Chapter 1
Gia
Suitcases are deceptive.
They look small and manageable sitting there open on your bed, like packing your entire life into one is totally reasonable and not at all symbolic of emotional upheaval.
Mine was currently gaping at me like judgment.
I stood in the middle of my apartment bedroom in Jersey City, surrounded by folded leggings, hiking boots, one decent sundress, and exactly eight pairs of cotton bikini briefs.
Nothing fancy or even remotely sexy.
Not that I needed it.
I wasn’t going away with a man. Wasn’t planning on dating anyone, or going clubbing, or bar hopping.
That wasn’t the point of this trip.
This was about magic.
Connection.
Purpose.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Valerie asked from the doorway.
I didn’t have to turn around to picture her.
Sandy blonde hair twisted up in a loose knot. Teal-leaning green eyes narrowed slightly in sisterly suspicion.
Arms folded over her chest like she could physically block me from making bad decisions if she tried hard enough.
“I’m not running away,” I muttered, shoving a thick sweater into the suitcase.
“It kinda feels like you are.”
That made me pause.
Valerie stepped into the room fully then, bare feet silent on the hardwood floor.
She looked almost ethereal in the late afternoon light streaming through the windows.
We didn’t look that much alike, but we shared the same eyes—bright green that sparked when magic flowed—but hers always tilted toward teal, like ocean water reflecting sky.
Mine were darker.
Grass-green.
Forest-bound.
When I worked magic, they lit up like sunlight through leaves.
“Glacier National Park is not running away,” I said defensively. “It’s field work.”
“It’s Montana,” she corrected dryly. “That’s practically running away.”
I huffed.
Our Coven—Greener Earth—had framed this trip as a restoration project.
An old land acquisition.
Ecological assessment.
Cabin installations for magical practitioners who needed immersion retreats.
All true.
Mostly.
But there was more to it than that.
The forests were thinning.
The magic lines were weakening.
Dryads were all but disappearing. Earth Witches, too.
And every time I closed my eyes lately, I heard something whispering from somewhere west.
A presence.
A plant or tree, maybe?
A piece of ancient magic crying for help.
I couldn’t ignore it.
Not when so few of us were left to answer.
Valerie leaned against my dresser.
“You sure you don’t want to stay here, use one of those dating apps, find a dude and just make a bunch of babies?”
I shot her a look.
“Shit,” she added quickly, though she wasn’t really sorry. “You know what I mean.”
Oh, I knew exactly what she meant.
Of course, that’s what I wanted.
A mate.
Children.
Roots that weren’t constantly threatened by asphalt and greed.
But wanting something and being able to find it were two very different things.
Dryads didn’t mate easily.
We didn’t respond to shallow attraction or convenient matches.
We bonded deeply or not at all.
And at thirty-six, with hips that curved generously and thighs that touched and breasts that refused to shrink no matter how much yoga I did, the pool of interested magical males wasn’t exactly lining up outside my door.
Add in the fact that my biological clock felt like it was ticking in Morse code lately, and yeah.
It stung.
“Sure, Val,” I said lightly, though it cost more than I wanted to admit. “Maybe that’s not for me. Maybe the Fates have other plans.”
Her gaze softened immediately.
“Gia…”
“I’m serious,” I insisted. “Maybe my thing isn’t babies and suburbia. Maybe my thing is forests and restoration and a broader purpose.”
Valerie didn’t look convinced.
“Or maybe your thing is just complicated.”
That too.
I zipped one side of the suitcase and moved to the bathroom to grab my toiletry bag.
Jeremy Steeler’s name floated through my mind uninvited.
Assistant VP of Greener Earth.
Polished.
Ambitious.
Attractive in that tailored-suit, confident-Witch kind of way.
He’d lingered after meetings more than once. Asked about my work. Suggested that strengthening my connection to the forest might help stabilize certain alliances.
Alliances.
Witches loved their formal language.
“Anyway,” I said casually, stepping back into the bedroom, “Jeremy said he’d call when I get back.”
Valerie made a face.
“Ugh, Jeremy?”
“What?” I asked defensively.
“He’s fine,” she allowed. “He’s just so corporate.”
She said it like it was a dirty word.
And she wasn’t wrong. He was a little stuffy.
But you know what they said about beggars and all.
“He’s practical.”
“He’s safe.”
I snapped my suitcase shut a little harder than necessary.
“Safe isn’t a bad thing.”
“No,” Valerie agreed quietly. “It’s not.”
But her expression said she knew me better than that.
Safe had never been what made my magic spark.
Safe didn’t make my eyes glow.
Safe didn’t make the vines beneath my skin stir restlessly.
“You just deserve something better, sis,” she said finally.
The word hit me harder than it should have.
Better.
Was there such a thing?
Everything lately felt muted.
Controlled.
Contained.
I’d been working magic in pockets and patches for years—healing soil here, stabilizing a root system there—but nothing big.
Nothing that soothed the empty ache inside my chest.
Nothing that made the forest truly sing back.
This trip wasn’t just about duty.
It was about remembering who I was.
A Dryad descended from guardians who once stood in groves older than cities.
A woman whose magic wasn’t finite like a Witch’s.
Mine came from the forests themselves.
And if the forests were calling?
I had to answer.
“I can’t sit here and scroll through dating apps hoping some dude with a beard and a yoga mat decides he’s into curvy tree spirits,” I said bluntly. “That’s not how this works.”
Valerie laughed softly.
“You say that like there isn’t a niche for that.”
“Not a big enough one.”
She crossed the room and pulled me into a hug without warning.
Her magic brushed against mine automatically. Familiar. Comforting. Like wind moving through the same canopy.
“Just be careful,” she murmured against my hair.
“I will.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
We pulled apart slowly.
Her teal-green eyes searched mine.
“If something feels wrong, you leave.”
“I will.”
“If some big, sexy mountain man with people issues tries to mark territory around you, you call me.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Val.”
“I’m serious.”
I grinned.
“Okay. If a giant, broody mountain man tries to kidnap me in the woods, I’ll text you first.”
She snorted.
“Text me before he kidnaps you.”
We both laughed.
The sound filled the apartment with warmth.
But beneath it, something else stirred.
A faint pull.
West.
Like roots tugging gently toward distant soil.
“You feel that too, don’t you?” Valerie asked quietly.
I nodded.
“The forest is hurting.”
“Yeah.”
“And you think it’s connected to this trip?”
“Yes.”
She studied me for one more long moment.
Then nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
Okay.
That was exactly what I needed from my sister.
Permission.
Support.
Witness.
It was important to me that she was on my side. After all, we were all each other had.
I hauled the suitcase upright and glanced around the apartment one last time.
Plants lined every windowsill. Ferns, ivy, and small potted saplings that were thriving under my care.
They hummed softly in response to my mood.
“I’ll miss you guys too,” I muttered to them.
Valerie smiled.
“You’re going to find something out there.”
“Hopefully, a dying ecosystem I can fix.”
She tilted her head.
“Or something that fixes you.”
I scoffed.
“I’m not broken.”
She raised one brow.
I ignored her.
As I stepped toward the door, my eyes flashed briefly—grass-green light sparking under my lashes as magic rippled outward unconsciously.
The vines on my wrists glowed faintly beneath the glamour hiding them.
Montana.
Glacier Park.
Fire and pine and old earth.
Something was waiting for me out there.
Something bigger than corporate retreats.
Bigger than Coven politics.
Bigger than apps and awkward small talk and biological clocks.
I didn’t know what it was yet.
But I could feel it.
Calling.
And for the first time in a long time, my magic answered back.