THE REBORN OF THE ANCESTRAL WOLF

The twist

**SILAS’S POV: THE UNKNOWN MAN'S HOME**

The door creaked as I turned the handle.

I didn’t knock—I never have, especially when I’m always carrying weight.

The cabin was warm with candlelight and the scent of herbs, rosemary lingering in the air alongside a faint hint of old books.

“Phina?”

My voice came out rough.

Then I heard footsteps—not too fast, not too loud.

And then there she was—Phina, my wife.

Bare feet. Hair down.

Her eyes looked gold in the firelight.

Her face was sharp, assessing me in an instant, then softening just as quickly.

That’s my wife for you, I thought, letting a warm smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

She saw me first.

Then she saw the blood on my coat.

Her gaze shifted to my hands, trembling at my sides. Her breath caught, and she let out a soft gasp when she finally saw him.

The child.

Barely a year old, asleep against my chest, wrapped in my jacket. His little face was smeared with dirt and dried tears.

Phina’s breath caught.

Her eyes widened. Her jaw tightened.

Then came understanding.

She didn’t ask whose child it was.

She didn’t ask why.

She simply stepped aside, tilting her head toward the kitchen.

I didn’t move an inch.

She turned back and glanced at me, her expression hardening.

“Kitchen. Right now.”

Her voice was low, but firm.

Her face remained calm, almost unnervingly so, but her hands were already glowing with a faint blue light.

I finally moved into the kitchen and sat down, the child still in my arms.

I couldn’t let go of him yet.

My arms wouldn’t unlock.

Phina knelt in front of us.

Her face was careful and gentle all at once.

She brushed a strand of hair from the boy’s forehead. Her fingers hovered just above his skin.

No touch.

Just magic, reading him.

“Rogue scent,” she whispered.

“Fear. Smoke. Exhaustion.”

She looked up at me.

Her face was sad—not for the child, but for me.

“Did you kill him?” she whispered.

I nodded once.

My throat was too tight to speak.

She reached out, her face softening into something almost entirely motherly, and gently took the boy from me.

The second he left my arms, I felt it.

The shaking.

The cold.

All at once.

Phina cradled him against her chest and began humming softly. Her face was gentle and focused—the same look she wore whenever Mara, our daughter, woke from a nightmare.

Then came footsteps on the stairs.

Mara.

Six years old, hair a mess, still clutching her rabbit in one hand. Her face was sleepy at first, but it quickly shifted to curiosity, then something sharper as she caught sight of us.

“Daddy?” she called.

Her gaze stayed fixed on her mother.

Then she saw the baby.

She saw me.

And finally, she saw her mom holding a child in her arms.

“Who’s that?”

She pointed at the baby, her face caught somewhere between shock and curiosity.

Then her eyes widened.

“Did you get me a brother?”

That almost broke me.

But I composed myself immediately, forcing a small smile onto my face.

Phina looked up at me over the baby’s head.

Her expression was all wifey now, a little smile tugging at her lips.

“He’s safe,” she said quietly.

“For tonight, at least. They’ll come looking.”

Her eyes held mine.

“But not here. Not tonight.”

Then she stood, still cradling the baby against her chest.

Her face hardened with resolve.

“Go wash up, Silas.”

She glanced toward Mara, then back at me.

“I’ll put them both to bed.”

I nodded.

Then stood up, legs feeling like jelly.

At the stairs, I stopped and looked back.

My wife.

Holding a child that wasn’t ours.

My daughter curled against her leg, already asleep.

I stood there for a moment, too tired to move.

My face felt heavy with exhaustion and guilt, yet beneath it all, I was still grateful.

I went to war to kill rogues.

I came home carrying a war spark in my arms.

And the only person I trusted to hold it was the witch—my mate, the woman I had married.

Then she finally looked up.

Those golden eyes met mine one last time, and for a moment, everything else seemed to disappear.

Her face was gentle, calm, and strangely reassuring.

“I’ve got him,” she whispered.

And for the first time since the tunnel, I believed her.

My mind was finally at ease.

**PHINA’S POV: THE SPELL**

The baby was sleeping peacefully, his tiny body warm—maybe a little too warm.

Silas had gone upstairs to wash the bloodstains away, while Mara slept in the corner, clutching her rabbit so tightly against her chest. There was something almost uncanny about the peaceful look on her face.

She let out a small giggle in her sleep.

I couldn't help but smile.

“Ah… these little moments really are peaceful,” I murmured.

I glanced toward the window, knowing what waited beyond these quiet walls.

“Even though there's literally a storm coming.”

Not a storm of rain or thunder.

No it was—A War.

Something was gathering on the horizon, and sooner or later, it would reach us.

I sighed softly.

“I guess that's one thing about being witches. We always seem to stay calm when things get difficult.”

I turned my attention back to the baby.

“Let me lay him down on the table.”

I carefully placed a blanket beneath him before gently lowering him onto it.

Then I arranged the candles in a circle around the table.

Salt and ash followed, placed carefully into the same formation.

The baby remained still.

For a moment, everything was quiet.

Then he made a tiny, fuzzy sound.

I paused.

His eyes were still closed, his little fingers curling slightly against the blanket as though, somehow, he could sense exactly what was happening around him.

“Shhh,” I whispered.

My face remained soft and calm, even though my hands were trembling slightly.

