The Wolves of Witch Pond

Chapter 5: Breaking the Rules

Willow

Ronan sat up so sharply, that he knocked Willow back. She caught herself with her arms and they scraped against the rocky floor. She hissed as her skin split.

“That’s not possible,” Ronan muttered, more to himself.

It was like he had forgotten she was there. He stood up, wincing slightly and grabbing his side where the biggest stab wound was.

The poultice Willow had put on him would dull the bulk of the pain but it wasn’t strong enough to eradicate it all.

She stood up and dusted herself off as Ronan grabbed the cave wall and huffed and puffed his way to the cave entrance.

Willow followed several paces behind. She wasn’t sure what the big deal was with the sun rising and why he didn’t believe her. What reason would she have to lie about the sun rising?

Shaking her head, she joined Ronan at the mouth of the cave.

He shielded his eyes with one hand, squinting up at the brightening sky. “This can’t be right.”

“What’s the matter?” Willow asked.

Ronan glared at her, his handsome features turning sharp and pinched.

In the natural light, Willow couldn’t help but rake her eyes over his muscular, dark physique. Beads of sweat glistened on his skin, sparkling in the morning light like diamonds. The glittering droplets sharply contrasted his dark, ebony skin.

“What did you do to me?” he snarled, reaching for her.

Willow jumped back and held her hands up defensively. “Grab at me again and I will protect myself.”

Quickly, Ronan put his hands in the air and took a step back. Something flickered in his deep, brown eyes. Something like fear.

Did he fear her? Willow thought that was silly. Even injured, Ronan was far stronger than her and would easily overpower her. The only advantage she had was her magic, but even that only did so much.

No, it wasn’t her he feared. She realized that it was magic.

“You did something. I know you did. What kind of spell did you use on me? How did it break my curse?” he asked.

Ronan looked down at his body. He started patting his bare chest, down to the pants on his thighs, then back up his body. It was like he couldn’t believe that he was standing there or real.

“I told you, all I did was use healing herbs. I did not cast any spells. Did you say curse?” Willow asked. She arched an eyebrow and c****d her head to the side.

This time when she studied Ronan, it wasn’t his physical presence she was observing. She looked into his energy, his aura.

All magic left an energetic imprint or a marker. Those that knew where to look, could use that marker to identify the spell, the type of magic, and sometimes even the caster.

There were no curse marks imprinted on Ronan’s aura.

“Ronan, you aren’t cursed. You do not bear any curse marks,” Willow said calmly, trying to reassure him.

She had no idea what this man had been through. Injured, alone, thinking he was cursed. He was in a bad state.

Willow wanted to suggest getting him back to her house. She could keep a close eye on him there, help him recover, and help him figure out what was happening.

The coven would never allow it.

High Priestess Durga would send him on his way before he even had a chance to get comfortable. This man wasn’t a witch. He wouldn’t be welcome in the coven village.

“That’s not possible. I’ve been cursed my entire life. How could it be broken…” he trailed off. Again, it seemed like he was talking to himself.

Ronan groaned. With a heavy sigh, he folded his legs beneath himself, sitting on the ground. He closed his eyes and leaned against the rocks behind him.

It didn’t take an expert to see how exhausted he was.

Willow knelt next to him. She peeled back some of the poultice to look at his wound. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth.

When she looked at Ronan’s face, she found that he had turned toward her, his face inches from hers.

Willow gasped her cheeks heating. She sat back, putting space between them, her breaths coming quick and shallow.

“What’s wrong?” Ronan asked, tracing the edge of the wound she’d examined.

“The poultice I used should be healing you faster. Instead, the skin around the wound is starting to necrotize.”

Ronan frowned this time. “The knife was poisoned.”

“That would be my guess. Do you know by what? I can make an antidote for just about anything,” she offered. She was glad for the distraction from Ronan’s mindless ranting.

If she could heal him, she could send him on his way, and hopefully, he’d find his way home, wherever that was.

“Most likely monkhood.” Ronan sighed and closed his eyes again.

