Chapter 101 101
The forest of silver trunks trembled under a dim light, golden leaves falling slowly in a silence broken only by the crunch of earth. Aidan stood in the center, his body battered, blood dripping from a cut on his arm, his torn shirt hanging in shreds. The witches surrounded him—about twenty ethereal figures—their white and gray tunics rippling like living mist, their eyes glowing in shades of gray, green, violet, and blue. They didn’t know what he was—a creature that fit neither their runes nor their chants—but they wanted him dead.
One of them, with hair black as ink, lashed out with a whip of shadows that sliced the air, striking Aidan across the chest. He growled, stepping back, but raised a fist and struck, his raw strength crashing into the face of another, a woman with brilliant red hair. The witch’s head snapped with a dry crack, and she crumpled to the ground like a broken puppet. The others hissed—a sound that filled the air with invisible thorns—and attacked all at once.
Three leaped from the trees, their hands glowing with green threads that wrapped around Aidan’s legs, yanking him down. He kicked, tearing the threads like cobwebs, rolled, and sprang to his feet just as a dagger of blue light flew toward his throat. He ducked—the edge grazing his cheek—and charged the white-haired witch who had thrown it. His shoulder slammed into her; she flew backward, crashing into a silver trunk that groaned under the impact. Aidan spun, seized her head, and ripped it free with a brutal twist. Another fell, her body twitching on the earth. Six already lay decapitated, heads rolling among the golden leaves.
“He’s not a wolf!” shouted one with braided brown hair, her violet eyes blazing with fury.
“He’s not a vampire!” answered another, gray-haired, hurling a black orb of light that exploded against Aidan’s chest.
He staggered back, the blast searing his skin, but he didn’t stop. His hands shook, blood dripping from a gash on his leg, yet his dark, sharp eyes swept the circle, searching for an opening. The witches closed in tighter, tunics floating, the air humming as power rose from the ground. Runes carved into the earth flared red, alive, and their voices rose in unison—a chant that tore the silence like an icy wind.
“Vethra solum, kwe vadis te!” they sang together, hands lifting, green and black threads weaving through the air.
Aidan tried to run, but his legs locked—an invisible weight crushing his shoulders. He dropped to his knees, the earth quaking beneath him, arms pinned to the ground. The spell trapped him: a circle of red light sealed around him, runes pulsing like living hearts. The witches chanted louder, voices echoing, squeezing his chest until breath failed him.
“Kwe vadis te, lumora keth!” they shouted, and the air thickened, darkened, as though the sky had shattered.
Aidan fought, muscles trembling, but he couldn’t move. His body was paralyzed, nailed to the earth, and the witches advanced, eyes gleaming with triumph. It had cost them—sweat beaded on their foreheads, tunics trembling with effort. They didn’t know what he was, but they had him. One with short black hair and violet eyes stepped through the circle, hand rising slowly, glowing with blue light. She knelt before him, palm pressing coldly against his forehead.
That was when it happened. The collar on Aidan’s chest flared—a blinding white flash that cut through the gloom—and a silent roar filled the air. The witch screamed as an unseen force hurled her backward; she crashed into a tree with a crack that split the bark. The spell shattered, runes fading, and Aidan rose, legs shaking, the collar pulsing against his chest like a living heart.
“Kvara thul!” shouted the white-haired witch, her voice rasping, strange, in a language Aidan didn’t know.
The others recoiled, tunics whipping, and fled, scattering among the silver trees like broken shadows. Aidan didn’t hesitate. His legs moved—fast—closing the distance, the collar still glowing, lighting his path with pale radiance. A brown-haired witch spun, hurling green threads that snagged the air, but he dodged, leaping over a silver root, and caught her. His hand closed around her throat, lifting her off the ground. Her violet eyes met his, wide and bright, before a sharp twist silenced her scream forever.
She dropped, twitching, and Aidan pressed on, footsteps thudding against soft earth. Another—gray-haired—ran toward a tree, hands blazing with black light, but he was faster. He barreled into her; her body slammed against the trunk, wood groaning, golden leaves raining down. She screamed—a sound that sliced the silence—and Aidan let her fall, breathing hard, hands stained with black blood.
The forest shook, runes extinguished, witches fleeing, their shapes vanishing among silver trunks. Aidan stopped, chest heaving, blood dripping from arm, leg, cheek. He looked at the collar—bright, warm against his skin—then at the ground, where six severed heads still twitched, bodies clawing weakly at the earth.
He took a step, dark eyes sweeping the forest, and ran again, the collar’s glow cutting through the shadows. The witches could flee, but they wouldn’t escape him.
The forest of silver trunks quaked under the weight of battle, golden leaves drifting slowly amid flashes of shadow and broken bodies. Aidan spun among the witches, his form streaked with black blood, when a thunderous crash split the air. Two enormous wolves burst into the clearing, fangs gleaming in the faint light. Emmanuel and Ezequiel didn’t hesitate. Claws tore the earth as they leaped toward the witches—a whirlwind of unleashed fury.
