The Witch's Contract

THREE DROPS

Night came without sunset. In the Blackwood palace, darkness just deepened until the torches looked like stars trapped in black stone.

Elara stood outside the healers’ wing. Stone building. No windows. The door was iron, banded with silver to keep magic out. And magic in.

She could feel Lyra through the bond. Not with her mind. With her blood. Her sister’s heartbeat was faint. Too faint. Like a candle about to die. Grey had reached Lyra’s lips now. Frost coated her lashes. When she exhaled, the air crystallized.

Three drops. That was all Kade promised.

The door opened before Elara knocked. Kade stood there. No guards. No witnesses. Just him and a small glass vial in his palm. The liquid inside was thick. Dark. Almost black in the torchlight. Alpha blood.

“You ran your laps,” he said. No greeting. “You earned it.”

Elara stared at the vial. Three drops. Hessa said one drop breaks a curse if the witch is strong enough. But Lyra was barely breathing. Three drops would be a bandage on a severed throat.

“It won’t be enough,” Elara whispered.

Kade’s silver eyes flicked to her mark. The wolf’s fang still pulsed under her grey silk gown. “I don’t bargain, Luna. Three drops. Take them or don’t. She dies either way if you waste time.”

He stepped aside. Let her in.

The healers’ wing smelled like herbs and death. Cold stone tables. Wolves in healer robes moved between beds, but only one bed mattered. Lyra lay there, small, drowning in blankets. Black veins crawled up her neck toward her jaw. Her chest rose once. Fell. Didn’t rise again for three heartbeats.

Elara’s knees hit the floor beside the bed. She grabbed Lyra’s hand. Ice cold. No pulse. The monster inside her clawed at her ribs. _No. Not her. Not her._

Kade closed the door. The lock clicked. “You have one minute.”

Elara uncorked the vial. The scent of Alpha blood hit her like a wave. Iron. Snow. Power. Her teeth ached. The monster inside her surged forward, hungry. It recognized prey. It recognized king.

Her hand shook as she tilted the vial over Lyra’s lips. One drop fell. Red on grey skin. It hissed. Steam rose. The black veins recoiled from it like they were burned.

Lyra gasped. Chest rose. Breath fogged the air. For one second her eyelids fluttered. Blue eyes, same as Elara’s mother’s, looked at her and saw nothing.

Second drop. The veins stopped spreading. They retreated half an inch. Lyra’s lips lost some of the grey. She coughed. Frost instead of air.

Third drop. The heartbeat steadied. Still weak. Still wrong. But steady. Lyra’s fingers twitched in Elara’s grip. Alive. Not saved. Alive.

Elara corked the vial with shaking hands. Empty. “She needs more.”

“No.” Kade’s voice was stone. He took the vial back. “Three drops is the deal. Blood for blood. You bled in the snow. She got her payment.”

Elara stood. The bond between her and Kade pulsed. Hot. Angry. His control was slipping. She felt it. He was fighting the urge to give more. And fighting the urge to take more from her.

“Alpha blood kills witches,” Elara said. It wasn’t a question. She’d heard the stories. One drop in a witch’s wound burns like acid. “So why doesn’t it kill her?”

Kade didn’t answer. He stepped closer. Close enough she could smell him. Winter and blood and something older. His silver eyes dropped to her mouth. Then her throat. Then the mark on her shoulder.

“The mark changed,” he said quietly. “When I marked you. There was something under it. Old magic.”

Elara froze. The symbol her mother warned her about. Hidden under the fang. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Liar.” Kade’s hand shot out. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her sleeve up. Exposed the mark fully. Black and red. And under it, faint but growing, the old symbol glowed silver. Like moonlight. Like bone.

Kade touched it with one finger. The bond snapped.

Fire shot through Elara’s veins again. But this time it wasn’t just the bond. It was him. His blood, still on her lips from tasting the vial. His power, pouring into her through the mark. The monster inside her rose up to meet it.

The room vanished.

Elara saw it. A vision. A wolf made of smoke and bone standing over a field of dead witches. Silver eyes burning. And in its shadow, a girl with black veins and blue eyes screaming. Lyra. But older. Stronger. Wearing a crown of thorns.

Then Kade’s voice dragged her back. “What are you?”

Elara stumbled. He caught her. His arm around her waist. His blood still on his finger, now pressed to her lips. She tasted him without meaning to. Alpha. King. Enemy.

The monster inside her moaned. Not in pain. In recognition. _Mate_, it whispered. _Claim him before he claims you._

Elara shoved away from him. Her back hit the stone wall. “I’m nothing. Just a girl who signed your contract.”

Kade’s jaw tightened. He looked at Lyra. Breathing. Alive. Because of him. Then at Elara. Bleeding. Marked. Because of him.

“Blood for blood,” he said finally. “You bled for her. I bled for you. We’re even.”

He turned to leave. Paused at the door. “Ten laps again at dawn. If she’s still breathing, you get three more drops tomorrow. If she’s not…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

The door closed. Locked.

Elara sank to her knees beside Lyra’s bed. Her sister’s chest rose. Fell. Rose again. Alive. For one more day.

Elara pressed her forehead to Lyra’s cold hand. The mark on her shoulder burned. The old symbol under it pulsed in time with Kade’s footsteps retreating down the hall.

Three drops bought one day. Blood for blood.

And the monster inside her was done waiting. It wanted more.