Chapter Three

Later that evening, once Leisel’s tucked into her bed after having eaten twice her weight in beef stew, I ask her, “What story will it be tonight?”

A nightly tradition of ours is me reading to her. Most often she requests Shakespeare—just last night we finished Romeo and Juliet. Despite being relatively young, she has a surprising adoration of Shakespeare’s works, tragedies and all. I suspect it’s something she got from our father, gods rest his soul. He was a true lover of the classics and could quote most of Shakespeare’s works by memory alone.

“Hamlet,” she immediately requests. I long ago got over the worry that reading such tragic, sometimes gory plays would affect her bubbly disposition—nothing can affect it.

I nod, briefly leave her room to retrieve the worn old copy, and then make myself comfortable in a chair beside her bed before starting to read.

Chip’s already sound asleep next to Leisel’s head on her pillow, and it takes only twenty minutes for her to join him in dreamland. Once I’m sure she’s in a deep sleep I stand, set down the book, and turn out the lights before leaving and quietly closing her door behind me.

Then, blowing out a deep breath, I get to work bolstering the protective wards I carved into every corner of the cabin years ago with the help of my mother. Pricking my finger with a sharp knife, I go to each symbol—a small conglomerate of squiggles, barely visible—and use a smidgen of my blood to power them up.

All witches have magical blood—even my mother, who never manifested any powers. The stronger the magic in your blood, the more effective it is in rituals and practices. Even though I have every confidence that the Rockwell Pack will see no reason to disgrace my home with their presence, it never hurts to have an extra boost of protection.

The symbols themselves, in essence, beseech the gods for favor and to protect the occupants of this residence. Adding my blood to them on occasion strengthens them. Although the wards aren’t actually capable of keeping people out—I don’t have access to spell work that powerful—at minimum they bring a bit of luck to my life.

Afterwards, I pour myself a small glass of wine—a delicacy I can only get my hands on maybe once every few months—and head to the spare room at the rear of the cabin, flicking on the lights. It’s a modest studio of sorts. There’s a rickety old desk set up in front of the window with a few palettes, an assortment of ancient brushes in a wooden cup, and a colorful array of paints in glass jars, along with smaller containers of pigments. On the edge of the desk stands a large tub of linseed oil.

In the center of the room is an easel, with my half-finished painting of a startlingly bright moon and sky full of stars above a forest propped on it. On the walls hang other paintings I’ve completed, and several of my mother’s as well.

I head over to the table, set down my wine, and get to work mixing a few greens on a palette before moving in front of the easel and getting to work. The sky is almost done—it’s the forest that needs the most work. I lose myself in the shades of the colors and the strokes of the brushes on the canvas.

Despite trying not to recall the past, I can’t help but remember how many nights I watched my mother paint in this exact spot. My father would sometimes pull up a chair, and the three of us would discuss anything and everything. Then, when Papa passed away, it was just me and Mom here—but somehow, she never allowed me to be melancholy. Even though she was a single mother to a teenager with a baby on the way, her spirits were always high.

Its been many years since my parents passed, but I still feel their presence so acutely they might as well be here. I feel them every day while doing the things they taught me—caring for horses, farming, hunting, painting, teaching Leisel—and it never fails to make me miss them.

Truly, having Leisel in my life was the only thing that kept me going after Mom’s death. I had to be capable for her, had to learn how to provide for both of us. There was no other option since I absolutely refused to lose yet another family member. If it had been just me, alone, I doubt I would’ve forced myself to become an adult and work as hard as I have.

It’s just as I’ve finished my wine, and head to the kitchen to wash the glass in the sink that I feel a prickle of awareness race up my spine. That in itself makes me freeze because the only time I feel such a thing is when danger’s approaching.

My entire body tenses when three thunderous booming knocks sound on the front door. They’re so loud and aggressive that I fear the wood just might splinter.

