Spellbound by the Alpha

Chapter 11: Cordella

Cordella

The second our feet touched the floor of my apartment, the market bags still clutched in hand, Piper let out a delighted laugh.

“I cannot believe your wolf was there.”

“He’s not my wolf,” I snapped, dumping the tote full of hand-poured candles, oranges, and a loaf of cursed sourdough on the counter from the farmers' market. “Clearly. He was on a date.”

Piper kicked off her boots and flopped onto my couch like she owned it. “Mmhmm. Out to dinner. And yet you and him were both hiding in a dark hallway together like horny teenagers at a coven retreat. That doesn’t scream serious to me.”

I rolled my eyes, aggressively unwrapping a wheel of brie. “Whatever. He’s crazy. He grabbed my necklace.”

That got her attention. “What?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, opening the cabinet for a wine glass I didn’t actually need. “Just… reached out and touched it. Smelt the wolfsbane. It burned him. I saw it. But he didn’t even flinch.”

Piper’s grin grew sharp. “You’re so going to f**k the Alpha.”

I choked. “I am not! I hate him.”

“You keep saying that, Della,” she sing-songed, grabbing a peach and biting into it like she was watching a soap opera. “But I’ve seen you annoyed. I’ve seen you pissed. This? This is something else. You’re obsessed.”

I shoved her with a cushion. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re in denial.”

We didn’t argue after that. Just flopped onto the couch with a bottle of wine and queued up a movie that neither of us really watched. She was laughing at the rom-com. I was chewing on my lip, stewing in something I didn’t want to name. Because I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t be mad.

He was on a date. With someone perfect. Blonde. Poised. Pack-approved. The kind of Luna they wrote about in old bloodline tomes. We weren’t anything. Not friends. Not lovers. Barely even enemies.

But the thought of him smiling at her like she mattered?

It made my chest tight and my magic hum like it was waiting for me to admit something I didn’t want to say out loud. But I shove it away because Heston Blue wasn't mine. And I deffinitley wasn't his.

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The register clicked shut with a satisfying ka-ching as I handed the receipt to the wide-eyed college girl who’d just dropped seventy dollars on rose quartz, eucalyptus bundles, and a book called Hex Your Ex. She gave me a chipper “thank you!” before flouncing out the door, leaving behind the faint scent of dry shampoo and misplaced optimism.

I was about to slide the tip jar closer for a count when the bell over the door jingled again and in walked Mr. Benson.

“Hi, Cordella.”

“Hi, Mr. Benson.” I smiled, wiping my hands on my apron. “To what do I owe the visit? Let me guess. Back for more of that peppermint foot balm you swore you’d never try?”

Normally, he chuckled. Today, he looked like he’d swallowed a bee. He clutched a thick manila folder to his chest like it might shield him from judgment.

“I, uh… I’m selling the building.”

The world tipped a little.

“What?”

“I made sure to lock in your rent,” he rushed to say, “and your shop is safe. They promised. They’re just doing some renovations. You know, improvements. Construction starts Monday. Might be noisy. Might slow traffic. But it’s temporary.”

My heart dropped straight into my boots. The lights above us flickered once. Then again.

Mr. Benson blinked up at them. “Oh. They said they’d fix the power too. Modernize the wiring.”

I took a breath. Counted to five. My magic surged against my skin, buzzing like a hive.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he said, quieter now. “It’s just… it’s a lot of money, Cordella. And the grandkids are starting college next fall. You understand, don’t you?”

I did. Goddess, I did. And that was the worst part.

I couldn’t be mad at Mr. Benson. Sweet, widowed, Sunday crossword Mr. Benson, who gave me a break on rent when I opened the shop. Who brought me peppermint taffies and called me “a throwback to Woodstock in all the best ways.” He was just trying to take care of his family.

“I understand, Mr. Benson,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Thank you. For protecting my space.”

He smiled in relief, patted my hand like I was still twelve, and shuffled out. The second the door shut behind him, I locked it. Then I screamed. Not out loud. Not really. It was a soul scream. One that vibrated through every atom of my being.

Heston f*****g Blue.

If that smug, skyscraper-building, legacy-worshipping Alpha thought I’d been joking when I said I’d ruin him. He had another thing coming.

I stomped to the back room, yanked open the drawer with my emergency spellwork, and dragged out the velvet pouch I wasn’t supposed to use for anything petty. This wasn’t petty.

This was war.

I set up fast. A candle, map, pendant, dried rosemary, scrap of paper from the one invoice I’d seen with his cursed company’s name on it. A locator spell. Quick. Dirty. Efficient.

When it settled and the flame bent unnaturally west, I didn’t hesitate. I changed into boots and black jeans, braided my hair with a slice of ash root, threw on a jacket, and grabbed the keys. I wasn’t thinking.

I didn’t want to think.

Because thinking would make me stop. Would make me remember he was dangerous. That we weren’t friends. That we weren’t anything but enemies standing on ancient lines soaked in blood and magic.

But I didn’t stop. I drove straight to the steel and glass monolith that was Blue Co and stormed into enemy territory. I didn’t care if I was insane. I was going to give that Alpha bastard a piece of my f*****g mind.

The elevator walls were all cold steel and reflective surfaces, sterile and smooth and soulless, like the entire building. Like him.

I hit the button for the top floor and folded my arms tight over my chest, jaw clenched, magic thrumming under my skin like a battle drum.

This place didn’t belong to people like me. Witches weren’t supposed to walk into buildings with gold plaques and marble floors and security guards with earpieces.

But I didn’t care.

I was too angry to care.

Too fired up to think about consequences or legacy or how this might look to someone on the council. Too furious to remember I wasn’t supposed to cross boundaries that had been in place for centuries.

The elevator climbed floor after floor and I could feel the energy rising with me.

Not just mine. The city’s.

Like the magic knew I was coming. Like it wanted me to burn this place down.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Piper.

I ignored it. Another ping. Probably a warning. Probably a “Don’t you dare do something stupid.”

It was too late. Because this?

This was stupid.

Marching into the Alpha’s tower, fueled by rage and caffeine, in a jacket that smelled like rosemary and spite?

Absolutely unhinged.

But he’d messed with my shop. My sanctuary.

And if Heston Blue thought he could throw money at a building and bulldoze his way through my life without a word, he was about to learn just how wrong he was.

Ding.

The doors slid open and I stepped out into a hallway lined with sleek lighting, frosted glass, and the distant sound of voices.

Reception desk to the left. Conference room doors straight ahead.

A sign on the wall in clean black lettering: BLUE CO. EXECUTIVE SUITES

I took a breath and walked toward the wolf’s den.

Because if Heston Blue wanted a war?

He just got one.