Alpha’s Relic

Episode 15: The Witches

Episode 15 - Act II

Quinn stared out the car window at the silent farmhouse where her family waited. Porch lights cast soft pools of yellow across the yard, fireflies blinking in the tall grass beyond. She’d spent three days in the hospital before finally banning her family from visiting. Each visit had spiraled into a scene.

"I could just take you to my house," Declan said with a slow smile, the kind that pretended innocence but carried a promise beneath it, his tone smooth as silk and threaded with suggestion.

"Tempting," she murmured, "but not for the reasons you think." His playful, exaggerated sigh tugged a reluctant smile from her. Her wolf stirred faintly at the sound of his voice, pacing just under her skin.

Declan had vanished for most of the second day after Ciarán’s appearance. She’d woken to Aunt Moira dangling crystals above her head while Aisling paraded in surgical scrubs. That night he returned only after she’d fallen asleep, sliding in close and pulling her gently against him. By morning he was gone again. When she finally ordered her family to stay away, he had appeared as if conjured, ready to drive her home. Willow Ridge didn’t exactly have ride-shares.

Quinn opened the car door. The night was warm and balmy, cicadas buzzing faintly in the trees. The seasons would soon turn. The air tingled against her skin, heavy with humidity and charged with magic. Her wolf lifted its head, sniffing, unsettled.

“Ahhh, Quinn, still alive and kicking,” a familiar female voice teased.

Two women stepped from the shadows as if the dark itself had cloaked them. The scent of sage, smoke, and something metallic trailed in their wake. The grass bent around their boots though no wind stirred, and the shadows clung to them as if reluctant to let go. A hum whispered at Quinn’s ears, low and strange, raising goosebumps along her arms. Her wolf bristled beneath her skin.

Allegra and Bridget Rendell were witches from a nearby coven who also knew how to party, something Quinn had always appreciated. Allegra was tall and willowy, her pale blonde hair gleaming like moonlight, every movement languid and graceful. Bridget, shorter and stockier, wore a shock of vivid red hair and moved with quick, crackling energy beside her sister’s calm elegance. Their contrast was striking—sun and storm, poised ice and restless flame. Quinn had never forgotten how unsettling it felt to be between them.

“Alpha,” Allegra said coolly, her tone dipped in disdain.

“What are you doing here?” Quinn asked, hugging each sister in turn.

“He called in a favor. Perimeter protection,” Bridget said. Her bracelets jingled faintly, the stones glowing with stored light.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Quinn said. She bit the inside of her cheek and forced a polite nod.

“It was a good call,” Allegra said, eyes raking the tree line. The back of Quinn’s neck prickled as though something unseen moved between the trees. Her wolf pressed forward, ears flat, uneasy.

“What did you sense?” Declan asked, folding his arms. His voice was calm, but it carried an edge. Quinn’s wolf snapped in warning, both irritated and drawn to the clash.

“That’s something we’ll discuss with Quinn,” Allegra replied. She held his gaze without flinching, steady and unyielding, letting him see she was no wolf to bow easily.

Declan took a step forward. Quinn stepped in front of him.

“Go home. I’ll update you later,” she said, laying a hand on his bicep, a calming touch meant to anchor him long enough to listen.

Declan looked ready to argue but only nodded after a long search of her eyes.

The three women watched his taillights vanish down the gravel road.

“Quinnnnnn, what was that?” Allegra demanded, her composure cracking.

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing. I felt it too,” Bridget pressed. Both sisters studied her closely. Quinn’s wolf prowled uneasily, tail lashing.

Quinn tilted her head. Allegra’s gaze flickered, guarded. Suspicion sharpened in Quinn’s chest. Her wolf rumbled, eager to bare teeth, but she held it back with effort.

“You want to tell me what’s going on with you? Have the Donovan men been keeping you witches entertained?” Quinn asked lightly, laughing at Allegra’s scowl.

Rumor said the Rendells had recently aligned with the Donovans, an unlikely pairing. Quinn had only glimpsed the Donovan wolves in passing, but they belonged to an ancient bloodline and ruled the Southern Enclave, the same faction the Tiernan wolves served.

“How’s Helayna?” she added, pushing open the rickety screen door.

“You know Layna. Always in trouble,” Allegra muttered.

“Yeah... if trouble is a six-foot-four royal Alpha,” Bridget said with a snort.

