Marked by the Alpha's Curse

Chapter 7

#MBTACChapter7

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The next morning, I sat at the dining table, the grimoire spread out before me like a puzzle begging to be solved. Nimbus curled up beside me, one paw resting protectively on the journal’s edge as though he too understood its importance.

Timothy leaned against the doorframe, a mug of coffee in his hand. His scars had faded to faint lines after the confrontation the night before, but the tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased.

He watched me silently, his presence both reassuring and unnerving.

“So,” I began, tapping a pen against the table. “Where exactly does one start with a… spellbook?”

“Usually,” he said, stepping closer, “you’d have a mentor. Someone to teach you how to read it, interpret the symbols, and understand the intent behind the magic.”

“Well, that’s not an option,” I muttered. “Unless you’re secretly a magical scholar on top of being a cursed werewolf.”

Timothy smirked. “Afraid not. Magic isn’t my territory. But…” He pulled out a chair and sat across from me, his expression serious. “I do know one thing. Magic is all about intent. If your mother left this for you, she intended for you to use it. That’s a good place to start.”

I nodded, though the pages still felt like they were written in a foreign language. Flipping through, I landed on a sketch of the charm.

My chest tightened as I recognized its familiar shape. Beneath the sketch were notes in my mother’s handwriting, the words flowing between English and a language I couldn’t decipher.

“What does this mean?” I asked, pointing to the strange text.

Timothy leaned closer, his brow furrowing. “That’s Old Tongue. It’s an ancient magical language. I can recognize it, but I can’t read it.”

“Great,” I muttered. “So we’re stuck.”

“Not entirely,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a worn piece of parchment. “There are people who can translate this. People who owe me favors.”

I looked at him skeptically. “More supernatural types?”

He nodded. “They’re not all bad, Iviel. Some of them might actually want to help you.”

“Or they might want to kill me,” I said, closing the journal with a heavy thud. “This is insane. Yesterday, my biggest problem was paying rent. Now I’m supposed to trust magical strangers and decipher a grimoire to stop shadow wolves?”

Timothy’s gaze softened. “I know it’s overwhelming. But you don’t have to do this alone.”

His words lingered in the air, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of relief. Then Nimbus let out a sharp meow, his ears twitching as he turned toward the window.

Timothy was on his feet in an instant, his body tense. “Stay here,” he ordered, his voice low.

“What is it?” I whispered, standing despite his warning.

“Someone’s outside,” he said, his amber eyes glowing faintly.

I followed his gaze to the window. At first, all I could see was the fog curling around the trees, but then a figure emerged—a woman, cloaked in dark green, her steps purposeful. She stopped just short of the porch, her hands raised in a gesture of peace.

“Alpha Salinger,” she called, her voice carrying through the still morning air. “I come in peace.”

Timothy stepped toward the door, his scars flaring faintly. “Who are you?”

The woman pulled back her hood, revealing a face framed by dark curls and piercing green eyes. “My name is Lyra. I’m a witch—and an ally.”

I exchanged a glance with Timothy, my pulse quickening.

“You’re a witch?” I asked, stepping forward despite the warning look Timothy shot me.

Lyra’s gaze shifted to me, and her expression softened. “I am. And I’ve come to help.”

“Help with what?” Timothy demanded, his tone sharp.

“With the curse,” Lyra said simply. “And with the girl who holds the key to breaking it.”

—

To be continued...