Chapter 164
MILLICENT
“That’s exactly why we need you,” Zayne said. “If we find your research—your notes, your old spellwork—we might figure out what went wrong with the spell you used on Tatiana.”
“Or at least find a way to undo what’s happening now,” I added gently. “My wolf—she’s… not okay.”
That made her look at me again. Longer this time. Searching. Then she laughed.
It wasn’t light. It wasn’t soft. It was a sound broken at the edges, like she was laughing at a funeral.
“Of course,” she whispered. “Of course they’d come crawling back for answers. After all this time. After everything.”
“Is something funny?” Xander snapped.
“Yes,” she said simply. “Because the spell you’re chasing—the cure you’re so desperate for—is the exact thing that turned that wolf into stone in the first place. And her golden wold… it was far stronger than yours could ever be.”
My stomach twisted. Zayne’s mouth tightened. “We know the risks.”
“You know nothing,” she said sharply. “Nothing about how nature breaks people who try to bend it. Nothing about how magic takes payment you can’t predict.”
Her eyes fell to my bracelet. Her expression shifted again. “That trinket,” she said, pointing at it with her chin. “Do you know what it’s doing to you?”
I looked down. “It helps. My wolf gets quiet when I wear it.”
“No,” she snapped. “She gets furious.”
“She’s part of you,” the witch continued. “She’s meant to be loud. Meant to rise. Meant to take space. That bracelet doesn’t silence her. It traps her. And when you trap a wild thing, it claws inward first.”
Zayne stiffened beside me. Xander muttered, “So what—what are we supposed to do? Rip it off and hope she doesn’t lose control? Hope she doesn’t—”
The witch looked at him with cold, heavy pity. And didn’t answer.
Xander’s temper snapped instantly. “You’re playing games,” he growled, stepping toward her. “I swear to—”
“Xander.” My voice cracked like a whip. He froze. Zayne looked like he wanted to step in too, but I raised a hand at both of them.
“Enough. Get out.” Zayne blinked. “Princess—”
“I said get out.”
Xander looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end he obeyed, backing away with a curse under his breath. Zayne lingered a second longer, eyes moving between me and the witch, worry etched in every line of his face.
“Shout if she tries anything,” he murmured.
“I will.”
They left.
The door shut.
And I was alone with her.
The witch finally looked straight at me, not with anger this time, not with the wild panic she had when she tried to curse Zayne, but with this tired, empty stare like she was older than every wall around us even though she looked barely my age.
“You’re scared,” she muttered. “Terrified, actually. It’s leaking off you like wild smoke.” I let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. No point pretending I’m not.”
She studied me for a heartbeat, then another. “You’re also… a good person. Or at least stupid enough to try to be.” She leaned back against the wall, her legs shaking from exhaustion. “But I gave up on helping wolves a long time ago. So whatever your mates want? They’ll never get a response from me. Not now. Not ever.”
Something in me broke, not in anger, not in panic, but in something softer and heavier. I walked a little closer, slow enough not to spook her. “Okay,” I whispered. “Then… what do you want to eat?”
She blinked once. Twice. Like I had just spoken in a language no witch had ever heard. “What?”
I shrugged. “Food. What do you like? I can get Mrs D to make you something. Or cook. Maybe both. You look like you haven’t eaten well in… months.”
She stared at me, her mouth slightly open. “Is this a joke?”
“No,” I said. “You’re hungry. And tired. And probably cold. And dirty. And Zayne dragged you here instead of asking like normal people.” I blew out a breath. “You’re allowed to sit down, eat something, maybe wash up if you want, before you continue your journey.”
She whispered, “You’re letting me go?”
“Yes,” I said simply. “I’m accepting my fate. Whatever it is.”
Her brows drew together in confusion. “You’d just… give up? Let your wolf take you? Let the curse take you?”
“I’d rather die,” I said, the truth shaking in my throat but steady in my chest. “Die and be done with it than turn to stone slowly while my mates watch. Again. And again. And again. Watching them break over and over? I couldn’t do it.”
The witch swallowed hard, some emotion flickering at the edge of her stoic mask. “You talk like someone who already buried herself.”
“Maybe I did,” I whispered. “Maybe this thing has been burying me little by little since the day I found out about it.”
She hesitated, then stood slowly. “If you’re lying, if your wolves jump out—”
“They won’t,” I said. “They know when I’m done talking.”
Her lips twitched into something that wasn’t exactly a smile but wasn’t hatred either. “Fine,” she murmured. “Show me this bath and food you’re so desperate to bribe me with.”
I couldn't help it and let out a chuckle.
---
The west wing guest bathroom had a huge soaking tub—the kind big enough for three people if they didn’t mind limbs touching. Steam filled the air as the water ran, and for a moment the witch just stared at it like she wasn’t sure it was real.