Mariketa warned me that the Alpha’s family would be passing through Aesara tonight to scent out mates, but there’s no possible way for either Leisel or me to be a mate to a shifter, since we’re not quite human. At least, there’s never been a recorded case of an earthly witch being the other half to any type of mythic.

Then again, the number of earthly witches in existence can be counted on one hand. Could Leisel or I possibly be the other half to a shifter? Just because it’s never happened before doesn’t mean it’s impossible.

I give my head a shake. My fear is probably a needless one—the knocks could’ve come from any one of the villagers.

At this time of night? With the sort of force that rattled the entire house?

Trying to ignore the small warning voice in the back of my head, I pick up a knife from the knife block in the kitchen, slide it into my back pocket, and slowly walk towards the door. Three more knocks resound, nearly blowing the door off its hinges, and making me wince.

Swallowing as I approach it, I tentatively call out, “Who is it?”

A female voice answers from the other side. “By decree of the Rockwell Pack, entrance into this home is demanded.”

The fact that the voice is female doesn’t calm the panic her words ignite. Shifters travel in groups; just because a female is knocking on the door, doesn’t mean there aren’t males around her. One of which could potentially upend my entire life.

Oh gods, Leisel. If my worst fear is true, and I’m the unlucky mate of a mutt, I don’t know what would happen to my little sister. I’d have to be dragged out of this home kicking and screaming to abandon her, but the fact of the matter is that she very well might end up alone.

I frantically think through options when it comes to her. Just about every villager adores her, so I have no doubt someone would be willing to take her in, in the event of my absence. Mariketa would surely do so happily, but even the thought of separating from her makes me nauseous. Although Leisel is technically a sister, I’ve raised her as my own from birth. Sheltered, nurtured, and cared for her. I can’t imagine having distance between us.

“If this door isn’t opened within thirty seconds, it will be broken down,” warns whoever’s on the other side of the door.

A wave of disgust towards mythics—shifters in specific—washes over me, and the anger gives me the necessary gumption to unlock and swing open the entrance to my home.

As soon as I do, a wave of cold fresh fear washes over me. The woman banging on the door, as I suspected, isn’t alone. She’s accompanied by three men, all of whom watch me with expressions of partial curiosity, partial irritation—likely at how long it took me to follow an order. I very much doubt any shifter is accustomed to not being instantly obeyed by humans.

The woman takes my measure with sharp eyes, her brows furrowed as she looks me over. She looks to be in her late twenties, but that’s no real indicator of her age. Once mythics reach mid-twenties, their aging slows to a crawl. She could be half a century old despite her somewhat youthful features. Her eyes are a deep amber, and she has shoulder-length blonde hair. She’s two or so inches taller than me, standing at around five-six.

One of the men with her steps forward, drawing my attention to him. The breath catches in my throat as we make eye contact. His eyes are a peculiar silvery blue—a color that I know is unique to Alphas. He’s tremendously tall, towering well over a foot above me. He has short, light-brown hair that’s wind-tousled, and his body consists of pure powerful muscle, visible underneath his simple white shirt and dark pants. His feet are encased in riding boots, made of what appears to be fine leather.

Forcing aside the urge to step back and slam the door in his face out of fear, I keep my tone as bored as possible. “May I inquire as to why four shifters are gathered on my porch?”

The Alpha seems amused by my words, and one corner of his full lips ticks up. That small gesture sends a flare of lust so strong through me that my knees almost buckle as heat pools low in my stomach, the sensation completely foreign and entirely unwelcome.

Fucking. Shit.That’s the sort of reaction I’ve read and heard mates have towards each other; soul-rending lust. Shit, shit, SHIT!

How could the fates be so cruel towards me? I’ve led a good life. I try to do well by others. What could I have possibly done to deserve this?

“Tell me your name,” the Alpha demands.

The order angers me immensely because he has absolutely no right to demand anything from me. It’s because of his species that both my parents are dead, and humans are back to living in the Middle Ages. Even being in his presence is sickening.

Thankfully, the lust clears up with my thoughts.

