The Chosen One •

21

✨ Isabel ✨

My dad held up a hand, motioning for us to stay put, but I stepped forward, gripping his arm. "Dad, stop treating me like I can't handle myself. I'm not some kid hiding behind you anymore."

His jaw tightened as he turned to face me. "Isabel, this isn't a practice sparring match or a controlled spell session. This is real. Whatever is out there isn't going to hold back."

"And neither will I," I shot back, squaring my shoulders. "You know I'm the best fighter in our coven. I've been training for years. I know more spells than anyone else, and I have gifts nobody else does. I can handle this."

He sighed, his stern expression softening slightly, though worry still etched deep lines into his face. "I know, mija. But that doesn't mean I want to put you in danger."

"You don't have to put me in danger," I replied, my voice calm but firm. "It's already here. The least I can do is stand with you and Mom."

My mom placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice gentle but supportive. "She's right, Joel. We raised her to be strong, to fight, to lead. If we keep holding her back, we're doing her a disservice."

He looked between us, his resistance finally cracking. "Fine," he muttered, running a hand through his graying hair. "But stay close to me, and if I say move, you move. Understood?"

"Understood," I said, giving him a nod.

The tension in the air was thick as he slowly unlatched the back door. The cool night air rushed in, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and... something else. It was sharp, metallic—blood.

I instinctively reached for the magic inside me, letting it hum through my veins as we stepped into the backyard. The shadows beneath the towering trees seemed darker than usual, and for a moment, everything was eerily silent.

Then, a low growl broke the quiet, coming from the edge of the property near the treeline. My dad raised his glowing hand, casting a faint orb of light that hovered above us, illuminating the yard.

The growl grew louder, and then, emerging from the shadows, I saw it. A rogue wolf, but not like the ones I'd seen before in my books or the fragmented memories Tara had shown me from her teenage years. This one was bigger, its fur patchy and matted, its glowing red eyes locked on us with a hunger that sent a chill down my spine.

"What is that?" I whispered, my fingers itching to cast.

"A specialized rogue," my dad said grimly. "Enhanced with dark magic."

The wolf snarled, its massive body crouching as if preparing to lunge. Before my dad could react, I extended my hand, murmuring a binding spell. Blue tendrils of energy shot out, wrapping around the wolf's limbs and pinning it to the ground.

It howled in rage, thrashing against the magical restraints. "Nice work," my dad said, though his voice was tight with urgency. "But that's not going to hold it for long."

"I can strengthen it," I replied, pouring more of my energy into the spell.

But as I did, the wolf's body began to shimmer, its form flickering like static. "It's trying to phase out of it," my mom said, her voice sharp with alarm. "That's not possible unless—"

"It's not alone," I finished, my eyes scanning the shadows.

And then, as if summoned by my words, more glowing red eyes appeared in the darkness.

The red eyes multiplied, surrounding us like a sea of crimson in the dark. The air felt heavy, electric with danger, and my pulse thundered in my ears.

"Five," my dad murmured, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the threat. "We're outnumbered, but not outmatched."