The spell
1024 Words
Hazel was dragged outside to the waiting pack members who stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces twisted with hate. Some spat. Others pointed. A few shouted things she couldn’t fully make out.
“Witch w***e!” “Murderer!”
“Rot in hell like your mother!”
"You are all evil! Our Alpha just wanted a merger with you witches, evil dark witches!" They yelled, throwing Stones at her.
The stones pounded every inch of her injured body, filling her eyes with tears. Hazel's eyes adjusted quickly, blinking quickly as she grimaced at the unexpected sunshine dashing over her face. The smell of dust and blood assaulted her nostrils. Too broken to bear her weight any longer, her legs shook under her. There was no need for her to look for him. To the right of the group, Derick stood with his arms crossed and his angry eyes fixed on everyone.
She had never seen his eyes so icy, and his jaw was clinched tightly. The sensitive coward she had formerly seen was completely gone. It's just the Alpha now. The mask alone.
"Bring the executors over here". He yelled, "Now," and the mob shifted, letting the bearer of the blade pass.
The guards forced Hazel down to her knees, the jagged stone scraping her bare skin. She didn’t fight it.
She turned her head slowly, locking eyes with Derick. Her voice was low but clear.
“You’ll regret this, Alpha Derick.” He didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch.
Disregarding the murmurs of the throng, Hazel extended her face once more. She refused to give them the joy of witnessing her collapse. The executor followed. Dead-eyed, tall, broad-shouldered, and holding a sword.
The blade used at ceremonies. weighty. elderly. Sharp enough to break a neckbone. He walked carefully toward Hazel, enjoying each step. He tilted his head and his mouth twisted into a smug grin.
"Look at that," he said quietly but loudly enough for her to hear. "You act like you're better than us even though you're broken and completely helpless."
Hazel rolled her eyes. “Not better,” she muttered, her throat raw. “Just not as pathetic.”
The executor chuckled as he moved to her side, lifting the sword.
And then— Everything happened at once, the sky cracked.
Suddenly, There was a startling change in the atmosphere, like if the earth had shifted slightly. Unnatural and harsh, the wind howled, throwing up trash and dust in a chaotic whirl
Some of the pack covered their faces, others stepped back, confused. Wolves started to growl low in their throats.
Then screams rang out.
A guard stumbled backward, clenching his eyes. Another fell to the floor, trembling. Unable to finish the change, a wolf transformed in the middle and fell.
From the far edge of the crowd, they appeared.
The witches, not in full numbers—only three—but that was enough.
Hooded. Cloaked in black. They moved forward like living shadows, their feet making no sound.
The crowd erupted into chaos.
“WITCHES!!...PROTECT THE ALPHA!!”
“Get them away from here!”
Hazel watched through a daze, her heart suddenly thudding harder. Her breathing grew shallow.
The executor raised his blade, panicking now. “Finish it—!”
But before the sword could fall, one of the witches raised her hand.
Her voice rang out clear and ancient.
“Sanguis vinculum. Dolorem nexum.”
Blood tie. Pain link.
Before hurtling toward Derick like a whip, the runes blazed white-hot into the air in front of her. He was too busy barking commands to notice it coming.
"Leave this place! Murder—" Then he fell, like if something had pulled his spine from within. Choking, his eyes swollen, he fell on one knee. After a moment of confusion and blinking, Hazel realized what was happening, Because he caught his throat, right where she had been slashed.
A fresh wound ripped across his neck, resembling the one they had etched into hers hours before, and his mouth opened in a strangled scream. With a gasp, he staggered back. With trembling hands and blood seeping between his fingers, he rasped, "What—what the fuck...".
One of the witches stepped forward slowly, her face still shadowed by her hood.
“Every pain she feels,” she said quietly, “you now feel too.”
Derick’s body lurched again. His knees gave out fully this time. He cried out, gripping his side.
Broken ribs.
His spine cracked and his back arched. The lashings. As though someone had pressed fire into his flesh, his chest burned.
The rods of silver. He shouted, clutching his skull. Stunned, Hazel watched. Even in her near-death haze, the sight of him writhing in agony—her agony—was enough to make her laugh, weak and hoarse, even if her vision swam.
She said in a whisper, "You've got justice now." Once more, the witches held up their hands. The sigils brightened.
Derick thrashed on the ground, his fingers tearing into the dirt. He cried out louder than she had ever heard from him—not as an Alpha, but as a man begging for it to stop.
“MAKE IT STOP!”
Hazel’s body dropped fully to the ground, her arms too weak to hold herself up anymore. Her cheek hit the dirt. But she kept watching. Kept breathing.
Every breath meant he was still hurting. One of the witches knelt next to her and touched her shoulder tenderly.
"We are unable to cure you," she muttered. "Not just yet. However, he will bear your suffering. Each and every beat of it."
Hazel barely nodded.
The wind died down. The chaos faded. But Derick’s screams didn’t stop.
The pack stood stunned, paralyzed.
Hazel closed her eyes as darkness began to pull at her.
He was feeling every pain she was feeling as well.
"What the f**k did your people do!" One of the guards barked, throwing a hard punch against Aria's face.
Derick writhed in pain, blood pouring from his lips.
"Stop!" He ordered, holding his hands up to stop the guards from doing anything.
- Writer
