Spellbound by the Alpha

Chapter 6: Cordella

Cordella

I didn’t storm back across the street. I floated, somehow fueled by rage, adrenaline, and the undeniable satisfaction of verbally throat-punching the Alpha of the Blue Ridge pack.

The bell above the shop door jingled as I reentered, but I barely heard it over the pounding of my own heart.

I turned the sign on the door to Closed. Early and unapologetic. I never did that. Ever. But today?

Today, I needed the world to go away.

I locked up, pulled the shades down, and didn’t even bother counting the cash drawer. My hands were still buzzing. My head was a mess. My body? Let’s not talk about my body.

I told myself it was the magic. The surge. The fight. The stress.

Not the man. Sorry, wolf.

Not the way his voice dropped low when he got close. Not the heat in his eyes or the way his hand wrapped around my wrist like he owned it—like he could own me.

Goddess.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment above the shop and kicked off my shoes like they were to blame for this whole mess. The second my door shut behind me, I made a beeline for the bathroom.

The tub filled quickly. Lavender oil. A few drops of moon-charged salt. My favorite candle flickering on the edge.

I sank into the water with a sigh that felt like a confession.

And then, because I had no shame and too many thoughts, I reached for the drawer beside the tub.

My B.O.B. was reliable. Discreet. Didn’t talk back.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall against the tub.

And yeah… maybe the image that filled my mind was a little taller than usual. Broader. Maybe he had dark hair, wild eyes, and a voice that said mine without needing to.

Maybe I imagined a growl in my ear. Teeth against my throat. A hand in my hair and a command I’d pretend not to obey.

Don't play with me, witch.

I came harder than I wanted to admit, legs shaking, water sloshing, shame flooding in right after the wave broke.

I laid there for a while, blinking at the ceiling, breath uneven and thoughts nowhere near cleansed.

Eventually, I drained the tub and dragged myself to bed in a robe I barely tied.

Sleep came fast.

But not before I whispered one final lie to myself.

It meant nothing.

I woke up in a panic, throat dry, heart racing.

The room was dark.

My phone screen lit up like a personal betrayal when I tapped it.

7:13 PM.

Fuck. f**k. f**k.

I practically launched myself out of bed, tripping over the robe I never tied properly and stubbing my toe on the edge of the dresser. I hissed, hopping in place as I yanked open my closet and grabbed the first thing that looked remotely dinner-worthy.

A long black dress. Fitted. Slightly witchy. Mostly clean.

I threw it on, dragged a brush through my tangled hair, dabbed some balm on my lips, and prayed I didn’t look like I’d just rolled out of a shame-fueled nap post-imaginary-alpha-orgasm.

Spoiler alert: I definitely did.

No time to care.

I bolted down the block barefoot for the first half until I slipped my boots on mid-stride and broke into a speed-walk-sprint hybrid that probably looked like a woman fleeing the scene of a crime.

Which, emotionally speaking, I kind of was.

By the time I reached the front steps of the Blackwood estate, I was out of breath, sweating under the silk of my dress, and mentally preparing myself for the gauntlet.

Because if there was one thing worse than running late to a dinner with my mother—it was running late to a dinner with the High Ten and my mother.

The door creaked open the second I reached for the handle.

Magic. Of course.

The house was still as a tomb, the air thick with incense, old wood, and judgment.

I stepped inside and immediately felt their eyes.

Ten women. All powerful. All terrifying. All seated around the long mahogany dining table like a coven version of the Supreme Court.

And at the head of it all sat my mother.

Calliope Blackwood.

Her expression was pinched. That was her version of livid when company was present. She didn’t say anything as I slipped into the seat beside her, trying to look serene and not like I’d just run six city blocks.

“Sorry,” I murmured.

She didn’t answer. Just passed me the sacred salt and kept her eyes on the woman at the opposite end of the table. Sandra, her right hand, her shadow, and my least favorite part-time psychic.

Dinner had started without me.

Talk of Solstice prep was already in motion.

I blinked fast, trying to tune back into the words around me, but I felt the weight of my mother’s silence more than anything.

Sandra’s voice drifted through the candlelight. “—and of course, Cordella will begin the opening invocation this year.”

My head jerked. “Wait, what?”

Nine heads turned in unison. I barely kept from sliding under the table.

Calliope finally spoke. “We discussed this, Cordella.”

“No,” I said, carefully. “You discussed this. I nodded once in passing and then you walked away before I could say no.”

“It’s tradition,” Sandra chimed in, voice like glass. “As the daughter of the Alter, you must take your place.”

I swallowed, forcing myself to sit up straighter even as my heart pounded.

The air grew tighter. My power stirred.

Deep breath.

“Yes,” I said, because there was no other answer in this room. “Of course. I’ll be ready.”

But inside?

I wasn’t ready at all.

Not for the invocation.

Not for the Solstice.

And definitely not for the way my magic had been crackling since the moment I laid eyes on Heston Blue.