Alliance of Shadows, Book 3: HUNTER

A Witch’s Fury

Maria ascended on her sixteenth birthday, marking a transformation that amplified her already formidable power. Because of her strong standing within the Howler pack, the ascension doubled her strength, making her more than just remarkable. She was now an unstoppable force.

She was beautiful and brilliant, with the strength to take on an army and win. There was no question about her place in the world now. As her Alpha, I had no doubt that Logan would keep her safe. Then again, my Mate wasn’t exactly known for handling things delicately. If I stepped out of line even slightly, she wouldn’t hesitate to stake me to the nearest tree. I mean, she did threaten to kill me at Logan’s Sweet Sixteenth, so there’s that.

Then, Logan's sire launched an attack. He arrived with roughly a hundred Rogues, but the Alliance was stronger, ready to fight, and unwilling to fall. I sent out a dozen of our best-trained fighters, each one prepared for battle. Meanwhile, Peter led the search for Wynter. He tracked her down, but just when it seemed like things were turning in our favor, everything took a horrifying turn. Austin killed one of the members of Shadow Storm.

After the funeral of Stephen Grey, I stopped trying so hard. My relentless efforts had only fueled her slow-burning dislike, but when I backed off, something shifted. The tension between us seemed to ease, almost imperceptibly at first, like a wound healing beneath the surface.

She even started visiting the manor alone, no longer needing an excuse beyond simple curiosity. At first, it was sporadic—brief appearances, quiet moments exchanged without acknowledgment—but eventually, her presence became familiar, expected.

Even her so-called boyfriends didn’t last long. They drifted in and out of her life, temporary and insignificant, unable to withstand the invisible force tethering us together. The bond between us grew in the quiet chasm separating us, stretching across the distance neither of us dared to fully close. It was unspoken, undeniable, something deeper than words could express. And whether we admitted it or not, it was the one truth neither of us could escape.

At first, she came just to speak with the workers. Her visits were brief, never lingering too long, as if she didn’t want to give anyone the chance to question her presence. She listened, her expression unreadable, absorbing their words without offering much in return. Still, she kept coming back, each visit a little longer than the last.

Their reports to me were always the same—she was asking about my daily routine. She never asked directly, never in a way that would make her interest obvious, but they noticed. At first, the workers resisted, unsure of her intentions and reluctant to share anything personal. They hesitated when answering, offering only vague responses, trying to gauge whether she was truly curious or simply gathering information. It was only after I urged them to tell her the unfiltered truth that they finally relented.

And then came the day that changed everything. The moment that set the tone for the rest of our lives…

I glanced up as Stanley suddenly ducked into my office, moving with the nervous energy of someone who had just narrowly escaped disaster. His entrance wasn’t subtle—it was rushed, abrupt, the door swinging inward as though he’d half expected to be stopped before making it inside.

"Stan, I’m not in the mood for your clowning today," I said, my voice carrying the exhaustion of too many interruptions. I had long since learned that my brother had a talent for stirring chaos, and I rarely found myself in the mood to entertain whatever nonsense he brought with him.

He barely seemed to register my irritation. His paler-than-normal face whipped toward me, wide-eyed and tight-jawed, as he groaned, "I thought you would be gone out hunting by now!"

"With as much paperwork that I need to have done, I can’t. Besides, I hunted last evening," I said, casting my eyes downward to the daunting stack waiting to be signed and sorted. I heaved a sigh, the weight of responsibility pressing harder than I cared to admit. It was tedious, draining, and the very thing keeping me trapped indoors instead of out where I belonged.

Then came the sound—a familiar shriek of rage echoing through the stone halls of our family mansion. It carried with it the unmistakable force of fury, sharpened by the way it filled every corner, making the walls seem narrower, heavier.

Stanley flinched.

I didn’t.

"What did you do to make my Mate angry?" I pressed as Maria’s scream rang through the halls, her voice sharp with fury. She called Stanley’s name with enough venom to make it clear—he had done something again.