Emmanuel slammed into a red-haired witch, jaws clamping around her neck with a dry snap that echoed through the trees. Ezequiel pounced on a white-haired one, ripping her arm free in a brutal twist; her body collapsed, twitching, while the rest screamed—a sound like breaking glass. Aidan didn’t pause—his fist crashed into another witch, her head tumbling among the dead runes. The witches, decimated, tried to flee, but the twins overtook them, claws and fangs finishing the last in a frenzy of blood and shadow. The clearing fell silent, bodies trembling on the ground. Aidan raced to the center, the wolves following with heavy steps.
There lay Lois, bound to a flat stone, ropes cutting into her wrists and ankles, her pale body motionless like a broken doll. Aidan dropped to his knees beside her, hands shaking as he sliced the ropes with clumsy fingers, dried blood smearing her skin. He lifted her carefully into his arms, but she didn’t respond—her head lolled against his chest. Her breath was a thin thread, barely audible, and a knot tightened in Aidan’s throat, his body rigid with alarm.
Emmanuel and Ezequiel shifted in an instant, human forms emerging from fur, hard faces turning toward Lois. Shock hit them like lightning. They hadn’t known she was here—much less in this state: skin pale and marked by cuts, eyes closed, breathing nearly gone.
“What’s wrong with her?” Emmanuel demanded, voice sharp, rushing to Aidan’s side. “What did they do to her?”
“I don’t know,” Aidan answered, voice cracking as he held her. “She asked for help… I came as fast as I could, but…”
Ezequiel stepped closer, eyes scanning the clearing, and paused at the scattered glass vials on the ground—filled with dark red that gleamed in the light.
“They’ve been draining her blood,” he said, voice low, a growl building in his chest.
“Then she needs blood!” Aidan shouted, dark eyes flashing with desperation.
“I’ll give her mine,” Emmanuel whispered, stepping forward, already raising his wrist.
“No!” Aidan snarled, body tensing, blocking Emmanuel with a swift movement.
“Why the hell not?” Emmanuel growled, eyes narrowing, a roar rising in his throat.
“She needs… special blood,” Aidan said, voice faltering. “She’s drunk from me before, and nothing happened to her.”
“Before? She’s drunk from you?” Emmanuel’s face hardened. “When?”
“That doesn’t matter now,” Ezequiel cut in, voice firm and worried, slicing through the tension. “We have to do something.”
Aidan didn’t answer. He dug a nail into his finger—a quick cut that welled red—and carefully brought the drop to Lois’s lips, sliding it between them. The blood touched her mouth, dripping slowly, but she didn’t react—her pale face still under the silver glow of the trees.
“She’s not responding,” Aidan said, voice trembling, eyes locked on her, searching for any sign.
He leaned in, fingers seeking the pulse at her neck. It was there—weak, barely a whisper beneath her skin. Her breathing was a thread, slow, almost gone. The clearing fell silent, the three of them staring at her, waiting. Ezequiel knelt beside her, hands shaking as he touched her arm. Emmanuel stepped back, fists clenching.
“We have to do something,” Ezequiel said, voice cutting the air. “We can’t leave her here. Her condition is bad—she’s not okay. They’ve drained her… she could die.”
Suddenly, Lois’s lips closed around Aidan’s finger—a faint, almost imperceptible movement. He whipped toward her, breath catching. Her eyes opened—white, empty, lifeless. Her body convulsed, a violent shudder that shook her against Aidan’s arms; her hands clawed at the air before falling limp again, unresponsive.
“We have to take her to the pack!” Emmanuel said, rising, body already turning toward the forest.
He moved a few steps and shifted into wolf form in a heartbeat, claws sinking into the earth. Ezequiel leaned toward Aidan, eyes urgent.
“Give her to me, Aidan,” he said, arms outstretched. “We’ll take her back.”
“But… no…” Aidan’s voice broke, arms tightening around her. “I can’t go back with you.”
“I’m sorry,” Ezequiel said, low and firm. “It’s better if you hide until things settle.”
“I can’t leave her again,” Aidan whispered, grief cutting through his tone. “She’s my home.”
“Aidan, you can’t come with us,” Ezequiel insisted, hand reaching toward Lois. “We have to take care of her now. I’m sorry. Hide until we can figure something out.”
Aidan looked at him, arms trembling. Ezequiel extended his hands again, waiting. Tension hung thick in the air. Aidan lowered his gaze to Lois—her pale face still against his chest.
“Aidan… let her go,” Ezequiel asked again.
Aidan loosened his hold slowly, as though they were tearing a piece of him away. Ezequiel took Lois carefully, lifting her; her body hung limp, breath a faint whisper. Aidan remained on his knees, empty hands shaking on the earth. Ezequiel ran to Emmanuel, climbing onto his wolf’s back with Lois cradled in his arms. Emmanuel growled, paws digging in, and bolted—the forest swallowing them in an instant, their shapes vanishing among the silver trees.
Aidan stayed there, motionless, eyes following them until they were gone. The clearing was empty—broken vials glinting among golden leaves, dead witches twitching on the ground. His chest tightened with a pain he couldn’t name. If Lois went with them, he’d have no way to know if she was all right, what was happening to her. He couldn’t return to wolf territory—not with Thorne hunting him, not with Enzo lurking in the shadows now that they knew he was back in wolf land again.