Lycan Witch

Chapter 13: The Accused

The growl faded into silence, leaving only the restless shifting of boots on dirt and the frantic murmur of the crowd. The hunters’ torches cast harsh, flickering shadows that made the villagers’ faces look carved from fear itself.

Aria’s whispered plea still hung in the air, and she felt the weight of every eye on her.

“She spoke to it,” a woman hissed, clutching her child closer.

“She’s bewitched,” another spat.

“Call the priest,” an old man croaked.

Aria’s stomach knotted, the urge to run tangling with the impossibility of escape. Garrick stepped forward, eyes glinting like steel as he seized her wrist.

“You knew,” he growled, voice low enough to scrape along her nerves. “That thing in the forest—your friend, isn’t it?”

Aria’s breath caught. Her wrist burned under his grip, but worse was the way he looked at her: not like a person, but a weapon—dangerous, untrustworthy.

“I don’t—” she tried, but the words strangled. She couldn’t lie, not when her very heartbeat betrayed her. Because somewhere beyond the firelight, she knew Kael was watching.

“Don’t?” Garrick’s grip tightened. He dragged her forward into the torchlight so everyone could see her pale face, her trembling hands. “You defend it. You speak to it. Tell me why we shouldn’t bind you to the stake and let the beast come for you.”

Gasps and mutters rippled through the crowd. Children buried their faces against their mothers’ skirts. Men shifted uneasily, glancing from Aria to the woods and back again.

Aria’s knees shook. She wanted to scream she wasn’t what they thought, that she was just a girl. But another part of her—the part that felt the pull of Kael’s presence—rose against the fear.

“I’m not your enemy,” she said, her voice small but steady. “If you spill blood tonight, it will only draw more danger.”

Her words struck like sparks on dry tinder.

“Witch’s tongue!” someone shouted.

“She curses us with her lies!” another barked.

Garrick shoved her down to her knees, the cold earth biting through her skirts. He raised his blade, not to strike her, but to point toward the trees.

“If the beast wants you, girl,” he sneered, “then let it come and take you. We’ll gut it when it does.”

A cheer rose from his hunters, though their voices wavered with unease. They formed a line, weapons ready, their torches casting a wall of firelight between the square and the shadows.

Aria’s breath hitched. They would use her as bait.

And worse—part of her wasn’t afraid of that. Because deep down, beneath the terror and humiliation, a truth whispered through her veins like heat: If Kael comes… he will not let them harm me.

The crowd surged closer, eager to watch. Some jeered. Some prayed. Some stared at her with raw hatred. Aria kept her eyes fixed on the treeline, willing herself not to cry, not to let them see her break.

The silence stretched, heavy, waiting. Every heartbeat was an echo. Every breath a tremor.

And then—the growl came again.

Closer.

Stronger.

This time, it carried promise.