Chapter 6 - Heinrich #2
The room hums with tension, and Damian speaks first. “There was no direct engagement from the demons. Residual demon traces were the only thing left behind, and those were because the scouts sensed them first. No breach points were found. We sensed them, heard them, but they were gone when we charged forward.”
Amos exhales slowly. “Which confirms the pattern. They’ve sensed the arrival of the second witch.”
A shiver of dread runs down my spine, my hands curling into fists on the large oak table. Amos gestures to a large map laid across the central stone table—a detailed map of the valley, the borders, the fault lines of magic drawn across it.
He leans over the table and points to a spot on the map.
“The portal,” he begins, and the word lands heavily. “We think it might be here.”
The same one Sophie saw in her vision, the fracture between worlds from where the demons are entering our realm from the underworld.
Amos continues, “As we know from Luna Sophie’s vision, the demons aren’t entering randomly. They’re using a fixed gateway. It’s a stable breach point, and so far, we suspect that it’s here. If we find it, that means containment is possible. We can lock the demons out of our world for good.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence before Bernard speaks. “We need to start a search party for this portal. Go out and actively search for it before they attack again.”
Joel nods. ”With Heinrich’s mate in Silver Stone, we can’t risk them coming back to attack until Miss Singh is ready with her powers.”
My father’s voice cuts through the room. “Her safety is our number one priority,” he says.
Damian’s jaw tightens. “We won’t let the demons touch her. That’s why we need to find this portal.”
Amos turns to Damian. “Sophie’s vision wasn’t symbolic. It was spatial. The portal exists. It’s anchored. And if we don’t find it, they’ll keep using it.”
“Which means,” Conan says slowly, “they don’t need mass breaches anymore.”
“Exactly,” Amos replies. “They’ll send smaller forces. Precision strikes. Targeted attacks. And I suspect that tonight’s incident was simply them spying, tracking the new witch who’s arrived in the valley.”
My wolf growls under my skin, and my father finally speaks. “Let’s put together this search party.”
All eyes turn to him.
“We don’t wait for another massacre,” he continues. “We don’t wait for another pack to weaken. We don’t wait for another alpha to bleed. We find the portal.”
Amos nods. “We’ve triangulated possible locations based on energy disturbances and Sophie’s vision.” He taps three points on the map.
“First hunt in two days,” Damian says, his tone final, unquestionable.
Conan’s gaze shifts to me then, his eyes sharp and assessing. “So…” he says slowly. “How’s the new mate situation going, Heinrich?”
The room stills, and the air tightens. That kind of question doesn’t exist in isolation—not in council space, not in front of elders, not during war planning.
It’s not curiosity. It’s doubt. It’s pressure. That’s what Conan does best: to hide how frightened he is. He did it with Damian when the fated mate ritual was first introduced to us a month ago. He’s been hard-headed since then and won’t stop questioning everything.
Before I can answer, Damian’s voice cuts through the chamber like a blade. “That’s not your concern, Conan.”
Conan stiffens. “I’m just asking because—”
“No,” Damian interrupts, eyes hard. “You’re asking because you’re measuring stability.
Power. Loyalty. Readiness. You always do this, and it seems you’ve forgotten what I told you before.
” Damian steps forward. “Heinrich’s mate is not a liability.
She’s not a weakness. And she’s not a topic for council speculation.
She’s one of the only two people in the valley who can actually help us. Stop being a dick about it.”
The room holds its breath.
“You want to question leadership?” Damian continues. “Question strategy. Question deployment. Question the steps toward finding the portal. But don’t turn fated mate bonds into political leverage.”
Bernard shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and Joel says nothing. My father’s expression remains carved from stone.
Conan exhales through his nose. “Noted.”
Damian turns to me. “Go home, Henry. Your place isn’t here tonight,” he adds quietly. “Not in this room. Not in this headspace.”
I nod once, because he’s right, and because my mind isn’t here.
Annika’s bare shoulder is still burned into my vision. Her eyes are still in my chest, where my inner wolf is restless. My instincts are split, and Damian knows this. Because war requires clarity, and I don’t have it right now.
I turn without another word, and the council chamber doesn’t follow. No one stops me. No one questions it. Because hierarchy isn’t just about rank, it’s about trust. And Damian just exercised his trust in me.
The night air hits my lungs hard as I step outside, and it’s cold and clean, and I breathe it in.
But it does little to calm the fire under my skin.
It doesn’t quiet my wolf. It doesn’t erase her scent from my senses, even if I’ve been away long enough.
Her scent remains etched into my airways, and it doesn’t stop the pull.
It just makes it worse, because all I can think about is that exposed shoulder of hers, and how much I’m holding myself back from going back home and ripping her clothes to—
I shift before I reach the tree line, bones cracking, muscles folding, my form collapsing and reforming into fur and sinew and instinct.