Willow’s eyes widened. She got to her feet and took a step back. “Wolf’s Bane.” Her words were a fragile gasp.

Ronan opened his eyes and smirked at her. A wolfish, predatory smirk that sent a shiver up her spine.

Willow took another step back. “You’re…”

“You were so sure you wanted to help me,” Ronan said, chuckling darkly. His smirk twisted even more.

“H-how are you in this form?” Willow asked, her voice breaking.

“Your guess is as good as mine, sweetheart,” he said, turning the term of endearment into a condescending insult.

Willow stared at the man at her feet, frozen in place.

He was a wolf. A vicious predator. According to her people’s lore, they were bound to their wolf forms, unable to disguise themselves as men and spread trickery and defeat.

Yet here was Ronan, a wolf by blood but a man in shape.

Wolf’s Bane wouldn’t poison anyone else.

Willow turned in the direction she had come from the night before. If she left now, Ronan would be too weak to pursue her. He would die in the woods, poisoned and alone.

She considered abandoning him for one, very long heartbeat. Then she remembered why she had come there.

The ancestors had guided her. Willow wouldn’t pretend to know their reasons. She was still a simple mortal and did not see what they saw. Whatever their purpose, it involved Ronan.

They would not have led her there just to leave him to die.

“The antidote for Wolf’s Bane is very simple. I have some back home. I can have it to you before noon,” she offered.

Ronan scoffed and tilted his head to look at her. “You’re still offering to help me?”

“My ancestors guided me here, to you. I will help however I can.”

“They did not guide you here to kill me?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Willow creased her brow and shook her head. “My people are not murderers. We practice healing, harmonizing, and balancing magic.”

“Is that so?” Ronan asked with a sneer.

“I’ll return shortly.” Willow collected her skirts and began to walk away.

“How do you know I’ll still be here?” Ronan called after her.

Willow glanced over her shoulder and gave him a challenging smirk. “If you’d rather take your chances on your own, be my guest. The antidote isn’t easy to come by out here. Besides, whoever stabbed you in the first place must still be nearby. You didn’t get that far on your own.”

She watched as Ronan’s eyes darkened again and he turned away from her.

With a satisfied smile to herself, Willow headed back through the woods.

***

On tip-toes, Willow snuck into her own home. She paused by the front door, listening.

Morgause was snoring upstairs. She was not a morning person.

Willow tiptoed into the kitchen where they kept an apothecary. She didn’t have any Wolf’s Bane antidote on hand, but making a small batch wouldn’t take long.

She grabbed the cauldron and put it over the kitchen hearth fire before searching through the kitchen cabinets for the antidote ingredients.

“Newt eyes… basil… garlic juice…”

She kept muttering what she found to keep stock of everything.

Soon, the cauldron was bubbling and boiling over the fire while Willow stirred all the ingredients together.

“What are you doing up so early?” Morgause asked.

Willow started, biting her own tongue. “I didn’t know you were up.”

Morgause yawned and rubbed her eyes. “I just woke up.”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Willow asked, turning concerned eyes to her housemate.

“No.” Morgause shook her head and grabbed the loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese. She started putting together a little breakfast for herself.

Willow went back to brewing her antidote. She hoped Morgause wouldn’t ask questions. Assisting anyone magically that wasn’t a witch required approval from the High Priestess.

Assisting a wolf… was an entirely different situation. The coven might not have actively hunted them or picked them off, despite the wolves' tendency to do that to the witches, but healing and aiding one would have been frowned upon.

“You know, Will, those clothes look a lot like the ones you were wearing last night. And your feet… well, they look kind of muddy,” Morgause said, her voice thick with bread and cheese.

Willow winced and nodded. “I was exhausted when I got in. I went right to bed. When I woke up, I remembered I had to deliver this potion.”

Quickly, she ladled the potion into a small glass vial and slipped it into the pocket on her cape.

“I’ll clean up everything later. I’ve got to run, Mags.” Willow threw a quick wave over her shoulder and ran out of the house again.

She ducked around a few houses, hoping Morgause wouldn’t try to follow her again.