Chapter 10 - Reeyan
The forest swallows us whole, fifteen minutes past the Grayhide border.
One moment, we’re driving through familiar desert scrubland, and the next, we’re surrounded by trees so old and thick they block out most of the afternoon sun. Mist rolls between the trunks like living things, coiling and twisting.
“This is normal?” Sera asks from the passenger seat, peering through the windshield at the unnatural haze.
“For Hysopp territory, yes.” I keep both hands on the wheel as the road narrows to barely more than a path. “They don’t exactly encourage visitors. The forest is their first line of defense against unwanted guests.”
“Comforting.”
My wolf paces beneath my skin, restless and alert in a way he rarely gets. Old magic saturates the atmosphere here, thick enough that even humans would feel it pressing down. For shifters, it’s almost suffocating.
Sera wraps her arms around herself despite the truck’s heater running at full blast. “How much farther?”
“Another mile, maybe two. Evangeline said to follow the main path until it splits, then take the left fork toward the stone markers.”
“Evangeline,” she repeats the name. “Raegan mentioned her. Said she officiated the forced marriage ceremony.”
“She did. Evangeline specializes in magical bindings. Understanding them, creating them, breaking them. If anyone can help us make sense of what was done to your pack, it’s her.”
Sera doesn’t respond. Just stares out the window at the fog-wrapped trees, lost in thoughts I can’t read.
The mate bond thrums between us, stronger today than yesterday, stronger yesterday than the day before. Every hour we spend together seems to amplify the connection until it’s a constant presence in my chest.
She has to feel it by now. Has to notice the pull when we’re close, the way her wolf perks up whenever I enter a room, the electric current that runs through us both when we touch.
But she hasn’t said anything. Hasn’t acknowledged it. And I’m too much of a coward to bring it up first.
The path splits ahead, marked by two standing stones covered in moss and carved with symbols I don’t recognize. I take the left fork as instructed, and the forest seems to close in tighter around us.
“Tell me about her.” Sera breaks the quiet without looking away from the window. “Evangeline. What should I expect?”
“She’s old. Not in years necessarily, but in power and knowledge.
Been with the Hysopp Coven longer than most of the current leadership.
” I swerve around a fallen branch that wasn’t there on my last visit.
“She sees things others don’t. Magical connections, binding spells, the threads that tie people together, whether they want to be tied or not. ”
“Sounds invasive.”
“It is. She’ll know about the mate bond the moment she looks at us. Will probably comment on it whether we want her to or not.”
Sera turns to face me for the first time since we left Grayhide territory. “What mate bond?”
My hands grip the steering wheel hard enough to make the leather creak. “Sera—”
“What mate bond, Reeyan?”
The truck hits a pothole I didn’t see, and I use the excuse to focus on the road instead of meeting her eyes. “We can talk about it later. After we meet with Evangeline and review the records.”
“We can talk about it now.” Her voice goes flat in that Llewelyn way that means she’s done with evasion and half-truths. “Is that what I’ve been feeling? This pull toward you? The way my wolf acts like you’re the most interesting thing in the world?”
“Yes.”
The word sits in the space between us for three heartbeats.
“And you didn’t think to mention it?” She doesn’t sound angry. Just tired. “You’ve been keeping me here under treaty authority, manipulating me into staying, and the whole time there’s a mate bond between us that you conveniently forgot to bring up?”
“I was going to tell you. After we figured out the curse situation. After things had settled between us.” The excuse sounds weak even to my own ears.
She turns back to the window. “That’s not an excuse. That’s cowardice.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. But hearing her say it still feels like taking a blade to the gut.
“I’m sorry.”
“Save it.” She waves a hand dismissively. “We’re here for answers about my pack, not to dissect whatever this is between us. Let’s focus on that.”
The conversation dies there, leaving only the sound of tires on dirt and haze scraping against the windows.
The forest opens into a clearing after another quarter mile.
Buildings materialize from the mist like they’ve always been there, and I just couldn’t see them before.
Low stone structures with thatched roofs, smoke rising from chimneys, and gardens full of plants that shouldn’t be blooming in this season but are anyway.
