The Luna's Wrath.

Chapter 6: The witch in the mist

Chapter 6: The Witch in the Mist

Lyra's POV

I ran until my legs gave out.

The shift had drained me more than I'd expected, my newfound wolf retreating as suddenly as she'd appeared, leaving me shivering and human in the pre-dawn cold. My dress was completely destroyed now, hanging off me in silk ribbons that caught on every branch. Blood mixed with dirt on my skin, and exhaustion pulled at my bones like gravity had doubled its weight.

But I couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. Not when stopping meant thinking about what had happened, about the humiliation that still burned hotter than any physical pain.

The forest grew denser as I stumbled deeper into territory I didn't recognize. These woods were old, ancient in a way that made the air itself feel thick and watchful. Mist clung to the ground like reaching fingers, and the trees grew so close together their branches wove overhead into a canopy that blocked out the fading moonlight.

I should have been afraid. Any sane wolf would be afraid this deep in uncharted territory, alone and injured. But fear required caring about survival, and right now, I wasn't entirely sure I did.

My foot caught on a root I didn't see in the mist, and I went down hard, scraping my palms on stone. The pain barely registered. Everything hurt anyway; what was one more wound?

"Most people who wander this deep into my woods don't get back up."

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once, melodic and ancient. I scrambled to my feet, searching the mist for the source, but saw only shadows and silver fog.

"Who's there?" My voice came out hoarse, broken from screaming and crying.

"The more interesting question, child, is who are *you*?" The mist shifted, and suddenly there was a woman who seemed ageless, her silver-streaked dark hair falling in waves around a face that could have been forty or four hundred. Her violet eyes studied me with an intensity that made me feel transparent, like she could see straight through flesh and bone to the broken thing underneath.

"I'm no one," I said, which felt true enough. Lyra Ashwood didn't exist anymore. She'd died in that clearing under the Harvest Moon.

"Liar." The woman smiled, but it wasn't cruel. "You reek of fresh magic, of bonds broken and curses shattered. You're also bleeding on my doorstep, which is terribly rude."

I looked down and realized I'd stumbled into a clearing I hadn't noticed before. Behind the woman stood a cottage that seemed to grow directly from the forest itself, its walls covered in vines and flowers that glowed faintly in the darkness.

"I didn't mean to trespass," I said, though the words felt automatic, empty. "I was just trying to get away."

"From what? Or should I say, from whom?" The woman circled me slowly, and I felt her gaze like a physical touch, cataloging every injury, every tear stain, every shred of torn silk. "Let me guess: heartbroken by an Alpha, humiliated before your pack, cast out with nowhere to go. How delightfully predictable."

Rage flared hot in my chest. "You don't know anything about me."

"Don't I?" She stopped in front of me, close enough that I could see the flecks of silver in her violet eyes. "I know you're Lyra Ashwood, last daughter of the cursed bloodline. I know your wolf was bound from birth by magic older than your Alpha's precious pack. I know you just broke that binding through sheer heartbreak and fury, which, by the way, should have killed you. And I know that right now, you're contemplating either revenge or death, and you haven't quite decided which."

The accuracy of her assessment stole the breath from my lungs. "How could you possibly.."

"Because I'm Maven Nightwhisper, and it's my business to know things." She turned and walked toward her cottage, gesturing for me to follow. "Now stop bleeding on my moss and come inside. We have much to discuss."

I should have run. Everything about this woman screamed danger, power, the kind of ancient magic that made even Alphas nervous. But she'd said something that hooked into my brain and wouldn't let go.

Cursed bloodline.

"Wait," I called, following her despite myself. "What do you mean, cursed? What binding?"

Maven glanced back over her shoulder, and her smile was equal parts kind and terrifying. "Oh, child. You really don't know anything, do you? That makes this so much more interesting."

The cottage interior was nothing like I expected. Where the outside seemed wild and organic, the inside was filled with books and bottles, dried herbs hanging from rafters, and artifacts I couldn't begin to identify. A fire burned in the hearth despite no one being there to tend it, and the air smelled of sage and something sweeter, like honey and starlight.

Maven gestured to a chair near the fire. "Sit. I'll make tea, and then I'll tell you a story about your grandmother, about deals made with desperate magic, and about why Kael Stormridge rejecting you was the best thing that could have happened."

"Best thing?" The words came out sharp, disbelieving.

"Oh yes." Maven's violet eyes gleamed in the firelight. "Because now, little wolf, you're finally free. And freedom, properly wielded, is the most dangerous weapon of all.”