Moonlit Enchantment

Chapter Four

Sabrina’s concern deepened the moment she spotted the blood on Dmitri’s sleeve. Her earlier wit softened into quiet attentiveness as she stepped closer, eyes scanning the shallow cut with practiced ease.

“It looks like it hurts,” she said, more observation than question.

Dmitri followed her gaze, then winced as the sting caught up to him. He hadn’t even noticed it in the chaos—too much adrenaline, too many distractions. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, brushing it off with a half-hearted shrug. “Probably from the run.”

Sabrina didn’t look convinced. “Sit,” she said, gesturing toward a cushioned chair near the hearth. Her tone left little room for argument, and something in her voice—calm, commanding without being cold—made him obey.

The warmth of the cottage, the crackle of the fire, the faint scent of dried sage and lavender—it all wrapped around him like a cocoon. Strange, how quickly danger had given way to stillness.

As she crouched beside him, fingers brushing the sleeve up his arm, Dmitri’s wolf stirred uneasily.

Don’t let her touch you.

But he didn’t pull away.

Her hand hovered just above the wound, lips moving in a quiet chant. A shimmer of gold bloomed beneath her palm, the heat of the spell both foreign and strangely comforting. Dmitri inhaled slowly, letting the sensation settle over him.

Sabrina glanced up, her gaze meeting his. “It’s not deep, but it needs sealing.”

He nodded, silent. The words wouldn’t come. He was too focused on the way the light played across her features, too aware of the warmth blooming in his skin where she touched him—not just from the magic, but from her.

And still, the wolf growled.

She’s dangerous.

She was. But danger didn’t always wear a villain’s face. Sometimes it looked like a woman with careful hands and firelight in her hair.

“I’m not your enemy, you know,” Sabrina said quietly, not looking up. “Whatever your instincts are telling you.”

Dmitri almost smiled. “You heard that?”

She gave a soft laugh. “You don’t exactly hide it well.”

Silence fell between them—not heavy, but charged with something unfamiliar. Not quite trust. Not yet. But the kindling of it.

“You’re lucky,” Sabrina added, finishing the spell with a final sweep of her hand. “Another inch deeper, and it would’ve needed something stronger than a binding charm.”

“Lucky’s not the word I’d use,” Dmitri muttered, glancing toward the window, toward the woods still whispering secrets beyond the glass.

Sabrina stood, brushing her hands on her skirt. “Then use a different one. You’re here. You’re safe. That counts for something.”

He met her eyes again. In them, he saw no deception. No fear. Just… curiosity. Maybe even empathy. And for the first time since his transformation, he felt a thread of ease slip through the tension in his chest.

“Thanks,” he said, voice low. “For the clothes. For… not freaking out.”

She arched a brow. “Trust me, I’ve seen weirder.”

He chuckled despite himself. “I doubt that.”

Another pause. Another look. Longer, this time. There was something in the air between them—wariness, yes, but also the faintest pull of something else. Something dangerous in its own right.

Connection.

Sabrina finally turned away, her tone casual as she moved toward the kitchen. “You drink tea, or are you more of a whiskey-at-midnight kind of guy?”

Dmitri leaned back, letting the chair hold his weight. “At this point? Whatever you’ve got.”