WITCHE'S BEAST *(needs editing )

Chapter Two

The Witch

Two days had passed since I learned the truth—wolf blood was my weakness. My body still hadn’t healed, and every movement felt like I carried chains. Yet they forced me to search for herbs, guarded always by the old Oracle—the “witch” who betrayed her own kind to serve these beasts.

She watched me with cold eyes, letting them treat me like filth. Betrayal among witches carried the highest price: some lost limbs, others lost their lives. The Covenant’s code was clear—witches were never to mingle with wolves. For centuries, I believed that law was irrelevant, that wolves no longer existed. But I had been wrong.

Once, they were hunters—mundane men who burned us, staked us, slaughtered us for being born with magic. Desperate, our foremothers cursed them. They prayed to the moon and bound the hunters to their own savagery, forcing them to wear the skins of beasts. And so the first wolves were born, cursed to become monsters beneath the full moon.

The thought made me tremble.

I was starving, filthy, and exhausted. My reflection, if I’d had one, would have resembled the storybook witches used to frighten children. And still, the Oracle drove me forward, her voice sharp as a lash.

“Faster, witch!”

“I’m not healed,” I muttered. “And we won’t find herbs like this. I need rest. Food.”

Her expression didn’t flicker. “Not my concern. I was told not to feed you, and resting wastes time. Now move.”

“You’re a witch, like me,” I snapped, anger boiling. “And yet you treat me like—”

“I am not a witch.” Her voice cracked like thunder. “I am an Oracle. Remember your place before you speak again.”

The truth stung. That explained why I couldn’t sense her power—Oracles were different. Half-witch, but touched by sight, able to glimpse past and future.

“An Oracle,” I murmured. “Funny. How does one of your kind end up living with beasts?”

Her jaw tightened. “That is none of your business.”

I pressed, enjoying the flicker of rage in her eyes. “Did you see me coming in your visions? Did you know I’d poison your precious wolves?”

Her fists clenched. “You think yourself clever, but witches are nothing but bad luck. I should have seen you buried before you ever set foot here.”

But her voice wavered. Behind her fury, there was grief. Tears threatened her eyes, though she blinked them away quickly. Something weighed on her, some truth she would not share.

“What is so difficult?” I demanded, stepping close, seizing her arm.

She ripped herself free. “With time, you will see. For now, silence yourself, witch. Darkness falls, and we must return.”

We walked in silence after that. By the time the gates of the compound came into view, the sky was bruised with twilight. She leapt ahead as if racing the night itself, leaving me trailing behind.

Inside, we entered the room where the beasts slept. My task was clear: grind the herbs, mix the antidote, and feed them. The Oracle left without a word, vanishing like a shadow.

Alone, I hummed the lullaby my mother once sang as I worked, grounding myself in the familiar rhythm. But the spell was broken when warm breath stirred the back of my neck.

I turned.

It was him.

His face, perfect and terrible, twisted with disdain as his ocean-blue eyes bore into me. My pulse stuttered.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence swallowing me whole.

“I see you’re growing comfortable here,” he said, his tone unreadable.

“I wouldn’t say comfortable,” I muttered. “I haven’t eaten or bathed in days—”

His voice cut me off, sharp as a blade. “You have no right to complain. It was my order that you go unfed, unwashed, until my brothers are healed. This is not your home, witch. Next time you whine, I’ll gut you like an animal.”

A laugh slipped from me—wild, reckless. I rose to face him, pressing my body against his despite the ache. “Do it, then. Tear me apart. Isn’t that what you are?”

His muscles tensed, heat radiating from him, electricity sparking where his body pressed against mine. My defiance faltered under the flood of sensation—it would have been intoxicating if it weren’t so terrifying.

For a moment, his gaze burned into mine, something raw and dangerous flickering in his eyes. Then he tore himself away, leaving me cold and trembling in his absence.

“I don’t know what spell you’re weaving,” he growled, his voice laced with disgust. But the hunger in his eyes betrayed him.

And gods help me, I felt it too.

He stormed out, his scent lingering in the air. My heart raced, my body still alive with his touch.

He was cruel. He was dangerous. And he was running out of time.

So was I.