“Liam Donovan?” Quinn froze in surprise, hand still on the knob. An odd match. Helayna was wild like her sisters but more so. Hell on wheels, always the one to take the dare. Liam, meanwhile, lived in the rigid world of the royal alphas. Quinn grinned, hoping she was making his life difficult. She knew all too well what it was like dealing with bossy alpha wolves—Declan had given her plenty of practice.

“Quinnie!” Aisling barreled through the door, Keira at her heels. Their eyes widened at the sight of the witches.

“I told you not to call me that,” Quinn warned, scooping them both up anyway. Their hair smelled faintly of sugar cookies from Moira’s kitchen, and the weight of them in her arms steadied her. Her wolf purred with quiet satisfaction, soothed by the twins’ familiar scent.

“Hello, little wolves,” Allegra greeted, voice smooth. Aisling glared with her best Alpha stare. Keira shrank close but smiled shyly.

Inside, Aunt Moira wrapped Quinn in a hug that nearly crushed her ribs. Brenna followed, her embrace soft but desperate. For a moment Quinn let herself sink into it, her throat tight and eyes stinging. She could still see Brenna’s face in the hospital room, pale with fear.

The memory burned, a reminder of how close she had come to leaving them all behind. It was so much like their mother’s death that the memory cut deep, sharp enough to make her chest ache. Her wolf whimpered low, unsettled by the memory.

“Please don’t do that again,” Brenna whispered.

“I’ll try not to.” Quinn squeezed her hand.

“That’s also why the witches are here,” Aunt Moira said grimly. “To check you out, Quinn. “I don’t buy the hospital’s excuses—blood pressure, sugar, anemia, whatever.”

The hospital had found nothing. Perfect blood pressure, normal sugars, clean scans. But the hairs on Quinn’s arms lifted, her wolf pacing restless inside her. It wasn’t medical. Something had shifted inside of her. Richard’s prophecy throbbed in her mind with new weight.

“Fine.” She sank onto the sofa. Aisling joined her instantly, eyes tracking her every move. Quinn pressed her lips into a thin line as she glanced at her nieces. She was grateful she hadn’t collapsed in front of them. Some images couldn’t be erased. Her wolf pressed against her ribs, wanting to shield them.

The witches followed Moira for supplies. Keira trailed after them, curiosity sparking.

“Was there a lot of blood?” Aisling asked.

“Aisling!” Brenna snapped from the kitchen, where she was laying out snacks, and hopefully wine.

“You’ll have to ask Declan. He was covered in it.” Quinn bit back a smile at Brenna’s sigh and Aisling’s wide eyes. Her wolf gave a soft growl, recalling the Alpha’s scent mingled with hers.

“Brutal,” Aisling said, appeased.

The witches returned half an hour later with odds and ends from Aunt Moira’s stash. The sharp scent of crushed herbs and candle smoke filled the room, clinging to Quinn’s lungs. Her wolf sneezed at the bitter tang, ears twitching inside her mind.

“Is all that necessary?” Quinn asked. She had hoped for finger-wiggling and a spell, not vials of dubious liquid.

“No,” Allegra said.

“Yes,” Bridget countered. “You have your way, I have mine.”

“Let’s try Allegra’s first.” Quinn eyed the jars Bridget carried with suspicion.

Aisling growled as Allegra approached. The witch only smirked and patted her head. Cold fingertips brushed Aisling’s hair. To her credit, Aisling didn’t flinch. She was going to grow into a frighteningly strong wolf someday.

“Aisling Quinn Murphy, don’t you dare,” Brenna warned in her mother-tone.

“Don’t worry, little wolf. Your day will come,” Allegra said. Both girls stiffened, curiosity sparking.

“But today is your day, Quinn.” Allegra’s hands pressed to her head. Her palms were hot, pulsing with magic, and the air around them seemed to shiver with static. A thrumming hum bled into Quinn’s ears, ancient and alien, as if the world itself had turned its gaze on her. “This may sting.”

Quinn caught the witch’s frown. A wave of heat surged through her. The room tilted, colors streaking across her vision. Her wolf snarled in protest, claws scraping inside her chest. She heard the others shout as her knees gave way. The last sensation was the floor rushing up to meet her.

Then nothing. The hum rattled her bones. Shadows stretched too long. The air reeked of ozone and ash. Her wolf gave one broken howl in the void, then went silent.

Pain stabbed her chest. Her pulse faltered, ears ringing with the frantic cries of her family. She gasped, but no air came. The world shrank to darkness, the taste of ash, and the fading echo of her wolf. A whisper followed her down: Choose, or be unmade.

She blacked out again.