Page 19 of The Witch's Spell
“For a run!” I snarl. “And don’t follow me!”
Then I strip out of my clothes and sprint for the tree line.
As soon as I hit the shadows, the transformation begins. My anger hastens the process, and I’m throwing myself into the woods mere moments later, my paws crunching over the deep fallen snow.
Without Aurora here, without having to protect her, I can give myself fully to the wolf. It’s intoxicating, the ability to turn off the human mind and surrender fully to the animal instincts that burn through my brain. But I can only be gone for a short while. I don’tthinkCathal would do anything to harm Aurora, and Orla certainly wouldn’t, but even so,I don’t want to leave her with him for too long, even with Alden there to keep an eye on her.
But I need this. If I don’t burn off some of this anger, I’m going to do something shitty, like rip a door off its hinges or start a fight with my brother—a fight I might not be able to win.
I was angry last time, I remind myself.That’s the only reason he was able to overpower me. My anger made me foolish.
That thought soothes me some, as does the smell of the forest, like pine and ice and...
I slow my pace and lift my snout to the air.
And I smell something unfamiliar, something I’ve never smelled in the forest before.
It smells a little like Thorne.
My lips pull back in a growl.
Something is going on here, and I don’t like it one bit.
With my nose guiding my way, I follow the scent through the trees. The air is cold, and the snow is so deep in spots that I have to move carefully lest I fall through it up to my belly—and that would just piss me off further.
The smell grows stronger. It’s odd but not unpleasant, like spring rain on moss or flowers and honey at dusk. There’s a quality to it that feels... otherworldly. And the smell leads me right into a wall of fog. It hangs heavily between the trees, like a thick gray veil obscuring the rest of the forest. The strangeness of it gives me pause, but only for a moment. Then I push through it, and I’m enveloped in the sweet smell. It’s colder in here too, so cold I shiver despite my thick coatof black hair.
But the fog doesn’t last long, and soon I’m stepping out on the other side.
And pausing, confused.
Because I’m . . . back at the cottage?
Orla and Thorne are still seated on the porch, teacups steaming in their hands, and they give me odd looks, like they’re not sure what has me so bewildered. Cathal steps out the front door to stand on the porch behind them, arms crossed over his broad chest. I can see the blue of his eyes from here, and he narrows his gaze while watching me.
What the . . . ?
Whirling around, I find the same familiar forest behind me. Did I get so turned around in the fog that I ran in the wrong direction?
With a huff, I run back into the trees, following the sweet smell. Yet again, I find the wall of fog, and I dive into it without hesitation. This time, the sweet smell makes me sneeze and snarl.
And once again, I end up in the same place, standing in front of the cottage.
But now I’m angry.Again.
Because something is very wrong, either with me or with the trees.
Cathal slips between Orla and Thorne and walks in my direction. He’s barefoot and shirtless, his skin a warm brown in the winter sun.
“What is it?” he asks. For the first time since he arrived, there’s no taunting undertone in his words, just curiosity, and perhaps concern.
I nod toward the trees. Cathal drops his trousers where I dropped mine, and then he leaps into the trees alongside me, transforming as he goes.
Fun party trick he taught himself, transforming midair like that. All the girls liked it when we were younger. Now I just roll my eyes.
Together, we run through the trees. I lead him through the shadowed winter landscape, but this is the third time I’ve passed through here now, and my pawprints mark a clear trail in the fresh-fallen snow.
When we come upon the fog, Cathal pauses. I stand beside him, trying to better understand what I’m looking at. But it doesn’tlooklike anything, apart from thick fog. The smell though...
