Page 4 of The Witch's Spell
Alden and I don’t often speak much as we work, apart from him giving me instruction. Despite what he might think, Ihaveused an axe before, just not to do this much manual work. My palms ache and feel on the verge of splitting, but I ignore the pain as I continue working.
“Overcrowding, I’d guess.” Alden draws a hand across his sweat-slick brow and looks around at the dense trees surrounding us. “Or old age, maybe.” He shrugs. “It can behard to tell. They’re not sick though. That’s what’s important.”
Now that we’ve finished removing the limbs from the tree, we start hacking it into smaller, more manageable pieces. I find this to be the hardest part, trying to cut through such a large piece of timber. Alden and I take turns using the handsaw, and when it finally comes apart in pieces, he steps away and says, “Let’s take a minute.”
Finally.
We each take a seat on a section of the tree, breath steaming around our mouths in the cold air. It smells of pine needles and damp earth, with a hint of ice and sap. I breathe it in, let it fill my lungs until my chest swells. And as I exhale, a feeling of peace settles over me.
When I first met Aurora in these trees, I was going through an upheaval in my life—nothing felt sturdy, and it was as if my entire world was coming apart beneath my paws. In the weeks afterward, I continued to struggle, finding it difficult to become integrated into her life, to learn how to be there for her, how to get along with everyone she held dear.
My gaze flicks to Alden. He’s got his head tipped back, the sun on his face, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a slight smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. I’ve noticed this about him, how at ease he feels in the woods. That’s something we have in common: a love for the trees, for being surrounded by the scent of moss and decaying earth, for the silence that wraps around you as soon as you step into the forest’s domain.
At one point, I thought I’d never be able to get along with Aurora’s men—or her cat—but in the weeks that have passed since my first meeting with her, I’ve discovered that all it takesis something small: a gesture of kindness, a shared laugh, a quiet evening sitting before a crackling fire. And slowly but surely, I’m coming around. I’m learning how to coexist with these men—and Harrison—and in doing so, my relationship with Aurora has only deepened.
I think of my mark on her smooth throat, the pink scars left behind where my fangs once split her flesh, and a gentle wave of heat washes over me. I can’t wait to get home to her. Every moment spent away feels like a moment too long.
“Ready?” Alden asks, already reaching for his axe where it’s wedged into a portion of the tree.
Nodding, I push to my feet.
But then a scent drifts to me on the winter air, and an instinctual growl rises in my throat.
My muscles coil, and without me meaning to, my nails begin their transformation into claws.
Alden grips the handle of his axe, thick brows pulling low over his brown eyes. “What is it?” he asks.
But I can’t explain. Can’t even speak. I’m too focused on scanning the trees.
The shadows play with my eyes. Everywhere I look, I’m ready for a figure to leap out at me, teeth bared and flashing. I sniff the air. The scent is growing stronger, mixed with another, though the second is less familiar to me.
There’s no question in my mind as to who it is. But why?
Nails fully transformed into claws now, I step toward the trees, putting my body in front of Alden’s. He seems confused, but he doesn’t question me, just adjusts his stance, his boots crunching softly in the pine needles blanketing the forest floor.
I’m glad he has a weapon, though I’m not sure what good it’ll do if he’s not trained in combat.
Like the knight.
Never thought I’d wanthimaround. Funny how things change.
A moment later, my eyes finally find what I’m looking for, homing in on the shapes moving in the shadows. And this time when I growl, it’s feral, a deep sound that rips from my throat despite my human vocal cords.
Two wolves step from the woods.
And I give myself to my beast.
Chapter 4
Aurora
WITH THE COTTAGE TIDIED AND another batch of sourdough fermenting in the kitchen, I find myself seated in the rocking chair before the fire, humming softly while my knitting needles clink pleasantly. I’m rocking back and forth, pushing myself with one socked foot, using the beautiful dark green yarn Alden purchased for me in Wysteria this past autumn. It has a soft, almost buttery texture, perfect for mittens and socks. I’m working on a pair of mittens for Alden right now, which I intend to gift to him for Yule. Green has always suited him.
Then I gasp.
My knitting needles still.
Coming through my bond with Faolan, hot as flames licking at my skin, israge.
