Spellbound by the Alpha

Chapter 7: Heston

Heston

The roast was perfect. The drinks were flowing. The laughter around the pack table echoed warm and loud against the timber-framed walls of the Blue Ridge lodge.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about a witch in a black dress who looked at me like she wanted to bury a knife in my ribs and maybe…just maybe, moan while doing it.

Cordella Blackwood.

Sharp. Brazen. Reckless.

She stormed across the street this afternoon like she owned the damn pavement. Cut into me right in front of potential clients. Spoke like every word was dipped in venom. Then she said she was stressed. And just for a second, the mask cracked. Then she was gone.

Gone in a swirl of dark hair, tattoos, and that scent that had my wolf clawing at the inside of my ribs.

And yeah, fine. When her magic surged? I felt it.

Right in my d**k.

Now I sat at the head of the long table, surrounded by brothers and my pack, trying to remember who I used to be before responsibility hollowed me out and filled the gaps with concrete.

I used to laugh a little more. Sleep a little more. I was never exactly relaxed. That’s not what being a Blue meant, but I wasn’t this tightly wound either.

Dinner was a monthly tradition, but Blue Ridge being what it was, we gathered almost every week. Family first. Pack always.

My father sat at the far end, talking about construction timelines with Max. My mother sat beside him, immaculate in wine-colored silk, her presence the kind that made people sit straighter without realizing it.

And me? I was chewing through the roast and thinking about a witch who’d cursed my glass with a smirk.

The rest of the afternoon went fine. The meeting was smooth. The investors were interested. But my wolf?

He was agitated.

Didn’t like being near her and not being with her. Snarled every time I looked across the street and saw the crystal shop dark, the front sign flipped to CLOSED. She’d stormed off and shut me out. Probably lit sage and hexed my name while soaking in one of her overpriced moon baths.

Good. I deserved it.

Maybe.

Probably not.

“...and I’ve already arranged the dinner,” my mother said, slicing through my thoughts like a perfectly sharpened dagger.

I blinked. “What?”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “With the Whitmore family. Their daughter. You remember Elise.”

“I don’t,” I said flatly.

“You met her last spring at the summit.”

“That wasn’t a date, that was a hostage negotiation.”

“She’s sweet,” my mother continued, ignoring me. “Educated. Comes from strong blood. And she’s willing to relocate if things go well.”

I set my fork down, slowly. “You set up a date without asking me?”

“You’ve been... distracted.”

That earned a sharp laugh from Ridge across the table. “You have been a little off your game lately, big guy.”

Rowan leaned in, brows raised, voice quieter. “What’s up with you? Don’t you want a Luna?”

I stared at him, the weight of that question heavier than it should’ve been.

Of course I did. Didn’t I?

Legacy was everything. The bloodline. The strength of the pack. I was Alpha now—there were expectations. Mating wasn’t just tradition, it was duty.

And yet…

All I could think about was her. The way she smiled like it was a weapon. The way her magic brushed my skin like a dare. The way she hadn’t even looked back.

“I want the right Luna,” I said eventually, my voice low.

My mother caught the edge in my tone and narrowed her eyes. I knew that look. I’d been raised on that look. It meant 'watch your mouth'.

I shut up.

Because I was Alpha. But I was also her son.

And I knew when to pick my battles.

Even if my wolf was pacing now, snarling at the very idea of sitting across from someone else when he’d already scented someone he couldn’t stop thinking about.

Even if that someone was the worst possible choice.

A Blackwood.

Dinner dragged. Even with laughter and familiar voices filling the air, I couldn’t settle. Not when every question from my mother felt like a trap, and every glance from my father was a test I didn’t study for.

I made it through dessert, nodded through more Luna talk, grunted a goodbye to Ridge and Rowan as they peeled off to the game room, and finally escaped to the one place I could actually breathe. My study.

Max followed, two tumblers and a bottle of good bourbon in hand, because of course he did.

We didn’t speak until the door was closed, and the fireplace lit itself with a flicker of magic keyed to my presence. Max dropped onto the leather chair across from mine like he’d been born in it, legs sprawled, glass already half full.

He was my beta. My best friend. And, unfortunately, the least likely person to let me lie to myself for very long.

I poured my drink and sank into the chair, loosening my tie just enough to breathe.

“You think the Harringtons are serious about the historical district?” Max asked casually, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

“They were interested,” I said. “It’s a good location. Central. Foot traffic. Untapped potential.”

He nodded, waiting.

I took a sip, let the burn settle. “I saw the witch today.”