I stare at the Alpha as he stares at me, growing more disgusted by the second at the sight of him. Instead of answering him—as I’m sure everyone always jumps to do—I say flatly, “You haven’t answered my question.”

He appears momentarily shocked at my nerve, but it is quickly replaced by intense scrutiny. “I think you’ve guessed the answer to that. Unless, of course, you’re a simpleton.”

Battling with the urge to take my knife out of my pocket and bury it in his chest, I grit my teeth and glare at him. I’m far too outnumbered for an assassination attempt, and besides, I doubt I’d get very far.

Before I can say anything, another one of the males steps forward. He has an air of authority surrounding him that’s similar to the Alpha’s, but not quite as powerful. I catalogue him as the potential Beta.

His deep-brown eyes flare along with his nostrils, and then he pushes past me, entering my house without a word.

I leap in front of him, all of my protective instincts jumping into overdrive. “Get out of my house,” I growl.

His eyes darken with anger as he stares at me. “I know you’re merely a human, but even you should know better than to get between a shifter and their mate.”

Dear fucking gods, Leisel. He can’t possibly be talking about anyone else. How could this be? Both of us, fated to abhorrent perversions of nature?

“Not another step,” I say, my voice bordering on hysterical as I think of my little sister. The fates must truly despise us both to pair me with an Alpha, and a nine-year-old child with a Beta.

Because the entire universe seems to despise me, at that moment, I hear Leisel’s door opening, followed by her tentative voice behind me. “Sierra?”

Before the Beta can take another step or make another sound, I’m in front of my little sister, shielding her with my body. I feel the anxiety coming off of her as one of her small hands grasps mine.

“This town is not under the jurisdiction of any mythics,” I say through clenched teeth as the Alpha also steps into my home uninvited. “You have no right to invade my home. Get out.”

The Alpha looks delighted by my spine, disregarding my words altogether. “Sierra,” he says, testing my name. I suppress a shiver of pleasure the sound causes to race up my spine. “I’m Alpha Camden Kent.”

“And I’m bored,” I fire back. “Get. Out.”

When neither of them moves, I glance over my shoulder at Leisel. “Go to your room, sweet girl. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Knowing this isn’t the time to argue, she promptly rushes back into her room, shutting the door behind her.

I press a hand to my forehead, recent events causing an overwhelming headache. My only potential way out of this situation would be to declare duelum—a law that allows humans the chance to battle their way out of having to mate. When a human declares duelum, they’re paired with a member from their mate’s pack or clan or coven and the two have a duel. If the human wins, which has only happened a handful of times, they’re free. If they lose, which is almost always, they’ll be bound to a monster for the rest of their lives.

Leisel, however, is too young to take the path of duelum. According to mythic laws, shifters can’t mate with humans under the age of eighteen. So, at least she’s somewhat safe for the time being.

I, however, am an entirely different story. If I lose the duel, I belong to the pack. I could win it with ease if I used my powers, but revealing them is not the wise thing to do. If the Alpha finds out that I’m a very rare type of witch, with an even rarer ability, he’ll view me as far more of an asset than simply being his mate, and then he might never stop searching for a way to keep me.

Trying to shore myself up, I remember the tens of thousands of hours of hard labor I’ve put into the farm—labor that’s given me above-average strength. And then, there are the vague memories of the fighting lessons Dad used to give me. Even if I don’t utilize my powers, I have better chances than most humans would in a duel with a shifter.

Hands landing on my arms abruptly draw me out of my thoughts. I jerk back from Camden’s grasp and glare at him. “Don’t touch me.”

His eyebrows hit his hairline with surprise at my aggression, and then he lets out a low, dark chuckle. “My beautiful little mate. Don’t make this difficult. I’ve waited plenty long for you—I’ll wait no longer.”

Squaring my shoulders, I look him in the eye. “Your people have ruined countless human lives. You’ve caused more death, pain, and despair than even the worst of our dictators and tyrants did throughout our history. If you think there is any chance that I’ll ever be a compliant little mate, think again. Duelum.”