Alpha's Triad Of Desire

I'm Offering Help.

Elara's POV

I should’ve felt something by now—anything. A surge of power, a flicker of energy, a connection to the magic that’s supposedly woven into my bloodline. But there was nothing.

I was a witch. I knew that much. I had learned enough over the years to perform basic spells, simple things that barely required effort—lighting a candle with a flick of my fingers, shifting a small object across a room. Mundane spells that felt like a cruel joke, like someone dangling a prize just out of reach.

But beyond that, my magic refused to cooperate. The moment I tried anything more advanced—something that required real strength or focus—it was as if my magic shriveled up inside me, retreating to a place I couldn’t reach.

I clenched my fists in frustration, pacing the small clearing by the stream where I’d met that strange wolf the other day. His sudden appearance had unsettled me, but there was something in his words that had lingered. Magic could change everything, he’d said. He wasn’t wrong. If I could access my true power, if I could understand why my magic was blocked, maybe I wouldn’t feel so... helpless.

I stared down at the smooth stone I’d placed in front of me, a simple focal point for a spell I had tried a hundred times before. All it required was focus—just enough concentration to lift the stone an inch off the ground. I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath, and let the familiar incantation roll off my tongue.

Nothing.

The stone didn’t even twitch.

“Why won’t you just work?” I muttered, my voice thick with frustration. I knew it was pointless to speak to inanimate objects, but I couldn’t help it. I was angry. Angry at my magic for failing me, angry at myself for being unable to control it.

I tried again, speaking the words of the spell more forcefully this time, willing the magic to rise from deep within me, to fill my veins with the power that should have been mine. But again, the stone remained stubbornly still.

With a growl of frustration, I flung my hand out, sending a wave of raw, unfocused energy toward the stone. It sparked briefly before fizzling out like a spent match, leaving me even more infuriated than before.

Why was this happening? Why couldn’t I control it?

I had always known I was different from the others, that I had power that set me apart, but what use was power if I couldn’t wield it? My entire life had been a constant battle to keep my head down, to hide what little magic I could muster, terrified that someone would see me for what I was. A witch who couldn’t even perform a simple levitation spell.

It was pathetic.

And it wasn’t just that I couldn’t access my powers—it was the feeling that something inside me was broken. The other witches I had met in my life seemed to take to their magic so easily, their power flowing through them like water through a stream. But for me, it was like trying to grasp smoke. Every time I thought I had it, it slipped through my fingers.

I sat down heavily by the stream, letting the cool breeze wash over me. This place was usually calming, a small refuge from the world that constantly seemed to want to tear me apart. But today, even the peaceful surroundings couldn’t soothe the gnawing frustration in my chest.

What am I doing wrong?

I reached into the small satchel at my side and pulled out a weathered book, its cover worn and frayed from years of use. It was one of the few things I had left from my family, passed down from my grandmother, who had been a powerful witch in her own right. The pages were filled with spells, incantations, and ancient knowledge that I had pored over endlessly, hoping to find something that would unlock the magic within me.

But no matter how many times I read through it, I never found the answer I was looking for.

I flipped open the book to a page I had memorized long ago, tracing the words with my finger as I read aloud, more to myself than to anyone else.

“To harness the magic within, one must first understand the source.”

I had never truly understood what that meant. My source? My emotions? My lineage? It all seemed so vague, so intangible. I could feel the magic inside me, but it was like there was a wall between me and it, an impenetrable barrier that I couldn’t break through no matter how hard I tried.

I slammed the book shut, pushing it away from me in frustration. This was hopeless. I couldn’t even perform the most basic spells, let alone the powerful magic I knew I was capable of.

What was the point of being a witch if I couldn’t use my own power?

Tears of frustration pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away, refusing to let myself break down. I had been running for too long, hiding from too much. I couldn’t let this defeat me. There had to be a way to unlock my magic, to make it work.

I just hadn’t found it yet.

In the distance, I heard the rustle of leaves, and my senses prickled with awareness. Someone was nearby.

I stood quickly, my hand instinctively reaching for the small dagger I kept at my side. My heart raced as I scanned the trees, my pulse pounding in my ears. I could feel the faint hum of energy in the air—the same energy I had felt when that wolf had appeared.

And then I saw him again.

Sergio.

He stepped into the clearing, his movements smooth and unthreatening, but there was a gleam in his eyes that made my skin prickle with unease.

“Back again?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral, though my guard was up. I wasn’t in the mood for company, especially from a stranger who had appeared out of nowhere.

He smiled that same disarming smile, the one that had unsettled me the first time. “I thought I’d check in. You seemed like you could use some company last time.”

I narrowed my eyes, studying him closely. There was something about him, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. He was dangerous, that much I could tell, but there was also an air of familiarity to him, like we were connected in some way I couldn’t understand.

“I’m fine,” I said shortly, my hand still resting on the hilt of my dagger. “I prefer to be alone.”

“Everyone says that,” he replied, his voice smooth and charming, “until they realize how lonely it gets.”

I scoffed, turning my back to him and staring down at the stone still lying lifeless on the ground. “Loneliness isn’t my problem.”

“Then what is?” he asked, his voice closer now.

I could feel him standing just behind me, the warmth of his presence unsettling in a way I couldn’t explain.

“My problem,” I said through gritted teeth, “is that nothing seems to work the way it’s supposed to.”

He was silent for a moment, as if weighing his next words carefully. “Maybe you’re trying too hard,” he said finally. “Sometimes, the more you force it, the harder it is to control.”

I clenched my fists, anger bubbling up inside me again. What did he know about control?

“I don’t need advice from a wolf,” I snapped, spinning around to face him. But when I met his eyes, there was no arrogance, no smugness. Just calm, steady confidence.

“I’m not offering advice,” he said quietly, his gaze holding mine. “I’m offering help.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. There was something in his voice, something that made me pause. Could he really help me? Could this stranger be the key to unlocking the power I had spent my entire life searching for?

Doubt gnawed at me, but so did hope.

And in that moment, I realized I might not have a choice.