Chapter Three
679 Words
The sun bled into the horizon, staining the sky in hues of fire and dusk. Kai stood beneath the ancient oak, the heart of Bloodmoon territory, his body rigid in the tailored black suit that felt more like a shackle than clothing. The silver wolf-head pendant—his father’s before him—hung heavy around his neck.
His pack surrounded him, their scents a mix of unease and cautious hope. Mateo sat beside Kai’s parents, arms crossed, watching with a frown. Uncle Dale, the pack’s spiritual guide, stood at the ready, his weathered hands clutching the ceremonial knife.
Then came the witches.
A convoy of cars rolled up the dirt path, dust swirling in their wake. The doors opened, and out stepped women—young and old, draped in flowing garments that whispered of power. Their magic clung to the air, sharp and electric, like the charged moment before a storm.
Kai’s nostrils flared.
Sweet.
One scent stood out—warm honey, crackling ozone, something wild and untamed beneath the surface. His gaze locked onto the veiled figure at the center.
Nia.
She moved with quiet grace, her white satin dress shimmering under the fading light, an intricately patterned African cloth draped over her shoulders like armor. The witches behind her sang in low, resonant Zulu, their voices weaving through the trees like an old, forgotten wind.
Kai’s wolf stirred, restless.
When they reached the oak, the witches took their seats, leaving Nia standing before him. The tribal elder—a man with deep-set eyes and a voice like gravel—began the ceremony.
Kai barely heard the words.
His fingers twitched when the elder instructed him to lift the veil.
For a heartbeat, he hesitated.
Then he reached out, the fabric slipping away like a secret revealed.
And—
Damn.
Nia Okoro was beautiful.
Her skin glowed like burnished cinnamon, smooth and flawless. Full lips, slightly parted. Eyes that could have been weapons—dark, sharp, framed by thick lashes—if they hadn’t been so resigned. Her hair, a crown of lush curls, was gathered into a defiant puff atop her head.
She looked up at him, assessing, cataloging his features just as he had hers.
Kai clenched his jaw.
This changes nothing.
The vows were spoken—no flowery promises of love, just cold, practical oaths. Loyalty. Protection. A shared fight against the curse that sought to devour them both.
Then, the witch with the loose locs stood.
Diana.
She didn’t smile. Didn’t soften.
“Okay,” she said, voice cutting through the tension. “We all know why we’re here.”
Then she began to speak—but not in any language Kai understood.
Her voice was the howl of wind through canyon walls, the crackle of embers in a dying fire. The ancient tongue of witches. The other witches hummed low in response, their eyes closed, their hands clasped.
Nia didn’t join them.
She stared at the ground, her jaw set, as if she could will herself away from this moment.
Then—
“Give me your hands.”
The command was unspoken, but clear. Kai reached out, his calloused palms meeting Nia’s. The moment their skin touched, heat flared between them, sharp enough to make him grit his teeth.
Diana produced a long, silver needle.
No warning.
Just a quick, sharp prick to both their thumbs.
Blood welled, dark and glistening.
Diana pressed their bleeding thumbs together, then smeared the mingled blood onto a strip of cloth. She held it aloft—and with a whispered word, set it ablaze.
The flames burned unnaturally blue.
Kai felt it then—the magic.
It coiled around his ribs, slithered into his veins, binding. A pulse of energy so fierce it stole his breath. His wolf howled inside him, not in protest, but in something dangerously close to recognition.
And then—
Silence.
The fire snuffed out. The chanting ceased.
It was done.
Kai was married.
Bound by blood.
Bound by magic.
Bound to a woman who refused to look at him.
- Writer
