Chapter 64

“What happened?” Owen demands, looking between the witches with Asya’s hand on his shoulder. “Why is he here?”

“We led him here before the curse would spread to your pack,” Eleanor explains calmly, eyeing Owen with what looks like curiosity. “We want to help him.”

Just like me, Owen eyes her with doubt and glances at Harry next to her. I already know that Eleanor isn’t bad—at least, not openly—but for Owen it must be important to see his packmate trust her so much.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, studying her with caution, and Eleanor shakes her head and sighs dramatically.

“Ah, don’t you believe in being good to each other?” She turns to

Harry with a joking smirk. “Not the best alpha you’ve ever had.”

“He’s a very good young man,” Harry counters with a smile that looks almost smitten for a man over sixty and looks at Owen. “I have known them for a very long time. They aren’t gonna harm Gray.”

“We don’t want any curses spreading through the woods,” Keir adds all of a sudden, and Gwen nods a few times, looking at my packmates with big eyes.

“If I can help Gray, why would I watch him die?”

“Do you have such powers?” Asya asks with a hint of disbelief, and Gwen shrugs, unable to hide a shy smile in the corner of her lips.

“I’m not bad, I think.”

Owen looks between them thoughtfully, and I see my own hesitance in his eyes. It’s not just hard for him—he knows it’s hard for me as well, so in the end Owen looks at me and asks, “What do you think?”

I glance at Gwen. She looks innocent and genuine, it’s true, but the thought of trusting her with my life…I clench my jaw and look at him.

“She’s a witch.”

How am I supposed to be so vulnerable with someone who would willingly stab me in the back? It’s hard to imagine Gwen doing something so evil—but there is a chance, right? With a witch, there’s always a chance, and I see Paula tense up visibly from the corner of my eyes. Whether she knows the implication or not, she should hear the heartache behind my words.

“You were cursed by a witch, so only a witch can heal it,” Rorie speaks for the first time, quiet and soothing. When I look at her, I see a look of sympathy in her eyes.

She steps closer to me, making Abel tense up in worry—but Rorie is not a wolf, so she kneels down beside me. Her eyes are gentle as she looks at me, and when she touches my wrist, I can’t find it in me to pull away.

“I know you don’t trust us…” Rorie murmurs, and I swallow and automatically glance at Paula, meeting her brown eyes right away.

Even though I’m ignoring her as best I can, even though I’m not looking at her or touching her, she’s still worried about me. She chews her lips, studying me with a frown, and when a corner of the blanket slips down my arm, she fixes it carefully so as not to touch me. God, why can’t I push her away? Why do I keep turning to her? Right now, it’s not about Paula, it’s not about her at all—but even as I look away from her, my thoughts grasp her even tighter.

“But it’s the only way to cure the curse,” Rorie continues, not noticing the look I gave Paula, or perhaps pretending not to notice. “I’ve never dealt with anything like this, and I doubt Fiona will be able to do more than simply put it back to sleep for the time being.”

“Gray, you are a part of the pack,” Asya says, walking closer to me.

“We will be here to help you, we won’t leave you alone in this.”

She holds my gaze for a moment, and I read concern and so much fondness in her eyes. Since when is she so attached to me? But maybe it’s been like that for a while, because when Asya reaches forward to press her cool palm to my forehead, I lean into the touch instead of avoiding it. The scent of the pack is weaker on her than on other wolves, but I still feel it, and I’m still craving it.

“You’ll be safe,” Asya whispers gently, and I close my eyes and breathe out.

Shit. Am I being selfish right now? It feels like I’m giving up on the pack, but why? Because a crazy witch caught me in my weakest state, hurt me, and used me for her own sick form of revenge. Hailey knew what she was doing when she clutched my open heart and pulled me closer to herself, and it’s…it’s scary to be there again.

But am I actually holding back because of Gwen, Eleanor, Asya, or Rorie? Are they the ones I’m scared to trust? I swallow and open my eyes, turning to Paula with my heart pounding in my chest, muffling the needy whimpers of the wolf spirit.

“Was it you?” I ask, staring into her eyes, and it catches Paula off guard.

“What?”

“Did you curse me?”

Paula’s face drops, her eyes widening in horror, and she staggers backward, almost falling on the floor. “No, I’d never—No, no, I promise.”

The room falls quiet, only Keir fidgeting in his place by the window. In that stillness, I feel the itch of the curse digging further under my skin, burning me alive like liquid fire. My wolf spirit is weak, and I barely sense its presence in my soul—but I need it. I need it right now, so I close my eyes and listen to it. What should we do? How can we save ourselves?

But instead of the spirit, I end up thinking about Paula again—her wide eyes, her lips parted in shock. She was so genuinely horrified by the thought, and I can’t help the warmth in my heart. I believe her. God, I believe she didn’t betray me. She didn’t give up on me even after I left her in the motel. She cares enough about me to come all the way out here, through the settlement, wolves, and curses. Doesn’t it mean something?

Isn’t it proof that a witch can be genuine? That a witch can be trusted?

“Alright,” I murmur finally and look up. “Let’s try.”

Eleanor hums something to herself with a smile while Gwen perks up, grinning happily as if she’s the one about to be saved from a curse that’s been ruining her whole life. She jumps up to her feet and rushes to the cupboards of herbs and medicine.

“Bring him to the bench,” she calls a moment later. “Everything will be ready in a minute.”

Bring me? I huff. So I can’t walk on my own now, huh? I pull myself together and proudly stand up—only to sway from the rush of dizziness. I’m still blinking through it when I feel a hand on my shoulder holding me up. I know that hand, and I know the care of this touch. I allow Paula to help me get to the bench, both of us tense and silent in each other’s presence. But it feels right. It still feels so weirdly right to be close to her.

I feel other gazes on me as I sit down on the bench. I follow the sensation, looking up to see Owen and Abel fidgeting restlessly, their gazes nervous but too cautious to step closer. I can’t blame them really and only shrug.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Abel says, although his voice is too low to be called optimistic. “We’ll be waiting outside until it’s over.”

What will happen when everything’s over? I swallow and nod, watching them walk out and only now noticing that Paula’s hand has already disappeared from my shoulder. Well, that’s good. I don’t really need her here—but at the same time, there’s something in me seeking her, craving her presence. Before I have the time to turn those thoughts into actions, Gwen clears her throat and nods at the bench, tying her hair up.

“Lie down and relax.”

I huff. Sure, easy for her to say. But I do lie down on my stomach, my body naked as the blanket falls off my back. Gwen coyly pulls it over my lower half, making someone in the cabin huff in amusement, and touches my back. Her fingers are coated in something wet and cool, and the scent of herbs hits my nose.

“Is that alright?”

I clench my jaw and nod, closing my eyes. It doesn’t hurt really, but the feeling of Gwen’s hands on my skin isn’t entirely pleasant. Panic and resentment begin to rise in me again, my breath turning heavier, when I feel another touch on my arm, a gentle squeeze as a gesture of support. I don’t know how, I don’t know why—but I know it’s Paula, and something in my chest pulls tighter.

I want her touch. As Gwen continues to smear my back, I move my fingers and raise my hand on the bench ever so slightly. There is a beat of hesitance, a moment of uncertainty—and Paula grabs it, her fingers wrapping around my palm.

“I’m here,” she whispers, either to me or to herself, and it shouldn’t be so soothing—and yet it is.

She’s here. She isn’t gonna leave. I can—

In a flash of pain, the ointment starts to sting all at once, and I groan and clutch Paula’s hand even tighter as my consciousness slips away.