Spellbound by the Alpha

Chapter 2

Cordella

The skirt was a little dramatic, sure. Flowing white linen that danced around my ankles and swayed when I walked like I was summoning spirits or tequila shots. But paired with my black halter top, tied right between my breasts, and my rings catching the neon light? I looked good. Which meant I felt dangerous.

My hair hung down my back in a long, inky curtain, pieces pulled into tiny braids threaded with crystals. Each one was a spell I didn’t need to speak. Protection. Luck. Clarity. I wasn’t just dressed up. I was armored.

Piper, on the other hand, looked like sin. Red leather pants, glitter smeared on her collarbones, and a smile that said I dare you. She always walked the line between coven rules and pure chaos, which was exactly why I loved her.

She took a sip of her drink, watching the room like a hawk tracking prey. “You know you’re stressed because you haven’t gotten any good d**k lately, right?”

I choked on my tequila. “Excuse you?”

“Don’t act scandalized,” she said, unbothered. “It’s written all over your aura.”

“I have a B.O.B.,” I muttered, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Battery-operated boyfriend. Loyal. Efficient. Never whines about how I hurt his feelings when I bring out the flogger.” I tease.

“Fair,” Piper said, lifting her glass. “But sometimes a girl needs a man’s hands. Strong. Big. Grabbing you by the hips and reminding you why you were born with nerve endings.”

I laughed, letting the tension bleed out of me a little. That was the thing about Piper. She always knew how to pull me out of my own head and she wasn’t wrong. It had been awhile since i took a warlock or human home. They just always got clingy and witches didn’t do long term relationships.

We chatted about everything and nothing—the moon phase, a tarot card spread that made Piper swear she was about to meet a man with "eight inches of karma and a messy divorce", and of course, the Solstice.

Summer Solstice was more than just a big deal. It was a gathering. A celebration of the sun, of womanhood, of magic. And this year, it was also the year I stood beside the Alter—my mother—for the ceremony. No pressure.

“I still think you should tell her you’re not ready,” Piper said, nursing her drink.

“I’m not not ready,” I said. “I’m just... tequila-ready. Not ancestral-circle-ready.”

She snorted. “Same.”

A familiar melody hummed through the bar speakers, and I was already grinning before Stevie Nicks even opened her mouth.

“Oh, Dreams? Yes. Yes. This is a sign. We’re playing pool.”

I tossed a twenty on the bar and danced my way over to the jukebox to make sure it was playing on loop. My rings clinked against the buttons. The music pulsed through my veins. I felt alive. Buzzing.

I grabbed a cue stick, chalked it like I knew what I was doing, and turned to Piper. “Loser buys the next round.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You always win.”

“That’s because I’m magic.”

She was laughing when the bar shifted.

You know that sound when the atmosphere changes? Not a storm. A predator.

A wave of masculine energy pushed through the bar like heat rolling off asphalt, and I didn’t even have to turn to know.

Wolf.

Alpha.

Heston f*****g Blue.

I knew the name. Everyone in our world did. The Blues were old blood, pure blood, obsessed with it. My mother hated them almost as much as she hated polyester. Probably more.

I didn’t turn right away.

No, I let the music carry on. Let my skirt flutter as I leaned over the table and lined up a shot. Let him watch me as I slowly rubbed chalk over the tip of my cue stick like I wasn’t even thinking about him.

But I was. I was thinking about the way his scent had hit me like smoke and spice. The way his voice had rumbled low and dangerous as he greets other men at the bar.

I sank the eight ball.

Piper whooped, clapping like I’d just summoned lightning. “Damn, Della. That one was sexy.”

I stood up straight, finally turning toward the door.

And there he was. Heston. Alpha. Bad idea in a henley and a scowl. Broad shoulders, dark hair beneath a ball cap like he hadn’t even tried. He was huge. Exuded Alpha asshole energy.

His eyes locked on me.

Mine didn’t flinch.

Let the war games begin.

Heston

I shouldn’t have come.

The second we stepped into The Borderline, I knew this was a mistake. Too loud. Too crowded. Too many emotions clinging to the air like sweat and spilled beer. The music thumped in my chest, and the scent of fried food mixed with desperation hit my nose like a slap.

Ridge, naturally, lit up like he was walking into his own coronation.

“Max! Drinks on me tonight, baby,” he shouted over the noise, clapping our beta on the back before disappearing into a sea of familiar faces.

Rowan smirked, following behind with the ease of someone who knew how to glide through social situations without being touched by them.

I stood just inside the threshold like an i***t, my jaw clenched and my hands already itching for a whiskey. This wasn’t my scene. Hell, I didn’t even have a scene. Most nights, I was in my office with a glass of something strong, nursing whatever problem Blue Co. or the pack had thrown at me.

Max bumped my shoulder, his voice barely audible over the noise. “Try to look like you don’t hate everyone.”

“I do hate everyone,” I muttered, stepping in farther and scanning the room.

The Borderline was neutral territory on paper. In reality, it was a powder keg of bad decisions and interspecies tension. The only place the wolves and the witches could both be found— never comfortably.

I wasn’t here for comfort. I was here because my brothers were relentless and apparently, I needed to “blow off steam.” Whatever the hell that meant.

I was just about to head toward the bar when something hit me.

Not a body. Not a voice.

A scent.

Sharp. Sweet. Warm. Wild.

It wrapped around me like smoke from a forbidden fire, curling into my lungs and setting my pulse on edge. My wolf, usually quiet, obedient—lunged.

I staggered for half a second, blinking hard, trying to make sense of the sudden need clawing at my insides.

Then I saw her.

Bent over a pool table.

Waist-length black hair laced with braids and glittering stones. Arms covered in patchwork tattoos that pulsed with energy. A white skirt that teased and a black halter top that did not try to hide anything.

And those eyes when she looked up. Green, knowing and lit from within by something sharp enough to cut.

Cordella Blackwood.

We’d never met, but I knew her.

We had files on every witch across the border. Twenty-five names currently tied to the coven. Most kept to themselves. She owned a crystal shop in the historical district. Twenty-five years old. Only daughter of Calliope Blackwood, current Alter.

Dangerous blood.

Witch royalty.

And apparently, a goddamn smoke show.

My wolf snarled, Mine.

I stepped back, teeth clenched. No. No, no, no. I didn’t believe in that fairy-tale bond bullshit. The Goddess didn’t play matchmaker. She wasn’t cruel enough to tie me to her—to a witch.

She couldn’t be mine. I was a Blue. An Alpha. Pureblood.

Even if she smelled like summer storms and secrets.

Even if her laugh slid under my skin like a blade.

Even if every inch of me was already burning.

This wasn’t attraction. This was manipulation. Witchcraft. A trick.

And I wasn’t falling for it.

Max appeared beside me, halfway into a beer already. “You okay?”

I nodded once, short and sharp.

“Because you’re standing there like you’re ready to shift.”

“I’m fine.”

I wasn’t.

Cordella chalked her cue stick slowly, deliberately, like she knew exactly what she was doing. Her eyes never left mine.

I’d been dragged to this bar to let off steam. Instead, I’d found the spark that could burn down my entire world.

Goddess help me.