Chapter 51
Aiden
Julian ducks under a spidering branch and straightens on the other side, eyes already sharp and scanning. His head tilts at every crack and rustle, scouting the quiet woodlands with lethal focus.
I try to do the same, but my eyes keep returning to him every five seconds.
I don’t know what happened to him between the start and end of that meeting, but something had scrubbed out that morbid acceptance. And as grateful as I am for the sudden wave of adrenaline—or hope, or whatever the hell he’s riding on—if it burns out while we’re out here, then I need to be ready.
But Julian doesn’t waver.
Each step deathly silent, deliberate. He moves like the predator he is. He’s ready for anything, and Goddess knows we could be walking into anything out here.
This is, admittedly, madness.
We’ve been home for less than twenty-four hours, and here we are, beyond packlands again, this chasing a witch. A fucking witch.
I never encountered one, and I wasn’t particularly eager to change that. But then Julian had dropped the bomb that he’d run into one out here less than a month ago, and now, here we are.
I don’t know what’s more surprising—that he hadn’t mentioned meeting the hag until now, or that a lone witch was running around out here.
Witches, like wolves, were familial creatures. We move in packs and they move in covens. That’s about where the similarities end.
They’re inherently cruel, even to their own. Where a pack protects its weakest, a coven drains their power and uses what’s left as compost. But even with all their freakish perversions, they don’t usually go it alone.
The fact that one had is as strange as it is ominous. But we’re running out of options, and if Julian’s willing to try this, then so am I.
I mirror each of Julian’s steps, keeping one ear on the forest and the other on the movements of the others with us. There are five of us out here: Beckett and Emitt, who refused to leave our sides, and Isabel, who volunteered the second we said we needed an extra scout.
As familiar as it is being together, it’s still strange walking through the unclaimed lands where I usually hunted for rogues. It feels like my two worlds are meeting when I never wanted them to. But we’re not here for rogues today, and Julian already knows the gritty details of that habit.
To our right, Beckett moves in a low crouch, a protective shadow at Julian’s side that hasn’t let up since we told them about the search.
I can tell he’s got a shit ton of questions, but he and Julian have this freaky thing going on where Julian would look at him, Beckett would nod, and then they would just focus on the task at hand.
Unfortunately, I do not have that with Emitt.
So, we’re looking for a witch? he asks through our link, following a few feet behind, watching our backs. Do you know what type of witch?
Emitt, I don’t know, I answer, scanning the trees for runes. I didn’t see her. Julian did.
I’ve never seen a witch before, he goes on, like this is small talk. What if she kills us all before we even find her?
Then at least you’ll die with friend, I shoot back, keeping my tone even. I would hope that with all our training, we’d sense her before she could.
But what if we don’t?
We will.
But what if—
Emitt, I whisper with straining patience. We won’t know until we’re in the thick of it. So please stop confusing this link with a dump for your personal thoughts.
I hear Emitt huff but, thankfully, he leaves it there.
Up ahead, a blur of brown hair flickers between the trees.
Isabel creeps ahead, blending in so well she almost disappears.
She moves quietly and carefully, the perfect vanguard warrior, but with a silent hunger that reminds me of my own.
The pride barely settles before she stops dead, lifting a hand.
We all freeze.
I barely breathe, scanning the woods ahead. Nothing moves. Nothing beyond the natural, at least—but if we’re dealing with an earth witch, “natural” doesn’t mean safe. Everything in front of us could be a trick.
At the curl of her fingers, we inch closer, moving silently until we crowd around her. I follow her gaze, seeing nothing at first, just the same stretch of forest beyond our borders. My lips part to ask, but then I see it.
It’s barely there. A thin stripe in the air, still until you look closer and catch the faint warble, like heat shimmering off asphalt.
A spell, Isabel hisses through the link. eyes flicking to Julian.
His focus is locked straight ahead, searching for something. The open pasture he told us he’d first spotted the witch in, isn’t there.
It could be a barrier, I hazard, eyes narrowing as I catch the space warble again. Or a gateway.
Dear Goddess, I hope not, Emitt whines. What if we go through and then fall into a pit of spikes on the other side?
Every head turns towards the smallest in our group, but he just blinks up at us like we’re the crazy ones. Honestly … fair point. Witches do have a thing for impaling their enemies.
