Chapter 3 Ryder
Three
RYDER
After Freya’s visit, I hide the vial inside my cabin until the time comes to use it. Alpha or not, trusting a witch when attempting to kidnap another will lead to questions, so I don’t speak a word of it to anyone, the elders and Xander included.
Dad’s aged a decade throughout the course of the night. Without a way to ease the cursed magick, Marissa is stuck doing whatever she can to make him comfortable and hope he sleeps the week away until the witches return.
Being helpless while holding a position meant to have power and authority makes everything seem pointless. Being Alpha means being responsible for everyone here—and I’m failing my own father.
It was only Xander’s ongoing reminders about the meeting tonight that have prevented me from ripping into the town and hunting Carina, despite not knowing what she looks like.
All the hesitation felt when the other coven gave me this task faded throughout the night.
No matter what conflict it initiates, Dad comes first.
There are only hours before the meeting with Highridge Coven. I’m tense and on edge, so before my control goes completely to shit, I leave Xander in charge and escape to the one place that always provides solace—a refuge protected by my mother’s soul.
Standing by the pond doesn’t give me the usual tranquility. Something in the air feels tenser today. Though, that may be my nerves. Frayed and hours away from snapping and causing a bigger fight when I inevitably get aggravated by not having a proper plan.
The wind changes directions, a different scent suddenly fills my nostrils.
I lower my arms from where I’m about to tear out my hair in frustration.
It’s coming from somewhere behind me but relatively close too.
It’s nothing I can place, but it has my wolf clawing for release, to chase, hunt, and devour.
As I turn for the patch of woods, I inhale as much of the surrounding scents as possible, mentally cataloguing all the familiar ones: the water from the pond, the crinkly early-fall grass beneath my feet, and the pure air not clogged by the city’s scents.
Beneath them, another scent teases the edges of my senses. Moss and…water—but not the same water as behind me. No, this water is more subtle, a misting rather than a pool. It’s strong and laced with subtle traces of fire, wind, and dirt.
Witch.
There’s a familiarity to this one that the five from last night nor Freya came with. Their witchy scent is matched with a hint of mortals, telling me whoever the witch is, is from Highridge Coven.
A coven member wouldn’t dare come this far down the mountain, today of all days.
My next step towards the intruder is slow, the crisp twigs beneath my bare feet barely registering. I scan the bushes that line the woods and between the tree trunks but continue to pause on the centremost bush.
The closer I get, the stronger the scent of water becomes. Like faint rain that’s soothing and rejuvenating. Unlike the witches from last night or any from Highridge, this witch doesn’t cause my nostrils to burn.
The intruder is a female. Underlining her scent is a sweeter perfume that warlocks don’t generally come with. Femininity and fear, and my lips part slightly to capture it.
My wolf scratches at my insides, his whine in my throat. He wants out, to hunt the potential threat. Or to do something else entirely, because his reaction is strange. To any female, but especially a witch.
I enter the treeline as my ears pick up the scrambling of feet as she presumably attempts to escape. There’s nothing but an untouched forest…even if she sounds close.
Curious. Witches and their abilities.
“I won’t hurt you, whoever you are.”
It’s the truth. I won’t hurt her, but I will be capturing her. A Highridge witch dropping into my life is too great an opportunity to miss. Kidnapping her will make her a gambling chip to exchange for Carina.
Another pass through the trees, trailing the scent forward, but still without seeing a body.
My skin tingles, a pulse in my stomach, as though I can feel her. It makes zero sense and is probably a deception of her own magickal making. Yet, I continue onwards.
“I can smell you, witch.”
I step around a tree, my ears picking up her breathy pants. She’s somewhere nearby, drawing my attention to the small expanse of ground in front of me. It’s mostly clear of debris, but my eyes remain focused, stuck on what isn’t there.
Her scent catches on the wind again, and my fangs tempt poking through my gums. My skin itches, begging to be ripped apart for my wolf to be released. He longs to sniff her, to drag his nose along her throat and inhale what could be an addiction.
“I won’t hurt you.”
My lungs work overtime to inhale the deepest of breaths, never wanting to stop breathing her in. What is it about her?