My wolf is fast, purpose-driven, and determined to act on the pull deep within my being, while my mind remains chastising me for even thinking it’s a good idea. I’m pulled between the two—my inner wolf and logic—and I barely clock that I’m not running towards the cabin.
I’m running east.
Toward the pull.
Toward the only scent in the valley that doesn’t feel like war.
Toward Annika.
And only when I’m halfway into the forest do I realize that her scent is stronger out here than it is when she’s around me. That’s probably because I’m in wolf form, my senses heightened, but her scent being evident out here is wrong.
It’s wrong.
It shouldn’t be out here at all.
My wolf snarls, my muzzle lowering to the ground to trace the scent like a breadcrumb trail toward the depths of the forest. The night is eerily dark, save for the faint glow of the full moon, which is now retreating into the embrace of the grayish clouds enveloping the night sky.
There’s a casual hoot of an owl, the hiss of a snake slithering through the rocks, the humming of the earth’s vibrations rippling through my bones.
And there’s something else, something stronger.
Something powerful enough to explode my heart and tear me across in a hasty sprint through the forest between the mountains.
The scent of sweet jasmine grows stronger, and it’s the only air I want to breathe, lungs full, wolf almost sated but missing the one thing that could possibly quench this insatiable thirst my wolf feels.
Having Annika in my arms, pressed to my body, crushed to my lips…
As if the mere thought is strong enough to manifest her into my sight, I see her ahead, running with a pink sack flung over her shoulder, as if she used a nightgown as a makeshift bag.
She’s wearing a black bodysuit that hugs her curves snugly, looking like a shadow creeping in the night stealthily.
Every agile step is made with grace, like she’s a trained professional in espionage.
My heart treads carefully now, the pattering slowing down as if time itself slows, and my vision tunnels, blurring everything else around me to the focal point of Annika racing through the woods, running away from me.
Escaping me…
Escaping the fated mate bond.
My wolf won’t have it, won’t allow such a primal crime to occur, so I pounce forward with all the might bestowed upon me as the leader of this pack, the speed bringing me closer, my powerful paws crushing leaves and stones loud enough to grab her attention.
She looks back, and for a split second, meets my beady wolf eyes, hers widening with horror as she clocks my size, my furry form.
She turns and continues to run, attempting to go faster, her adrenaline pulsing off her like an invisible shield.
I can hear her heart echoing through the valley, thundering in my chest as if the beat is my own, and there’s nothing that can stop me from leaping forward with intense speed and agility, until she’s so close, I can almost taste her.
The taste is on my tongue when I hiss at her, begging her to stop in a language she doesn’t understand, my wolf wishing she wouldn’t run from me.
I don’t know if it’s the sound that startles her, or the mere chase, but she trips over a loose stone, and stumbles forward, landing on her knees, her makeshift sack spilling out a set of clothes.
“Ouch!” she yelps, and my heart stops, feeling the pain of scraped knees as if they were my own. I slow down, stalking forward carefully, as she turns her horror-stricken eyes on me.
“No…no…” she whimpers, pressing her eyes shut and recoiling as if she’s bracing for the impact of my gnarly, sharp teeth latching on her neck.
I mean, sure, I’d want to sink my teeth into her neck and drink in her pheromones, tasting her blood on my tongue.
But not to hurt her. Just to claim her, just to taste her golden flesh and mark her as my mate, leaving the indents of my teeth for a lifetime for her to wear like the only jewelry she’d ever need.
“Open your eyes, Annika…” my wolf purrs inside my head, begging, a plea for her to see me in my most authentic form.
Of course, she can’t hear me. She can’t see that the wolf stalking forward bears the same greenish-blue eyes my human does, my chestnut brown fur like the hair on the top of my human head.
As I advance slowly, carefully, Annika peeps through one eye, her breath visibly catching in her throat when she sees me towering over her like a looming, dreadful force that she’s about to surrender her life to. Fearfully, not willingly. Not in the way I would have preferred.
“Annika…look at me…” my wolf whispers, whimpering and lowering my furry head in an attempt to make her see that I wish her no harm. But she only presses her eyelids shut more tightly, barely breathing now, her shoulders tight as she braces herself.
I step forward, my airways filling with the intoxicating scent of her, turning me delirious, and I lift a front paw, gently pressing it upon her shoulder.
She opens her eyes and gasps, falling back as I’m left practically pinning her to the ground, looming over her as she stares at me like I just walked out of her worst nightmare.
As the sensations of the mate bond pulse from her shoulder into the soft cushions of my paws, her eyes meet mine, and there’s a glimmer of recognition in her warm, chocolate-brown orbs, her eyebrows lifting as if realization is hitting her.
But she shuts her eyes again, signaling her denial, and I do the only thing I can think of doing.
I shift into human form, five fingers pressed to her shoulder, my knees on either side of her waist.
“Annika…” I whisper, and this time, she can hear me. That’s when she opens her eyes, and more shock floods her paling cheeks.
“Henry…?”