A woman stands waiting at the edge of the clearing. Tall and willowy, with silver hair that falls past her waist and eyes so pale they’re almost colorless. She wears simple robes in shades of gray and green, and the haze seems to part around her without actually moving.
Evangeline.
I park the truck and kill the engine. “Let me do the talking initially. Witches have protocol for these things, and violating it pisses them off.”
“Noted.” Sera climbs out of the passenger side, and I follow.
The moment our feet touch the ground, Evangeline’s gaze locks onto us, making my wolf want to bare his teeth. She studies Sera first, then me, then the space between us where the mate bond pulses with energy only magical practitioners can see.
“Interesting.” Her voice sounds like wind through leaves. “Very interesting indeed.”
“Evangeline.” I incline my head in the formal greeting the coven requires. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice.”
“The Hysopp Coven maintains relationships with all packs in the region. When you requested access to our archives regarding historical magical workings, I was intrigued. And now I understand why.”
Sera stands perfectly still, spine straight and chin up in that Llewelyn way that refuses to show discomfort. “I’m Sera Thornwick. From the Llewelyn pack.”
“I know who you are.” Evangeline stops right in front of her. “I can see what was done to you. What was done to all of you. The binding wrapped around your heart, squeezing and suppressing until you can barely feel anything at all.”
“You can see it? The curse?”
“Oh yes. Clear as day to anyone with the sight.” Evangeline gestures toward the largest building. “Come. The archives will explain better than I can.”
We follow her across the clearing and through a heavy wooden door into what looks like a library built inside a cave.
Shelves carved from rock hold countless volumes, scrolls, and loose parchments.
The smell of old paper and dried herbs fills the space, and somewhere in the back, I hear water dripping with rhythmic persistence.
Evangeline leads us to a table in the center of the room where several documents are already laid out. She must have pulled them before we arrived.
She taps the largest parchment. “The Llewelyn binding. Commissioned three hundred and seven years ago by a witch named Moira Ashwood. A member of this very coven, though we cast her out after we discovered what she’d done.”
Sera leans over the document, eyeing it. “Why? What did she do?”
“Created a curse designed to punish an entire pack for the sins of a few.” Evangeline’s pale eyes reflect candlelight that isn’t actually burning.
“Moira fell in love with a Llewelyn wolf. One of the alpha males from a prominent family. She offered herself to him, offered her magic and her heart, and he rejected her. Publicly. Humiliated her in front of both his pack and ours.”
“So she cursed all of us? Because one man was cruel to her?”
“She cursed the women, specifically. The mothers, the daughters, the sisters.” Evangeline pulls out another document.
“She wanted them to feel what she felt. The inability to connect, to trust, to love freely. She wove magic that would make Llewelyn women emotionally distant, unable to form the deep bonds that give packs their strength. Now, because of that frigidness, there are almost no male Llewelyn left.”
I step closer to read the details. The spell work is complex, layered with redundancies and failsafes that would make it nearly impossible to break through conventional means.
“Self-perpetuating.” I trace a finger along one passage. “It passes from mother to daughter, growing stronger with each generation.”
“Exactly.” Evangeline nods. “By the time we discovered what Moira had done and expelled her, the curse had already taken root. Three generations of Llewelyn women lived under its influence, and the magic had woven itself so deeply into the pack’s bloodline that removing it would have killed anyone we tried to free. ”
“So you left it,” Sera supplies. “You knew my pack was suffering under a curse, and you just left it there.”
“We had no choice. The magic was too entrenched. Breaking it would have required power we didn’t possess and cooperation from Llewelyn leadership that wasn’t forthcoming.
Your ancestors chose to believe the emotional distance was a cultural adaptation rather than magical imprisonment. They refused our help.”
“Because the curse made them refuse,” I interject. “Part of its design. The binding suppresses the ability to recognize it for what it is.”
“Precisely.” Evangeline pulls out a third document, this one newer than the others. “Which is why your emergence is so significant, Sera Thornwick.”
“My emergence?” Sera looks up from the documents. “What does that mean?”
“You developed psychic abilities despite the curse’s suppression of such gifts.
” Evangeline moves around the table to stand in front of Sera again.
