That night, Kael came back. She felt him before she saw him—the shift in the air, the low growl that sent every hair on her body standing upright.
"You should leave," she told him as he entered her shack. "The villagers already hate me enough without—"
"They hate you because they fear you," he interrupted, his tone sharp. "But fear can be turned into respect. Into worship."
"I don't want worship. I just want peace."
He stepped closer, his massive frame looming over her, his eyes glowing faintly green in the dim firelight. "There will never be peace for what you are."
Her throat tightened. "And what am I?"
"A witch of the bloodline," he said. "Powerful. Untamed. Desired. The kind that kings would kill for, and wolves would die for."
Her chest tightened as his hand rose, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "Stay close to me, and none will dare touch you."
Her breath caught, heat rushing through her veins. But before she could answer, a howl echoed from deep in the forest. Urgent. Warning.
Kael's head snapped toward the door. "Hunters."
And without another word, he shifted—bones snapping, muscles twisting, fur spilling over skin—until the great black wolf stood before her, massive and terrifying, his green eyes burning like emerald fire.
"Stay inside," he growled, voice rumbling even in wolf form.
But as he bounded into the night, she knew she could not.