Winter Howl

Chapter Five – The Pull

The village of Bristow looked the same as it always did under morning snow: chimney smoke curling lazily into a pale sky, rooftops hunched beneath blankets of white, the market square sluggish with half-hearted chatter.

Elysia should have felt relief stepping back into its familiar streets, away from the forest and the strange man who carried danger in his gaze. Instead, she felt… untethered.

The ice shard’s glow still lived behind her eyes when she blinked. That voice — Snowweaver — whispered in the spaces between her thoughts. Every breath felt sharper, as though the air itself was different now.

She pulled her hood lower and crossed toward the apothecary where she worked, forcing herself to smile at Maren, the owner.

“You’re late,” Maren said, sorting dried roots into jars.

“I—lost track of time,” Elysia lied, hanging her cloak on the wall peg.

Maren didn’t press her, though she gave her a long look before returning to her work. Elysia slipped behind the counter, grinding herbs and filling orders, but her hands moved without thought. Her mind was still in the forest. Still on Calian Belmont and the way he’d said while you still can as though the choice was already gone.

By midday, the sky had darkened. Snow began to fall in slow, deliberate flakes.

And then she felt it — that same thread in her chest, pulling taut. She froze, pestle in hand.

A shadow crossed the shop’s doorway. The bells above the frame chimed softly.

Calian Belmont stepped inside.

The warmth from the fire did nothing to soften him. He moved through the small space like he owned it, eyes fixed on her, ignoring Maren’s polite greeting.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said under her breath.

“You shouldn’t be pretending nothing’s changed,” he countered, voice low.

Maren glanced between them, frowning. “Do you two—?”

“We’re done,” Elysia cut in quickly. “I’m closing early.”

She didn’t know why she said it — only that if he’d come here, it wasn’t to buy herbs. She tugged her cloak from the peg, stepping into the cold, and he followed.

They walked in silence down the narrow lane until the last houses fell away. The snow muted the world, making the space between his footsteps and hers feel heavy with unspoken things.

“What do you want from me?” she asked finally, turning to face him.

His gaze caught hers. “Not want. Need.” He stepped closer, his presence a wall of heat against the cold. “You felt it last night. The forest calling you. That wasn’t a mistake. That was your magic waking. And it’s not just yours anymore — it’s bound to mine.”

The words landed like an oath in the still air. She opened her mouth to argue, but the wind shifted, carrying with it a sound that made her blood run cold.

A howl — not like his, and not like any wolf she’d heard before. This one was sharper, broken, hungry.

Calian’s jaw tightened. “It’s already begun.”