I woke up to the taste of iron on my tongue and a dull, insistent throbbing in the back of my skull. For a long moment, all I could focus on was the steady ache, the way it pulsed in time with my heartbeat, spreading through my limbs like a weighted fog.

Where was I?

The scent hit me next. It wasn’t the familiar crisp gusts of the Nightclaw territory, or pine, or even damp earth. This place smelled wrong to me. It was fragrant with burning herbs, like the stale remnants of an old ritual lingering in the air. The temperature was cool, but not in a natural way. It felt forced, as if something was actively suppressing warmth.

I cracked my eyes open, only to be met with a sea of darkness that made my pulse quicken.

Not good.

Forcing myself to move, I tried to sit up, but my limbs were sluggish, heavy with exhaustion. I’d returned to my human form, but not fully. I was in my wolf form before I blacked out, and now I was stuck, like something had forced me halfway through the shift, then slammed the door shut. My bones felt wrong, my muscles unresponsive, as if a gravitational force was pinning me down, siphoning my strength into the cold stone below me.

Breathing deeply, I tried to force my body to respond, but nothing happened. Goddess, I hated magic.

Slowly, the darkness around me receded. The room wasn’t pitch black any more. I was able to see the candles, and the dancing shadows across the stone walls. The floor was so cold, solid. But it was stone, not dirt or wood.

Was this a temple, or maybe a ritual site?

I felt a cold ripple go through me. I wasn’t just captured, but they might have brought me across the river, deep into witch territory.

Low murmurs drifted from the other side of the room, voices weaving in and out of focus. I turned my head, my muscles protesting the movement in a way that made me groan. A group of witches stood in a loose semicircle, their faces concealed by hoods. Slowly, their hands moved, sparks of magic flying between their fingers.

And then I saw him.

The witch from the forest who had knocked me out, and spoken my name like he knew me.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Him.

The ember-eyed witch stood in the middle of the gathering, and he wasn’t chanting or casting. He was just” watching me.

Like he had been waiting for me to come to.

My wolf stirred, but the spell still held me down, keeping my complete shift at bay. It made my skin crawl. I hated feeling powerless. Hated it.

He took a step forward, and the atmosphere in the room changed. The other witches fell silent, parting for him like he was something special.

His presence commanded attention, not just from them, but from me. And that pissed me off.

He was taller than I remembered, easily over six feet, and built in a way that suggested quiet strength rather than brute force. Lean muscles wrapped around long limbs in a way that wasn’t” rash? His thick, untamed brown hair curled just enough to soften the razor-sharp angles of his face, but nothing could dull the cool intensity of his features.

And, goddess help me, his eyes.

They blazed, molten amber and embers caught mid-flicker, and their radiance was hypnotic. They locked onto me with an unnerving focus, like he was peeling me apart layer by layer, searching for something only he could see. Even the candlelight didn’t soften the effect; if anything, it made him look more dangerous, kind of like something otherworldly clothed in human skin.

A very irritating, but inconveniently attractive man.

I scowled. “You again.” My voice was hoarse, but I didn’t care. If I was going to be kidnapped, and tortured by witches, I wasn’t going to play the helpless prisoner.

The corners of his lips twitched, just barely. “You sound disappointed.”

I scoffed. “Oh, trust me, you were the last thing I wanted to wake up to.”

A soft chuckle rippled through the room, and I realized too late that the other witches were amused by my indifference to him.

His expression didn’t really change, but his eyes narrowed a bit. He crouched down beside me, close enough that my wolf instincts kicked in before logic did.

And damn him, he smelled good.

It wasn’t the familiar scents of pine and earth I knew like home. Instead, it was a rich blend of firewood just starting to burn and the ghost of oddly grisly musk. His aura was powerful. I could feel it pulsing off him, like the world bent to accommodate his presence. My stomach twisted in protest at how wrong it was that my senses wanted to commit him to memory.

Only then, once the scent settled in my head, did I notice the gold flecks nestled in his ember-lit irises, shifting like embers catching fresh air.

He didn’t reach for me or restrain me. Just met my stare with his own. “I was starting to wonder if you’d wake at all.”

I swallowed back my discomfort. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“You could never disappoint me.” He tilted his head slightly, studying me like he was piecing together something I couldn’t see.

I stiffened, my stomach flipping at his tone. I should have been furious, should have snapped back, but something in the way he said it made me hesitate. Like he wasn’t just speaking to me, but he was recognizing me.

That’s when I felt it.

A pull. A deep, unsettling tug in my chest, and so wrong.

No.

No, no, no”

I tried to shove it down, tried to will it away, but it curled around my bones like it had always been there, like it had just been waiting for the moment we really locked eyes.

The mate bond.

My mate was a witch.

I clenched my fists. Just my luck, goddess! My first patrol, and I had walked right into my worst nightmare.

My mate was a cursed one, which meant I was cursed, too.

I went still, blood rushing in my ears. He saw it too, the flicker of realization, the way my breathing changed. His eyes darkened slightly, a whisper of danger crossing his face.

He knew.

Which meant I had about three seconds before he did something about it. And given what I knew about the world, none of the options were good.

I had never met a witch before. None of my kind had, at least not in this era, and not the ones who lived to talk about it. There were two sides to the Dominion of Anarion. The borders between our worlds were sacred, enforced by ancient laws and punishable by exile or execution. Traitor to your kind. Abomination. A curse upon the bloodline. Those were the kinder things they would call me if anyone found this out.

And now standing before me was someone who knew my name and had been waiting for me.

My wolf recoiled at the realization, but my mind sharpened. If our packs would slaughter us for this, what would his people do? Wolves weren’t the only ones bound by ancient laws. Witches had rules too. And if the witches” traditions were anything like ours, this was just as damning for him as it was for me.

Which meant I might not have to worry about being dragged before my pack and labelled a traitor, because if he thought like I did, he’d kill me first to keep his own secret safe.

So I bid my time.

My body was still sluggish, but I could feel the spell fraying, unravelling now that my wolf had sensed the bond. That gentle moment had made his hold on whatever spell this was wane, and I had to use it to my advantage.

I kept my face impassive, my breathing controlled, as if I hadn’t just made the most horrifying realization of my life. He was watching me too closely, waiting to see how I would react to what I had just realized. If I lunged too soon, I’d be restrained again. If I waited too long, he might make the first move. So I played along.

I needed a distraction. My gaze shifted to his hand, close enough that if I angled right, I could”

Move.

In one swift motion, I twisted sharply, using the moment his guard dipped to break free. The spell had weakened just enough. I lunged, throwing my weight into him, catching him off guard.

He stumbled back, cursing under his breath, but I didn’t wait to see if he recovered. I bolted. Running was always my best option.

My muscles ached, but I forced my legs to move faster, heart pounding as I darted through the temple corridors. The sounds of pursuit echoed behind me, but I didn’t look back. Looking back meant hesitation, and hesitation meant death.

My senses heightened, calculating exits, tracking scents. There—an opening. I ran for it, lungs burning, every step pulling me closer to freedom.

I didn’t have a plan, didn’t need one. I just needed to get out.

And then I’d figure out how to deal with the fact that my mate was a witch.