Page 7 of Witch's Wolf

I wish the memory of last night didn’t burn so fresh in my mind, though. The way she looked at me, the quiet challenge in her eyes. She doesn’t understand what she’s risking. How could she? She has no idea what it means for me to even think about getting close to her. It’s safer this way. For both of us.

“Sam?” Raul’s voice cuts through my thoughts, but I don’t turn back.

“I’ll see you later,” I mutter, more to myself than to him.

Distance. That’s what I need. Enough space to quiet the conflict raging between my heart and my mind. Far away from Raul’s prying nose and ears. Someplace where I can be alone with my thoughts and my own troubles, free of his judging eyes.

I head for the woods. I want to get away from the house and be free of the prying gazes of the humans who don’t belong. They already don’t understand and I sure as hell don’t want them to see me shift.

As I walk into the trees the early spring air is cool. I inhale the sharp scent of pine and damp earth. Normally it grounds me, but tonight it does nothing to silence the storm in my head.

Deep in the woods, I shed my human skin and let my beast take over. The shift is seamless. Second nature and as familiar as breathing. My wolf stretches into the wild, muscles coiling and uncoiling with every powerful stride. The rough terrain and muddy patches that would trip up a human are nothing to him. Rocks don’t slow him; his paws press them deeper into the earth, his balance unwavering.

The fading daylight casts long shadows through the trees as my destination comes into view. Lake Paxton. Hidden behind a veil of trunks and undergrowth, its still waters shimmer like glass, reflecting the fading colors of the sky. This place has always been a sanctuary, a corner of the world untouched by the chaos that constantly seems to circle me.

I should feel the burn in my legs after the hard fifteen-minute sprint through the woods, but I don’t. Seeing the lake, being by it, always has the same effect. The quiet ripples across its surface, the smells of the woods, pine, damp soil, the subtle decay of fallen leaves and pine needles. It’s comforting and strips the tension from my body better than any words or logic.

Sitting on my haunches next to the lake, the water stretches wide and calm. Its surface mirrors the treetops that frame it with the last rays of the setting sun. A log floats lazily, carried by a soft current. Near the edge, rocks glisten like polished jewels, promising to shine brighter under the rising moon. It’s a magnificent sight, a reminder of the beauty that exists even when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.

“Second son…”

The voice drifts on the breeze, light and familiar. My ears twitch, and I freeze as a cold chill rushes over my wolf body. Only one person in the valley calls me that.

“Shift. We need to talk.”

Helena.

I whip my head towards her voice, a low growl rumbling before I can stop it. She steps into view, her dark cloak blending with the shadows of the trees. Her presence shattering the fragile peace I’d come here to find.

“Shift, little pup,” she snaps, her voice sharp. She takes a step closer, gesturing sharply . “This is more important than your pity party.”

I bare my teeth in silent protest, but the urgency in her tone slices through my irritation. If I know anything about Helena, it’s that whatever brought her here isn’t something she can handle on her own. She doesn’t involve us lightly. That realization makes something twist in my gut. With a reluctant huff, I pad to a nearby rock and shift. The cool air bites at my skin as I take my human form. Helena watches, arms crossed, with the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.

“Good boy,” she says, though her voice softens slightly.

I bristle, her words raising my hackles no matter which form I’m in. Hands clenching into fists and eyes narrowing, I grit my teeth and suppress the urge to growl. Forcing my hands to unclench, I try to appear calm and composed, ignoring the insult.

“Helena,” I say, leaning against the rock and pulling my knees to my chest. “What’s so important that you had to ruin my evening?”

Her smirk fades, replaced by a look that makes my stomach drop. This is going to be bad. Real bad.

“I hate to be the bearer of ill news,” she says, frowning. She pauses for a moment, looking away. When she looks at me again, there appears to be actual concern, but I don’t know if I can believe it or not. “But since this concerns Erica, I have no choice.”

“Is this about what’s happening at dinner right now?” I ask, curling my arms tighter around my knees. The unease in my chest twists sharper. “Because if it is, I’m pretty sure she’ll vent to Monica, and Monica will run straight to Raul.”

Helena shakes her head, her gaze slipping to the lake. The evening light catches the subtle sheen of her dark cloak, making her look like she’s part shadow herself.

“It’s about Erica, yes,” she says, calm, but with a weight to her words. “But it’s not about what’s happening at dinner. It’s also not exactly bad news. It is more… unsettling is a better word. But it’s definitely not about last night.”

I narrow my eyes as anger surges. She knows about last night? Why can’t she leave us alone? Especially me.

“Still getting used to how much you pry into everyone’s lives, Helena. Actually, I fucking hate it, could you maybe stop?”

“Ah, ever the gentleman,” she says, her lips curling into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Instead of joy or amusement, I see a bitterness in her expression and something else. Fatigue, maybe? “I’m not digging into your personal affairs, Samuel. Believe me, I don’t have the time or the inclination. What Iamdoing is watching for things that might hurt you. Because whether you like it or not, I care about you. You, your family,your pack. Erica…” she trails off, drawing a slow, deliberate breath. “How well do you know her?”

I stiffen, wanting to tell her to piss off, but also understanding that she is not only powerful in her own right, she’s an ally. Helena’s a pain in the ass, sure, but she’s saved our family more than a few times. Ignoring her would be reckless, no matter how much I want to.

“Not well,” I admit, not liking where this is heading. “She’s good at music. She’s sharp-tongued. That’s about it. Look, she’s Monica’s best friend. Why don’t you ask her? She’d know more than I ever could.”

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