The child smelled like smoke, iron, and something raw and feral.

And something else.

So faint I almost thought I imagined it.

Like lightning in the air before a storm.

I swallowed and forced myself to focus.

Then I began the protection spell.

I drew the blade across my palm.

Three drops of blood fell onto the salt.

One.

Two.

Three.

I closed my eyes.

The old words came naturally, the ones my grandmother had taught me when I was growing up. Words she had made me repeat until I could recite them without thinking.

“Hide him. Bury him.

No nose, no eye, no pack will find.

Either by blood, by root, or by night…”

My lips continued moving, the words becoming too soft for ears to catch.

The old language rolled from my tongue like a prayer.

My eyelids began to flicker.

The candles flared bright blue.

The air grew thick and intense, pressing against my skin.

Magic pulled from my chest and wrapped itself around him.

My face remained focused, my eyes tightly closed.

I reached for his scent within the spell, searching for every trace of it.

I had to snuff it out.

Erase it.

Make him invisible to wolves—and to whatever danger was coming.

And that was when it hit me.

My breath caught.

It wasn’t just a wolf.

Under the fur, under the blood, under the fear, there was something else.

Something that was awake inside him.

I gasped, my eyes snapping open, shock washing over my face.

The boy’s chest glowed.

Faint gold.

Right over his heart.

Like a second heartbeat.

Magic.

His own magic.

Not a witch’s spell placed on him.

Not a curse.

Just his.

“Moon Goddess,” I breathed.

I pressed two fingers carefully against his forehead and closed my eyes. Then I looked deeper.

What I saw made my blood run cold.

He was a werewolf.

Yes. I knew it because I could feel the beast coiled within him, still sleeping peacefully beneath the surface.

But tangled within it, like roots growing through solid stone, was something else.

Magic.

Raw. Ancient. Untamed.

The kind that didn’t come from books or spells passed down in dusty pages.

The kind that came from bloodlines people had buried.

My face went pale, as though all the blood had been drained from it. My jaw tightened.

“This isn’t normal.” I shook my head in disbelief.

Werewolves didn’t carry magic.

Witches and wolves didn’t mix.

Not unless…

I froze.

A sharp gasp escaped me.

Unless one of his parents was something else.

Or both.

The circle beneath us flickered.

His magic pushed back against mine.

Not aggressively.

Not like it wanted to hurt me.

Just… there.

Protecting him.

Guarding him from anything it considered a threat.

Awe flickered across my face, quickly followed by fear.

I finished the spell anyway.

I had to.

I buried his scent.

Buried the wolf.

And buried the magic too, as much as I could.

I wrapped everything beneath layer after layer of concealment, pushing it deeper and deeper until there was nothing left for a tracker to find.

No scent.

No wolf.

No magic.

Nothing.

He would be invisible.

At least, for now.

When I was finally done, I was sweating.

I was exhausted, my body trembling from using far more magic than I had bargained for.

Then I heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.

Silas appeared.

Clean shirt. Wet hair. His face haunted, his expression tense with questions he was waiting for me to answer.

I didn’t say anything at first.

I looked down at the boy.

He was still sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to what was happening around him.

The strange glow was gone now.

“What was that?” Silas asked, curiosity laced with concern.

I stared at the child for another moment before letting out a tired sigh.

I reached down and gently touched his cheek.

“He’s not just a pup, Silas.”

I finally lifted my gaze and locked eyes with my husband.

“My spell will hide him,” I said quietly. “But it won’t hide what he is.”

Silas frowned.

“What is he?”

Another exhausted sigh left me.

“He’s a werewolf…”

I paused.

“…with magic.”

Silas went completely still.

His face became unreadable, but his eyes betrayed him.

They widened.

Because we both knew what that meant.

Packs killed for that.

Rogues hunted for it.

And Alphas…

Alphas would start wars for it.

A small movement caught my attention.

Mara stirred in her sleep.

Her tiny brows furrowed as she murmured the only word that seemed to matter to her.

“Brother…”

My heart clenched.

I carefully picked the boy up again, cradling him against my chest. Whatever fear had been written across my face moments ago softened into something more instinctive.

Something motherly.

Protective.

“He’s safe here,” I whispered.

I looked at Silas.

“With us.”

My arms tightened around the child.

“As long as we can keep him.”

Silas walked toward me.

He reached out and placed his large hand over mine, covering both my hand and the boy beneath it.

His expression hardened with resolve.

“Then we keep him.”

His voice was quiet.

Certain.

His gaze slowly moved around the house, as though he could already sense the danger that came with the decision we had just made.

I looked down at the sleeping boy.

Tonight, I had hidden his scent from the world.

I had buried the wolf.

Buried the magic.

Buried everything that might lead them to him.

But I knew the truth.

I couldn’t hide him from himself forever.

Because beneath my spell, beneath the sleeping wolf, beneath the layers of magic I had desperately tried to bury…

Then, without warning, the center candle extinguished.

The suddenness startled them both, and Silas tensed.

Phina glanced at the candle before looking back at him.

“Don’t worry,” she said calmly. “It’s not waking up anytime soon.”

Her eyes lingered on the extinguished flame.

“I’ll take it as a warning for what just happened.”

But deep down, I knew better.

Something inside that child had heard us.

And whatever was sleeping beneath my spell…

was beginning to stir.