Beckett crouches, grabs a twig off the ground and flicks it into the distortion.
It never lands.
The air splits open with a hiss, revealing a tear between what could only be the underworld and our own.
Four flaming purple scythes rip through the opening. Magic singes my nostrils as the blades swing, slicing through the air with lethal precision three times before slinking back into … who the fuck knows. When they’re gone, what’s left of the twig is in smoking pieces on the ground.
No one says a word.
Well, Emitt breathes, speaking quietly even through the link, the good news is—it’s not spikes.
Julian’s gaze cuts to me, and I know what he’s thinking before he says a word. The witch is here. And she’s every bit as powerful as he said.
The air is sour, Isabel comments, wrinkling her nose. Dark Magic. She’s a dark magic witch.
If that were the case, there would be no life around, Beckett counters, and as if to prove his case, a bird glides overhead. Nature only welcomes earth witches.
Then there’s more than one, I conclude.
Julian shakes his head. There was only one, and there were no other scents on her.
She masked herself, used a spell. Or maybe she’s met up with a friend since, I list off quickly, then shrug. There’s more than one type of magic at play here.
Witches have three factions: earth, dark, and ancestral. Each can only pull from one source—the earth, the dead, or their most powerful ancestors. Two types of magic at play in the same place? That means two witches.
So, what do we do? Beckett asks. His voice is steady, but his gaze keeps cutting towards Julian.
With all their years as friends, it’s clear that he senses the same thing I do from him. Julian’s already decided how this ends, and every instinct in me is screaming don’t let him do it. But what other choice do we have?
It’s this, or go home and wait for the worst, and that isn’t an option to me.
That was a protection spell, Julian says, scanning the trees. So one of them will be here to investigate soon … if they’re not already, He pushes his shoulders back with sudden determination. I’ll wait for her.
The hell you will, I grab his wrist before he can do something stupid like just walk out there. You’re not going to stand there after what we just saw.
Agreed! We just saw scythes drop from the sky, Julian! Emitt reminds with a gesture at the empty space. Purple, flaming, death scythes!
Julian ignores him, looking solely at me. One of them saw me. If she’s going to interact with any of us, it’s most likely to be me.
That’s true enough, but I’m not about to watch my mate walk out there and test these witch’s level of curiosity. Not to mention, as much as Julian is pointedly ignoring it, I know this whole thing is making him uncomfortable, considering his past with their kind.
Swallowing down the curses that try to crawl up my throat, I straighten beside him.
We’ll go together, I say.
Julian’s eyes widen with alarm.
If you think I’m letting you do this alone, then you don’t know me at all.
Lips sealed shut, he glares at me with obvious reluctance before forcing a stiff nod. You guys spread out. Surround the space and attack the second things take a turn.
Beckett hesitates, and I can see the argument forming on his face, but one look from Julian kills it. He isn’t getting him out of this one. With a glance at his mate, Beckett moves off to take his position. Emitt does the same with a mournful sigh, leaving Isabel in her spot.
Good luck, she whispers with a thumbs up.
“Well,” I mumble since there’s no point in using the link anymore, “let’s fucking do it.”
Julian grimaces, clearly not thrilled by his plan either, but on the same fuck it wave as I am.
Bending over, I grab a handful of twigs and stones, tossing them ahead with each step to make sure we don’t trigger the scythes of death as we close in on the tear.
The stench of magic gets stronger—earth and decay twisting together until my stomach roils. I try not to gag as Julian and I stop opposite the warble, close enough for the witch to see, if she decides to grace us with her presence.
You ready for a fight? I ask, poking at Max. He answers with a ragged growl. As far as he’s concerned, this is just another obstacle standing between him and Alex, and he’s prepared to do anything to get it out of the way.
The woods are quiet outside the scuttling of creatures, and the wind that canters by with an owl’s call. Beneath it, I can hear the others’ beating hearts, steady, if slightly faster than normal. We wait.
I sense them before they let us see them. Well, it’s not me so much as my body’s ingrained response to danger that starts with Max stiffening inside me, and ends with the hairs on the back of my neck rising.
From the corner of my eye, I see Julian tense too, but otherwise, he’s an unmoving mask of calculated indifference. We wait, breath in sync.
“We just want to talk to you,” Julian calls into the open.