I lifted my gaze just as he vanished into thin air. Cursing under my breath, I knew without a doubt that he had pulled something vile enough to ignite Maria’s infamous temper. He wasn’t reckless, not in the way others might be, but he was calculating—pushing limits just enough to make people snap. And Maria had never been one to hold back when pushed too far.

The door to the office swung open, and she strode inside like she owned the place. Every step, every movement radiated confidence, control, unwavering certainty. I had always admired that about her—her ability to command a room with nothing more than her presence. She was outspoken, sharp-tongued, and sarcastic, unafraid to say exactly what she thought. It wasn’t recklessness; it was proof that she knew what she wanted in life and had no qualms about doing what needed to be done.

Drawing my brows together, I got up and went to her. “Maria, what happened? Are you alright?”

She glared at me, her jaw tightening, eyes sharp with fury. Then, as if the weight of her rage became too much to contain, she burst into tears of vexation. The sound was raw, unguarded, carrying frustration that ran far deeper than simple irritation. “Look what he did to my hair. I can smell his rancid scent, so he better stay hidden if he knows what’s good for him.”

Her voice trembled on the edge of fury, a sharp contrast to the quiet devastation reflected in her expression. Her hair—her prized possession, her connection to her power—had been defiled, coated in thick, sticky pine sap that clung to every strand like an unwanted curse. Under the dim lighting of my office, it glistened, a cruel mockery of the pristine state she always maintained.

Lucky for Stanley, I wanted my brothers around a few years longer, so I held my tongue and sighed instead. I knew him well enough to understand that this wasn’t just a careless mistake—it was deliberate, calculated, meant to provoke. Stanley never acted without intention.

“Maria, there’s a woman in the village who knows a few tricks for this sort of thing, and she won’t have to cut it. If you like, I can take you to her now.”

"I don't have the money for a salon, Hunter," she snapped. "I'm trying to save up for college as it is."

Her words came fast, sharp, like an instinctive defense against perceived charity. She refused to be dependent on anyone, even in moments like this—when her frustration could have easily overshadowed her pride.

"I will pay for you," I told her, my tone firm enough to leave no room for protest. "Consider it compensation for my brother's actions today."

Taking a tentative step in her direction, I reached out to gently touch the strands coated with the sticky liquid.

“No! Don’t you dare touch it!" She shrieked, recoiling like I had just reached for something sacred. "You’re going to make it worse!”

I froze, pulling my hand back instantly. “I won’t touch it if you don’t want me to. At least let me take you to the stylist in the village so she can save it before the sap ruins it,” I said as I backed off, careful to keep my movements slow and deliberate.

“What I want is your brother’s head on a pike.” She growled at me, crossing her arms over her chest, her fury still burning hot.

My attention flickered—just for a fraction of a second—to the swell of her breasts beneath the fabric of her shirt. The realization hit me before I could stop it. I cleared my throat and looked away, a gentle heat spreading through me despite my efforts to rein it in. I am blushing like a schoolboy, I thought.

She would probably try to kill me for even suggesting touching her, but the sap was already starting to dry. The longer we delayed, the worse this would become.

Maria breathed a heavy sigh, frustration radiating from her in waves. “Say whatever it is that you’re thinking and get it over with.”

“I would be able to get us there faster if you allow me to teleport you directly to Magdalena’s shop. To do so, I will need to touch you,” I replied, carefully watching for her reaction.

She was suddenly regretting coming to me, and I knew it. The hesitation in her posture, the way her gaze flickered uncertainly—she was reconsidering the choice she had just made.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," she muttered, her voice carrying the doubt she hadn't yet put into full words.

"Maria," I murmured, keeping my tone calm but firm. "You have my word that you will be perfectly safe from harm. I don't make a habit of assaulting women, and I'm not about to start with you."

Her eyes narrowed, sharp with consideration, studying me as if weighing some unseen scale of risk and trust. The silence stretched, and for a moment, I wasn't sure which way the decision would fall. Then, when I reached for her again, she didn't move away.

My heart clenched. At some point, someone had given her a reason to fear for her safety. Someone had made her hesitate—had planted the doubt that kept her from trusting easily.

She should never have to feel like that, I told myself.