubled as the town’s sheriff. The disappearance had been troubling, but it hadn’t been the first time a child had wandered off in these woods. Usually, they were found within hours, frightened but unharmed. But this time, something felt different.

He crouched near the edge of the clearing, his sharp eyes scanning the ground. The scent was stronger here, almost overpowering, and it was mingled with another scent—one that sent a jolt of recognition through him. It was the scent of magic, old and potent, lingering in the air like the aftermath of a lightning strike.

Neville’s wolf bristled, the beast recognizing the threat that magic posed to them. He had encountered witches before, but none had ever ventured into his territory. He had made sure of that. But this scent… it was different. There was a darkness to it, something tainted and wrong.

As he studied the ground, he noticed faint scorch marks etched into the earth, forming a pattern he couldn’t quite decipher. The charred circle was surrounded by a white, crystalline powder. He reached down and brought some to his nose and then to the tip of his tongue. Salt.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against the cold soil, and felt a tremor of energy pulse through him. The remnants of a spell, no doubt, but one far more powerful than anything he had ever encountered. Whoever had cast this spell was dangerous, and Neville needed to find out who they were before they could cause any more harm. And who had surrounded the circle with salt? He knew some witches used infused salt to bind dark energies.

Neville stood, every muscle in his body tensed as he scanned the surrounding woods. The scent of magic was mixed with another scent now, one that was decidedly human, but with a strange undertone that made his wolf growl in the back of his mind. The scent was faint, but it was there, coming from the opposite side of the clearing.

He followed with his keen sense of smell, moving silently through the trees until he saw her. A woman, standing at the edge of the clearing, her back to him as she examined the scorched ground. She was dressed simply, in jeans and a worn leather jacket, her long dark hair falling in waves down her back. But there was something about her that set off alarm bells in Neville’s mind. She didn’t belong here, and yet, she moved with a familiarity that suggested she knew exactly what she was doing.

Neville stepped forward, deliberately allowing a twig to snap underfoot. The woman stiffened, her head whipping around to face him. Her eyes, a startling shade of violet, locked onto his, and Neville felt the air between them crackle with tension. She wasn’t just any woman. His wolf sensed it immediately, recognizing something in her that was both familiar and dangerous.

“What are you doing here?” Neville’s voice was low, rough with the barely restrained growl of his wolf.

The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she took a step back, her hand subtly moving toward the pocket of her jacket. “I could ask you the same thing,” she replied, her tone guarded.

Neville studied her, his gaze sharp. She wasn’t afraid of him, despite the obvious tension in the air. That alone was enough to put him on edge. Most people, even those who didn’t know what he was, instinctively recognized the danger he posed and reacted accordingly. But this woman… there was something off about her.

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