A Witches Alpha

Chapter Two

Two days had passed since Seraphine received the potion from Vendetta. Whether Seraphine chose to drink it or not was her decision to make, and Vendetta left her to it. The witch found herself immersed in her usual routine, collecting rare herbs and elements, working on her craft, and maintaining her small cabin nestled in the woods. Vendetta had grown accustomed to the rhythm of solitude, only interrupted by Seraphine's visits.

But this particular afternoon, Seraphine passed along a message from her pack's Alpha. The pack was hosting a grand celebration to honor the treaty between the Silver Claw Pack and the Black Lotus Pack, and the Alpha extended an invitation to Vendetta. The reason was obvious. Packs always tried to secure witches to serve as healers or magical advisors. Vendetta wasn't inclined to attend, preferring her secluded life over mingling with werewolves who only saw her as a tool.

However, Seraphine had a way of convincing her. After some back-and-forth, her persistence finally wore Vendetta down. Begrudgingly, she agreed to attend.

As the night of the celebration arrived, Vendetta prepared herself. Her usual attire—long black gowns adorned with intricate lace and subtle magic weaves—was fitting for both her persona and her power. She chose a fitted dress, dark as midnight, that swept the ground as she walked, the hem embroidered with silver threads that shimmered like starlight. Her sleeves billowed slightly, and a veil of lace covered her face. As always, she carried her matching parasol, though the night sky had no sun to guard against.

Making her way through the dense woods, Vendetta moved with purpose. The magic that veiled her cabin dissipated behind her as she stepped into the pack's territory. The familiar scent of the Silver Claw Pack's land filled the air—pine trees, earth, and the faint hint of something wild. She had been here before, though always on her terms.

Upon entering the gathering, she ignored the familiar faces she'd grown indifferent to. Wolves from the pack milled around, their eyes following her form, but Vendetta gave them no mind. Her focus was solely on the task at hand—appearing just enough to appease Seraphine's request and nothing more. She was no social butterfly, after all.

As she moved deeper into the territory, the crowd parted for her, whispers trailing behind like shadows. She eventually reached the heart of the celebration, where the Alpha of the Silver Claw Pack, a broad-shouldered man with graying hair and a commanding presence, greeted her with a knowing smile.

"Vendetta, as elusive as always," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "I'm glad you could join us."

She nodded curtly, uninterested in pleasantries. The Alpha wasted no time introducing her to his counterpart, the Alpha of the Black Lotus Pack.

"Vendetta, meet Alpha Caelan," the Silver Claw Alpha said, gesturing between them. "He leads one of the most powerful packs to the east. Black Lotus has been a strong ally of ours for many years."

Caelan took her hand in his, his grip firm but not unkind, and as his lips brushed against the back of her gloved hand, his eyes never wavered from hers. His gaze was piercing, probing, as if he were trying to strip away her very essence with just a look. "Vendetta," he said, his voice a low rumble, "it's a pleasure."

She narrowed her eyes slightly, pulling her hand back with smooth, deliberate precision. "Is it?" she replied coolly, her voice indifferent, though inwardly she was already dissecting him—his presence was unnerving, not because of what he projected, but because of what he hid. He felt like danger wrapped in mystery, and she had learned long ago to trust her instincts.

The Alpha of the Silver Claw Pack smiled awkwardly, oblivious to the tension simmering between them, and excused himself, leaving the two in uncomfortable isolation amidst the crowd of wolves.

Vendetta's gaze never softened, her suspicion heightening with each passing moment. The soft breeze whispered through the trees, but there was a strange stillness between them as if the world had paused. She stood with her parasol lowered, fingers lightly gripping its handle, her eyes flicking between his unrelenting gaze and the rest of him as if sizing up a potential adversary.

"Your reputation precedes you," Caelan said after a beat, his tone smooth but cold. His voice was commanding, almost predatory, and Vendetta couldn't tell if his words were meant to compliment or to intimidate.

"And yours is lacking," she replied, equally as sharp, offering no room for charm. Her tone suggested indifference, but behind her cool exterior, her mind whirred. There was something deeply unsettling about this man, though she couldn't place it. He was unlike anyone she had ever met, and the pull she felt towards him only made her warier. "You're quite bold for someone who doesn't know me."

Caelan's lips curved into the slightest smirk, not one of amusement, but of acknowledgment. "It seems I know more than you think." His eyes remained fixed on hers, never faltering, his posture commanding as if used to people bending to his will. But Vendetta was not like most people. She sensed his confidence, his dominating aura, and while many would shrink under it, she remained unyielding, a stone in a storm.

"I'm sure you do," Vendetta replied, her tone deliberately dismissive, even though the tension between them was palpable. She wanted to pry into his motives, but it wasn't her style to ask directly. She observed and waited for the right moment, but Caelan... he was different. There was something about him that stirred emotions she was used to keeping buried—emotions she had no intention of exploring.

The wind picked up slightly, stirring the leaves above them. Wolves continued to pass by, unaware of the silent standoff between the two, but Vendetta could feel the weight of Caelan's presence pressing in on her. His very existence felt like an intrusion.