Feral Bonds

Chapter 9: An Invocation

The wind howled through the dense forest as if the earth itself sensed her approach. The sky was thick with dark clouds, and the air crackled with energy, charged with the force of Elowen's magic. The ancient witch moved swiftly through the underbrush, her long black cloak billowing behind her like the wings of a raven. Her emerald eyes, blazing with fury, were set on the pack's hidden settlement. There would be no more hiding, no more threats. Her daughter's life hung in the balance, and she would not let these beasts claim her without a fight.

As she neared the clearing, the unmistakable scent of wolves filled her nostrils. Elowen's heart hammered in her chest, not from fear but from the unrelenting force of her anger. She had waited long enough. Her magic had already brushed against Sira's fading aura, confirming that her daughter was alive but barely holding on. Time was running out, and the wolves needed to be reminded of their place.

The trees that guarded the edge of the wolves' territory creaked outwards at her approach; the wolves on patrol cowered as they stared at her. She didn't bother with subtlety. A flick of her wrist sent them sprawling against the ground, their weapons falling from their hands as they gasped for air, their bodies pinned by invisible force.

"Witch Elowen," one of them choked, recognition flaring in his eyes as he struggled to lift his head. "The Alpha—"

"I know who he is," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. Her gaze shifted toward the cabin at the heart of the settlement, where she could sense the heavy, dominant presence of the Alpha. Brannoc, the beast who held her daughter captive. The pack's scent filled the clearing—wild, feral, dangerous—but it did nothing to deter her. She was no stranger to danger, and this was no ordinary confrontation.

Elowen raised her chin and strode forward, her magic thrumming beneath her skin. She could sense the pack's unease as she passed by, wolves watching her with wary eyes from the shadows. None dared to approach her. Not yet.

The door to the cabin flew open before she reached it, and Brannoc emerged, his hulking frame filling the threshold. His eyes, cold and calculating, narrowed as they settled on her. He took a slow step forward, his lips curling into a twisted smile.

"So, the witch finally shows herself," Brannoc growled, his voice low and dangerous. His presence was suffocating, his dominance radiating like a smothering fog. But Elowen stood tall, unflinching in the face of his power. She had faced far worse than him in her lifetime.

"You've taken something that belongs to me," Elowen said, her voice sharp and unwavering. She stepped closer, her eyes boring into his. "I'm here to take her back."

Brannoc's smile widened, revealing sharp teeth. "Your daughter, you mean? The little witchling we found wandering too close to my territory?" He let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head as if amused. "She belongs to me now. And if you want her back, you'll have to earn her."

Elowen's fingers twitched at her side, her magic sparking at the edges of her control. The desire to unleash her full power, to tear this pack apart and drag her daughter from their clutches, burned hot within her. But she knew better. If she acted rashly, Sira would be the first to suffer. Brannoc would make sure of it.

"What do you want, Brannoc?" she asked coldly, her eyes narrowing.

"An Invocation," he said, his voice thick with the weight of tradition. "A blood pact. I invoke you, witch, under the laws of the Old Ways. You will not harm my pack, and in return, I will not harm your daughter."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. An Invocation bound by the Old Ways was unbreakable. It was a contract of life and death, a pact sealed by ancient magic that could not be undone. If Elowen accepted, she would be bound to it—unable to use her magic against the pack, no matter what happened to Sira.