Rise Of The Wolfless Witch

Chapter Six — A Warning

I didn’t sleep.

Every sound outside my cabin set my nerves on edge — footsteps passing too slowly, a branch snapping under unseen weight, the distant howl of a wolf greeting the moon. Each noise felt like a test, like the pack deciding whether tonight was the night.

The mark on my door was still there when dawn came.

I stared at it for a long time, my chest tight, the word carved into the wood seeming darker in the pale morning light. Someone had wanted me to see it. To understand.

Message received.

I wrapped my shawl tighter around myself and stepped outside, keeping my head down as I crossed the yard. The pack moved around me like I was already gone — conversations faltering, eyes sliding away, tension coiled beneath every interaction.

They were waiting.

I was halfway to the storehouse when a hand caught my wrist.

I gasped, spinning — only to freeze when I saw who it was.

It was Mara.

She was one of the healers, old enough to remember my mother not as a rumour, but as a person. She’d never been kind to me exactly, but she hadn’t been cruel either. In this pack, that made her dangerous.

“Walk,” she murmured under her breath, not meeting my eyes.

My pulse thundered as she released my wrist and moved ahead of me, forcing me to fall into step beside her. We walked in silence until we reached the edge of the herb garden, far enough from the others that voices wouldn’t carry.

Only then did she stop.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said quietly.

“I live here,” I replied.

Her mouth tightened. “Not for much longer.”

Cold slid down my spine. “What do you mean?”

She finally looked at me then, and the pity in her eyes made my stomach drop. “They’re afraid,” she said. “And fear makes wolves cruel.”

My fingers curled into my palms. “Afraid of what?”

“You,” she answered simply. “Of what you might become.”

“I haven’t done anything,” I said. The words sounded weak, even to my own ears.

Mara sighed. “Neither did your mother.”

My throat closed. “You knew her.”

“Yes,” she said. “And that is why I’m speaking to you now.”

A distant shout echoed across the grounds. Mara stiffened, glancing over her shoulder.

“They’re invoking the old laws,” she continued urgently. “The ones meant for witches and traitors. Once they’re spoken aloud, even the Alpha won’t be able to stop what follows.”

My heart began to race. “What follows?”

She hesitated.

Then: “The stake.”

The word landed like a blow.

I swayed slightly, the world tilting. Images flooded my mind — flames, screams, smoke clawing at the sky. My mother’s face, blurred by time and pain.

“When?” I whispered.

“Soon,” she said. “Your birthday is the trigger. They’ll claim tradition. Cleansing. Balance.”

“I’ll die,” I said.

Her gaze softened. “I don’t think you will.”

I stared at her. “What?”

She swallowed. “I was there that night,” she said quietly. “When the fire was lit.”

My breath caught.

“I saw something I’ve never spoken of,” she continued. “The flames didn’t behave the way they should have. They… pulled away.”

Hope sparked — fragile, terrifying.

“But hope won’t save you,” Mara added firmly. “Running might.”

I shook my head. “They’ll hunt me.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But they’ll hunt you anyway.”

Footsteps approached. Mara stepped back at once, her expression shifting into its usual reserved mask.

“Go,” she whispered. “Before they make the decision for you.”

Before I could respond, she turned and walked away, leaving me standing alone among the herbs, my heart pounding.

Run.

The word echoed in my mind as I forced myself to move again, my legs shaky beneath me.

I didn’t know where I would go. I didn’t know how I would survive beyond the borders.

But I knew this:

If I stayed, the fire was waiting.

And somewhere deep beneath my fear, something else stirred — restless, defiant, alive.