Cordella
I was glowing.
Not in some poetic, romantic way.
No—literally glowing. My magic was so strong, so bright, it was probably waving red flags up to the coven like a beacon in the sky.
Because the second I took that necklace off, it sang.
Not in whispers. Not in warnings. But in a chant.
Over and over, pulsing through my veins, filling my head, humming beneath my skin.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
And I was lost.
Because Heston Blue wasn’t lying.
He was… my mate.
The bond was real. Ancient. Irrefutable. My magic knew it. Claimed it. Called to him like he was stitched into the stars with me.
But witches didn’t have mates.
Not like wolves did.
We didn’t keep long-standing romantic partners. We had unions, bonds of power, chosen circles. We didn’t belong to people.
But right now?
Wi