“You can take your time,” I said. “i found soap. Towels. Clean clothes if you want.” She turned to me slowly. “You’re not scared of me?”
I bit my lip. “I’m terrified of everything right now. Might as well be terrified while being decent.” She let out a shaky exhale. “You wolves are insane.”
“I know.” For the first time, her mouth softened. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice barely there. I stepped out and closed the door, letting her have privacy.
It took a while. At least half an hour. But when she came out, she looked different. Still tired. Still bruised. Still wary. But her skin was clean, her hair damp and falling around her shoulders, and she wore a plain shirt and sweats I brought from the laundry room.
“You waited.”
“Yeah. Come on. Food next.”
---
We ended up in the manor kitchen, just the two of us sitting at the long marble island while I reheated leftover pasta and meatballs. She watched every movement, like she couldn’t decide if this was some trap or if I was actually this… weird.
When the food was ready, she took one bite—just one—and her eyes closed like she hadn’t tasted real food in years.
“I forgot what warm home meals feel like,” she admitted quietly. “You’ve been alone all this time?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle, not pushing too hard.
She nodded, chewing slowly. “Alone is safer. Alone means no one to curse you, betray you, bind you to a fate you never asked for.”
I leaned on my palm. “But alone also means no one checking if you’re okay.” She lifted a shoulder like she didn’t care, but the shift in her eyes said otherwise.
She kept eating, faster now, her hands shaking a little. “You’re strange,” she muttered. “Most wolves see witches as weapons or threats. But you... you’re just sitting here handing me dinner like we’re friends. You do know, one word and I'd curse you.”
“I’m interested,” I said honestly. “In you. In your story. In why you helped my grand-aunt. In what happened after.”
She paused mid-bite. “Why? Because it might save your life?”
“No,” I said softly. “Because you look like someone who hasn’t talked to another person in months. And because I know what it feels like to be scared of your own body. And because… I don’t know. Maybe I just want to understand you.”
She stared at me for a long moment, spoon halfway to her mouth.
“You’re nothing like other wolves,” she whispered. “Even your mates. Wolves carry power like knives. You carry yours like bruises.” I breathed in sharply.
She looked down at my bracelet again. “That thing is hurting you more than anything else in this room. And you still fed me before asking for answers.”
“That’s not why I fed you.”
“I know,” she whispered.
Silence filled the kitchen, not uncomfortable, not tense. Just quiet enough for our hearts to settle. “What should I call you?” I asked finally. “You never told us your name.”
She hesitated, like the word might burn her tongue. “…Seren.”
I smiled. “Pretty.” She flushed faintly, looking away. “Seren?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to decide anything tonight. You can rest here if you want. Eat. Sleep. Then go when you’re ready.”
She stared at me again, eyes glossy, fighting something I couldn’t name. “I don’t trust wolves,” she whispered.
“That’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to trust them. You just have to trust me for tonight.” Her throat bobbed.
“You’re… insane,” she said again, “But maybe in a way I can stand.” I grinned. “I’ll take that.”
She kept eating. I kept watching her, learning the shape of her fear and the edges of her loneliness. I wasn’t scared of her.
Only scared of everything waiting outside this little bubble of warmth we somehow created together.
I didn’t think someone could look both dangerous and breakable at the same time until I watched her stare into the fire like it was confessing secrets only she could hear, her thin fingers wrapped around the bowl I pushed into her hands, steam curling around her face like it was afraid to touch her.
She had just finished the pasta and I thought she might want soup too. Turns out I was right. I just sat across from her on the log, legs crossed, blanket still around my shoulders because the forest night air was doing the absolute most, but all I could think about was how surreal this whole thing felt. A witch everyone feared sitting right here with me like we were two random girls on some midnight road trip, catching our breaths.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes lifting to mine slowly. “You’re naive,” she murmured, not unkindly. “Wolves don’t talk to witches like this.”
“Yeah, well,” I muttered, picking at the edge of my bowl. “I’m not exactly the poster girl for what a wolf should be.”
That earned me something small, the ghost of a smile. Her hair fell over her cheek as she looked back at the fire. “You remind me of someone,” she whispered. “Someone... I lost.”
I didn’t push. I just let the silence stretch, warm and easy, like it wanted to hug both of us. After a moment she cleared her throat, her voice more steady. “So... Enough about me. Since I can't help you with the spell there must be something I can help with.”
I let out a sigh.. “I... I have a friend. Fiona.”
“And your problem with her?”
I shrugged one shoulder, staring into the flames because admitting things eye-to-eye always felt like peeling my own skin.
“She’s… she’s the girl who made me believe I could actually survive Silverfang. We were close, or at least I thought so. But she’s pulling away now after... Something happened. She always gets mad when I keep things so I learnt to be open and now she's hiding? And sometimes I feel like she’s only there when it’s convenient, and I don’t know if I’m supposed to fight for it or just let it die.”