“Why do you smell so fucking good?” It was supposed to remain an inner thought, so it doesn’t freak her out and make her run before having the opportunity of making her useful.
Sticks crack below my feet. No—not my feet…but nearby. She’s very close.
My head tips to the side and I remain still, listening on the wind for where her scent has gone. My eyes are once again drawn to the ground in front of me.
And then, some-fucking-how, shapes materialize in the precise spot I’m staring. A figure fades into existence, revealing a woman, probably around my age, gaping up at me.
A waterfall of chocolate-coloured hair lined with subtle blonde highlights—a colour appearing created by sun exposure and not dye—cascades over her shoulders, long enough to tangle with the dried leaves as she’s slightly reclined backwards, leaning as far away from me as possible.
Bright purple eyes—a signature sign of a witch—study me with identical intensity as I am her.
Freckles splatter the bridge of her nose, trailing towards the plumpest lips I’ve seen on a woman.
Her tongue appears, dabbing her bottom lip, and her sharp inhale draws my attention to her body.
Curves for days that would meld perfectly with my hands are encased in yoga pants and a zip-up sweater over a sports bra.
Siika.
The Old Language of shifters flits through my mind, despite so few words being used nowadays. Shifters across the continent have adopted English, to blend with humans. I don’t know why. Don’t know what made me think of it, but it doesn’t make the thought any less true.
Beautiful. This witch is stunningly beautiful.
My chest rumbles again; my wolf’s announcement he feels the same. It’s a strange reaction. Something I might care about if I didn’t have this gift from Highridge laid out in front of me for the picking.
“Well…” My tongue flicks my bottom lip; I need the pause to collect my thoughts. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you, witch?”
She immediately surges to her feet, glaring with widened eyes, as if I’m the one in the wrong. After another second, her arms move in front of her in defence, and knowing witches convey power through their hands, I keep my attention partially on them, intending to see her first sign of attack.
My gums ache as incisors poke through, and my fingers tingle from where claws are starting to sprout with a partial shift. It must be in response to her threat.
Eventually, when neither of us move, her gaze slowly travels up my chest to my neck and finally my face, meeting my eyes for the first time.
A jolt runs through me, jerking me to a standstill. Heart, mind, and body, I’m frozen, caught within her lavender gaze and anxiety-ridden posture. If I ever had thoughts of harming the trespasser, they’re gone as my wolf aches to approach.
To meet her.
What. The actual. Fuck.
I don’t know this woman.
I don’t care to know her.
But when she looks at me, the ground rumbles beneath my feet, forewarning me it’ll never be still again.
One gust of wind and I’d be tossed from the mountain’s peak that is her entire life—before giving her an entirely new kind of life.
My insides knot and unknot over and over until I’m fighting to remain upright against the pain.
It’s a message some unknown force is thrusting at me, but in a foreign language.
My wolf is crying inside my body, determined to rip me apart only to drag her home, keep her safe from anyone who’d consider harming her. Safe from her own coven. Safe from enemies. Safe from the winter weather that’ll be on its way in coming months.
If she’s on enemy territory without back up, it’s clear she’s unable to keep herself safe. She needs me.
Keep, he growls in my head. Take.
Distracting from the betrayal that is my inner being, I ask, “Who are you?”
She remains still, both of us trapped by the other. Her lovely throat moves with her swallow, and her head turns slightly to the right and then the left, seeking an exit.
I want to know her. Need to sniff for another male’s scent on her. See if she’s truly available to be taken.
What the hell is happening? Rocking back on my heels, I rub a hand down my face to confuse the scent of her with my own skin. Anything to make the pulsing in my body end.
“Why are you on our land?”
Her foot drags behind her in her feeble attempt to escape, but she’s too obvious to not notice. My head tips towards her feet, brows lifting to silently ask, You’re really going to try?
She darts off, in the direction of the road most often used by humans heading into town. Once she’s about a dozen feet away—and obviously believing herself safe—she spins around and throws both palms into the air.
Water out of seemingly nowhere splashes my face, drenching my clothes from head to toe before she launches herself deeper into the woods.
Charming. Though probably not the most effective spell because I’m still able to give chase.