His brow arched. “The witch?”

“Cordella Blackwood. In the historical district. Her shop is in the building the Harringtons are interested in.”

Even saying her name made my wolf perk up. I ignore him.

“Neutral territory,” he noted.

“Technically,” I muttered. “She was across the street. Then she wasn’t. Then she stormed across traffic and verbally abused me in front of the suits.”

Max smirked over the rim of his glass. Gray eyes glinting in the firelight. “Did you like it as much as last time?”

I growled low in my throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do.”

I scowled. “Max—”

“Hest,” he cut in, leaning forward, “I’m your beta and your best friend. You’ve been on edge ever since the Borderline. Your brothers might be blind, but I’m not.”

I stared into my glass and said nothing.

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your mate.”

The words slammed into me like a blow to the ribs.

I froze. Max didn’t.

“It makes sense,” he said softly. “Why you don’t want to meet with Elise. Why your wolf’s been pacing like he’s lost his damn mind. Why your temper’s shot to s**t. Your wolf already knows, Hest.”

I took a long drink and set the glass down with more force than necessary.

“It’a not possible. She’s a witch. A Blackwood. Our oldest enemy.”

“She’s your witch.”

“No,” I snapped, standing. “No. That’s not how this works.”

“You think the Moon Goddess gives a s**t about Blue Ridge politics?”

“I’m Alpha,” I growled. “Of Blue Ridge. I have a legacy to protect. A bloodline. A pack.”

“And she’s not what they’d want,” Max finished for me.

I turned my back to him, staring into the flames.

“She’s the Alter’s daughter,” I said quietly. “She’s powerful. Untamed. Reckless. If I claimed her. If I even tried. It wouldn’t just spark gossip. It’d start a war.”

Max didn’t argue. He knew I wasn’t being dramatic. The bad blood between the Blackwood Coven and Blue Ridge went back so far that no one knew the true reason we hated each other. Just that it was ingrained in our DNA. The story goes that the original Blackwood cursed the Blue's, my ancestors, and from then on it raged through centuries. Now? In modern times, we didn't fight with our wolf form or them with spells. No, it was through contracts and social status within the community.

“She’s not mine,” I said again, like if I said it enough, my wolf would stop howling. But he didn’t.

“So you’re going to reject your true mate then?”

I’m silent and my wolf snarls at the thought.

“I have to.” The words burn as they come out, and I wash it down with another sip of liquid fire.

Because that’s what I needed to do. Forget Cordella Blackwood and find a Luna like Elise. Even if the thought made my head hurt and my wolf snarl.

---

The house had gone quiet hours ago.

Even Max had left me alone, finally understanding there was nothing left to say that wouldn’t drive me deeper into denial or madness.

I laid in bed, bare-chested and restless, sheets kicked down to my hips. The moonlight cut sharp lines across the ceiling, and my body… my body wouldn’t settle.

Cordella’s voice echoed in my head like a damn siren song.

“Don’t you have a pack to run? Or a historical building to ruin?”

“Why? Can’t handle the heat?”

“Who says I don’t want to finish?”

Every word had struck like a whip. Every look, every flick of her sharp little tongue, every glare like it was dipped in honey and venom at once—I was addicted. There was no denying it anymore. I’d tried to leash it, smother it. Tried to call it a fluke, a flared temper, a surge of something magical and meaningless.

But I felt her. In my blood. In my bones.

In the ache low in my gut that had me groaning and dragging a hand down my stomach.

I should’ve stopped.

But I didn’t.

I wrapped a hand around myself, hard and aching, and bit down on a curse.

I wasn’t picturing Elise Whitmore. I wasn’t picturing any of the women my mother paraded in front of me over the last two years. Or the faceless human hookups.

I saw her.

Cordella. Storming across the street, hair wild, eyes lit with fury and fire. Skirt swaying around her legs, mouth smirking like she knew exactly what she did to me.

Witch.

Goddess.

Problem.

Mine, my wolf growled.

“No,” I muttered, jaw clenched as I stroked myself harder, faster. “This is all it can ever be.”

Just this.

A fantasy. A release. A secret shame I could leave in the dark and bury beneath my duty.

I came with her name half-formed on my lips, head falling back against the pillow, muscles taut and trembling.

After, I laid there, chest rising and falling, the burn in my lungs no match for the fire still simmering low and dangerous inside me.

She wasn’t mine.

She couldn’t be.

But as my hand dropped away and silence crept back into the room, my wolf gave a low, warning growl.

You can lie to yourself all you want.

But this won’t be the last time.