Chapter 22: The Woods
Ariel's POV:
I ran.
Branches whipped against my arms. My lungs burned. My legs felt like lead but I didn’t dare stop. The woods were dark, alive with whispers and shadows. Somewhere behind me, the sound of footsteps—light but deadly—echoed like a drumbeat of doom.
The woman chasing me wasn’t human. I could feel it in the way the air grew cold when she got closer, the way the night seemed to thicken around her. She was fast, too fast, and her laugh followed me like claws scraping against glass.
I was tired. I was scared. But I knew if I stopped, even for a second, I’d be meat in their soup.
I pushed harder, running deeper into the trees. My heels snapped off somewhere behind me but I didn’t care. Barefoot, gown torn, hair wild—I kept running.
Then suddenly—she was in front of me.
She just appeared there, blocking my path, her mouth curling into a smile that wasn’t human at all. My breath caught. My whole body shook. I could feel my pants getting wet. I had wet myself in fear.
Her eyes were black. Not dark brown. Not even normal black. Pure void. Like staring into the mouth of a nightmare. Something you’d only see on a vampire show on TV.
I stumbled backward, my heart hammering in my chest—only to bump into another figure behind me. Another one. Trapped.
Their laughter rose, high-pitched and cruel, surrounding me like a cage.
I backed up until my back hit a tree. My fingers trembled. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t run.
And then they raised their hands. A dark glow began to form around their fingers.
I closed my eyes, tears streaking down my cheeks. This was it. This was how I would die.
But nothing happened.
Instead, the air shifted—thick, heavy, powerful.
I opened my eyes.
Something stood between me and the witches.
A wolf. A huge wolf. Its fur shimmered blue under the moonlight, muscles rippling, its golden eyes burning like fire.
It stared at me the way Damian always did—intense, fierce, like it could see straight through me.
For a heartbeat, everything stopped.
Then the wolf moved.
Fast. So fast my eyes could barely follow. In a blur, it lunged at the first witch, jaws snapping, and with a sickening crack, her neck broke. She collapsed without a sound.
I gasped.
But before I could even process it, the second witch was suddenly in front of me. She grinned, lips twisting, and drove something sharp and cold into my stomach.
Pain exploded through me.
I gasped, clutching my belly as my knees buckled. My gown turned warm and wet with blood.
The witch smiled wider.
The wolf roared—a deep, guttural sound that shook the trees. It spun, grabbed something, and hurled it at the witch. She slammed into a tree, dead before she hit the ground.
Then, before my eyes, the wolf shifted. Bones cracked, fur melted away, and there he was.
Damian.
So Damian was no ordinary man.
He ran to me, his eyes wild with fury and fear. “Ariel!”
Just as his arms caught me, the world went dark.
I could still hear him though—his voice, low and desperate, calling my name.
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Damian POV:
I teleported into the forest, my claws itching to tear something apart.
The stench of witchcraft hit me immediately—rot, smoke, and iron.
I saw her. Ariel. Running, terrified, gown torn, hair streaming behind her like a dark banner. And in front of her, the witch. The foolish witch who dared touch what belonged to me.
I was seconds away.
She raised her hand, dark power swirling, about to strike.
I slammed into her first, sending her flying into a tree. She hit the trunk with a sickening crack and crumpled, but I wasn’t done. I moved with the speed of lightning, grabbed her by the throat, and slammed her into the ground so hard the earth split.
She laughed. A low, devilish sound. “You think she’s safe now?”
My blood turned cold.
I spun, and my heart almost stopped. Ariel was clutching her stomach, blood seeping through her fingers, her face pale with pain. Another witch stood before her, smiling.
I teleported instantly, my hands closing around the witch’s neck. “You’re already dead,” I snarled, and snapped it.
She dropped like a rag doll.
I shifted back, my body still trembling with rage, and ran to Ariel. She was falling, her eyes fluttering.
“Stay with me, Ariel,” I begged, my voice rough. “Stay with me. I can’t lose you.”
Her head lolled against my chest as I caught her. Her blood stained my skin, burning like fire.
Marcus and my team appeared at the edge of the trees, weapons drawn. I barked an order. “Car. Now!”
They cleared the path as I carried her.
Marcus handed me clothes when we reached the car, his mouth twitching despite the chaos. “Your weapon is dancing everywhere, please put on some clothes,” he muttered.
I shot him a look that could kill and snatched the clothes from his hand. “Shut up,” I growled.
Inside the car, I cradled Ariel against me. Her breathing was shallow, but steady. I pressed a hand over her wound, whispering words I didn’t even know I knew.
When we got home, my personal doctor was already waiting. She examined Ariel quickly, her brows furrowing. “The wounds are deep,” she said softly, “but she’s healing… surprisingly fast. She should be awake by tomorrow.”
I nodded, relief flooding me though I didn’t show it.
After she left, I stood by the bed, watching Ariel sleep. Her face looked pale but peaceful. I reached out, brushing a stray hair from her forehead.
I had almost lost her tonight.
I didn’t realize how much she meant to me until now. The thought of her gone had clawed something open inside me I didn’t even know existed.
I prayed she’d wake up early. I wondered how she’d react to me being a werewolf.
But even as I stood there, my mind churned.
Why would witches come after her?
Then I remembered. The background check.
I left her room and went to my study, calling Marcus on the way. “Where is the background check I told you to do?”
“It’s already in your study locker,” he replied. “I gathered everything I could find. I was going to bring it to you yesterday, but you were in the conference room, so I left it there.”
I ended the call and unlocked the drawer.
There it was. The file.
I sat at my desk, opened it, and began to read.
Her date of birth. Her hometown. Her father—a Spanish man.
I flipped the page to where her mother’s name should be.
Blank.
Nothing.
My brows drew together. I called Marcus again.
“Yes,” he said, almost anticipating my question. “Her mother’s name isn’t there. I couldn’t find it anywhere. The only thing I know is that she’s Nigerian and rumors say she’s a powerful witch. That’s all I could gather. But most of the people I asked looked terrified. They wouldn’t speak.”
I closed my eyes.
Who was her mother? How powerful could she be to bring such fear into people’s hearts?
If she was a witch, it explained the attack tonight.
But it also meant this was deeper than I thought.
Whatever Ariel is—one thing is certain.
She’s either a threat…
Or something they’re desperate to erase.