“Visions. True sight. The ability to see through magical bindings and recognize them for what they are. That shouldn’t be possible for a Llewelyn woman under the curse’s influence. ”
“But it is possible,” I comment as I connect the pieces. “Because of the mate bond. The connection to me is giving her access to abilities the curse normally suppresses.”
“The mate bond acts as a conduit,” Evangeline confirms. “It provides power and connection strong enough to create cracks in the binding. Those cracks allowed Sera’s natural psychic abilities to emerge, which in turn let her see the curse for what it is.”
Sera stares at the witch like she’s grown a second head. “You’re saying I can see the curse because of him? Because we’re mates?”
“The mate bond triggered something that was always inside you,” Evangeline corrects. “The abilities are yours. The bond simply gave them room to grow.”
“And breaking the curse?” I ask the question Sera can’t seem to voice. “Is it possible now?”
“With her help, yes.” Evangeline gestures to Sera.
“Breaking a curse of this magnitude requires enormous magical power and the willing participation of someone from within the affected bloodline. Someone who has broken free enough to see what needs to be done. Someone whose psychic abilities can guide the process and ensure the binding releases cleanly rather than catastrophically.”
“You want me to break it.” Sera’s voice comes out barely above a whisper. “A curse that’s been in place for three centuries. That affects every woman in my pack.”
“You’re likely the only one who can.” Evangeline returns to the documents.
“The curse was designed to prevent exactly this scenario. To suppress any abilities that might allow someone to recognize and challenge it. The fact that you’ve developed visions despite those safeguards means you’re strong enough to survive what comes next. ”
“What comes next? What happens if I try to break it?”
“Pain,” Evangeline states without a trace of regret.
“The curse will fight back. Will try to squeeze harder, suppress deeper, eliminate the threat you represent. Breaking free will require you to push through that resistance while we work the counter-spell from outside. It won’t be easy.
It won’t be pleasant. And there’s no guarantee you’ll survive it intact. ”
I watch Sera process this, see her working through implications and possibilities with that analytical mind that makes her such a good archivist. Everything she thought was cultural identity might actually be magical imprisonment.
Her pack’s emotional distance isn’t a strength, but a wound that’s been festering for three hundred years.
“How long do I have?” she finally asks. “To decide whether to try breaking it?”
Evangeline begins gathering the documents. “As long as you need. Though I should warn you—Thornridge’s interest in your pack means they may have discovered the curse’s existence. If they’ve found a way to exploit or manipulate it, waiting too long could put every Llewelyn woman at risk.”
“Of course.” Sera forces out a laugh. “Because nothing about this situation can be straightforward.”
“Curses rarely are.” Evangeline hands her a leather folder containing copies of the key documents. “Take these. Study them. Discuss with your pack leadership and the other psychics who’ve sensed the binding. When you’re ready to proceed, the Hysopp Coven will support you however we can.”
Sera takes the folder with hands that tremble despite her attempts to stay composed. “Thank you. For your honesty, if nothing else.”
“I’m sorry for what was done to your people. We should have done more to stop Moira. Should have found a way to help even when Llewelyn refused. That failure has haunted this coven for three centuries.”
We leave the archive room and walk back through the clearing toward my truck. The haze has grown denser while we were inside, making everything beyond ten feet completely invisible. My wolf remains on high alert, aware that we’re still deep in territory that doesn’t welcome our kind.
Sera doesn’t speak until we’re back in the truck with the engine running. Even then, she just stares at the leather folder in her lap like it might bite her.
I want to say something. To offer comfort or reassurance or anything that might make this easier. But what words exist for learning that your entire identity is built on someone else’s revenge?
“Sera—”
“Don’t,” she cuts me off without looking up. “Just drive. Please.”
So I do.
We leave Hysopp territory in silence, the forest releasing us as reluctantly as it let us enter. The haze follows us for miles before finally dissipating, revealing familiar desert landscape and the late afternoon sun.
Sera clutches the folder like a lifeline, and I watch her from the corner of my eye as I drive. My mate. The woman who might be strong enough to break a three-hundred-year-old curse, or might die trying.