Chapter 111 The Forbidden Bond

Chapter 111 The Forbidden Bond

Sylvia POV

I opened the book gently.

The pages of the ancient book were yellowed with age, the ink faded but still legible.

My fingers traced the words carefully, my heart pounding with each revelation. The story before me was not just history. It felt like a diary.

—

The Books Content

Seraphina was born under the light of a blood moon, the first child of the High Priestess of the Silverwood Coven. From the moment she drew her first breath, the elders knew she was special.

The magic that flowed through her veins was ancient, powerful, unlike anything they had seen in generations.

By the age of twelve, she could heal wounds that would have killed lesser witches. By fifteen, she could speak with the spirits of the ancestors, their voices whispering secrets of the past and prophecies of the future. By eighteen, she was the most powerful witch in the coven, feared and revered in equal measure.

But power came with a price. The war between the witches and the werewolves had been raging for centuries, a bloody conflict that had claimed countless lives on both sides. The Silverwood Coven had lost many of its members to wolf attacks, and the hatred between the two species had become deeply ingrained, passed down from generation to generation.

Seraphina had been raised to hate the wolves. She had been taught that they were monsters, creatures of violence and savagery who would stop at nothing to destroy everything the witches held dear. She had never questioned this belief. Not until the day she found him.

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It was a cold autumn morning when Seraphina ventured into the forest to gather herbs for her mother's potions. The leaves were turning, their colors vibrant against the grey sky, and the air was crisp with the promise of winter. She moved through the trees with the ease of someone who had spent her entire life in the forest, her senses attuned to the subtle shifts in the natural world.

She had collected a basket full of herbs when she heard it. A low groan, barely audible above the rustle of the wind through the leaves. Her heart seized, her hand instinctively reaching for the small dagger she carried at her belt. The forest was dangerous, especially for a witch alone. There were wolves everywhere, waiting for the chance to strike.

But the sound came again, weaker this time, and Seraphina felt something stir in her chest. Compassion. The one emotion her mother had warned her against.

She followed the sound, her steps silent on the forest floor, until she found him.

He was lying in a small clearing, his body crumpled against the base of an ancient oak. His clothes were torn and bloodied, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

Blood pooled beneath him, dark and thick, staining the fallen leaves a deep crimson.

Seraphina froze, her heart was pounding.

He was a wolf. She could smell it, the unmistakable scent of the enemy that had haunted her people for centuries. He was young, maybe twenty, with dark hair and sharp features that were twisted in pain.

Every instinct screamed at her to run, to leave him there to die. That was what her mother would have wanted. That was what the coven would have demanded.

But something stopped her.

Something about the way he lay there, so vulnerable, so helpless, it stirred something deep within her. She couldn't leave him to die.

She moved quickly, her hands working with practiced efficiency. She used her magic to create a barrier around them, a shield that would conceal them from any passing wolves or witches. Then she knelt beside him, her fingers pressing against his wound.

The gash on his side was deep, the flesh torn and ragged. Blood flowed freely, hot and sticky against her fingers. He had lost a lot of blood, far too much for a normal wolf to survive.

But he was not a normal wolf. She could feel it, the power that pulsed beneath his skin, the strength that should have been enough to heal such a wound. Something was stopping the healing, something dark and powerful.

Seraphina reached deep into her magic, calling upon the ancient power that flowed through her veins. She pressed her hands against his wound, her eyes closing, her lips moving in a whispered chant.

The magic flowed from her, warm and bright, knitting together his flesh, sealing the wound, chasing away the darkness that had been preventing his healing.

He gasped, his body arching off the ground, and then he was still.

Seraphina sat back, her hands trembling, her heart racing. She had saved him. She had healed a wolf. The enemy. The monster her mother had warned her about.

She should have been terrified. She should have run away and never looked back. But instead, she found herself studying his face, memorizing the lines of his jaw, the way his dark lashes rested against his cheeks.

He was beautiful, there was no denying it. Beautiful in a way that made her chest ache.

\---

He woke hours later, as the sun was beginning to set. His eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding his features as he took in his surroundings.

He tried to sit up, but Seraphina's hand pressed against his chest, holding him down.

"Don't move," she said, her voice firm. "You've lost a lot of blood. Your body needs time to recover."

He stared at her, his eyes widening as he took in her appearance. He scanned her, her silver hair, the pale skin, the faint shimmer of magic that clung to her like a second skin.

"You're a witch," he said, his voice rough with disbelief. "A witch saved my life."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

He looked down at his side, where the wound had been. The skin was smooth, unbroken, as if the gash had never existed.

He pressed his hands against it, his eyes widening even further.

"It's healed," he breathed. "Completely healed."

"You should thank your ancestors," Seraphina said, her voice cool. "If you had been a little further gone, I wouldn't have been able to save you."

He laughed, a low, surprised sound. "You're not like the other witches I've met."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"