My Sorcerer

Chapter 18

She let the night slip away and went to bed. By morning, her mind was still clouded with too much uncertainty. She had expected a year to understand this world, but instead, she’d had only a month. Now, within days, she felt overwhelmed by decisions.

She didn’t want confusion; she wanted clarity. But just as her thoughts spiraled, Fang nuzzled closer, pulling her out of her own head and toward her unusually large companion.

"Don't overthink it," Fang’s voice echoed.

"Easy for you! You’re a dog. You know your role, and nothing changed for you," she huffed.

"What do you mean? I moved!" Fang retorted.

Those words struck her. She had moved too. Everything had changed—running for her life, entering Peirceton’s home, discovering he was her mate, realizing she was a werewolf. She had moved—everything had.

Taking a deep breath, she realized it might take time to understand it all—and that was okay. What mattered was choosing what to do now, not later, and not what she imagined she might want someday.

She felt that since she had asked him for time and space, she should wait longer—but it had only been two days, and she didn’t want to wait anymore. Taking a deep breath, she made up her mind and spoke his name: “Peirceton.”

In an instant, he stood before her. She was almost startled. She shouldn’t have been—he was a sorcerer, after all—but every time something beyond her understanding happened, it unsettled her.

“You called?” he said with a tentative smile—warm, yet guarded.

“Yes, I called,” she replied.

“Have you decided?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry. Her choice would shape both their futures.

“I’m still confused, and I don’t fully understand—but I read a book on your shelf about another werewolf and sorcerer. That story unsettled me. But it’s not ours. I don’t want it to be. I want us to try,” she finally said.

A wide smile spread across his face. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms and spun her around. “I’m so happy you chose us. But I would have been okay either way,” he said. She knew he wouldn’t force her—but in his arms, she felt everything she needed. She simply wanted to be near him.

A few moments later, he set her down, and they talked again. He asked, “What made you choose us? I know it wasn’t easy.”

She answered, “I thought about what I want now, not in the future. Right now, I want to be in this with you. I want to see if this works. If it doesn’t, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” Though a part of her still worried about the future, she knew she couldn’t waste the present. This might bring her more joy than she had ever dreamed.

Finally, she wrapped her arms around him, and he tightened his grip. “Everything will work out,” he promised.

“I hope so,” she breathed.

After some time, they pulled away from each other. “Now what?” she asked, beginning to feel awkward. This had been looming over her that she hadn’t really thought about what would come after her decision. She didn’t think about what she would do if she had decided against him or if she decided to stay with him. They would need to make this bond permanent. Was she ready for the next step?

“Do we have to...” she began to ask, but stopped.

“Not until you’re ready,” he responded as though he could read her mind.

“Okay,” she muttered, feeling as though her cheeks were on fire.

“So now what?” she asked in an attempt to change the subject. She was beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable.

“Are you hungry?” he asked in return.

“Maybe a little,” she responded.

“Then how about I whip something up for us?” he suggested.

“That would be nice.” They had just gotten comfortable with one another when the realization of her age was wrong, and their timeline was moved up. Now things were weird again.

He waved his hand, and the table was filled with food. He strode over, pulled out a chair for me and waited patiently. “I know things are awkward right now, but the tension will leave soon,” he said with a smile.

She went over and sat in the chair that he had prepared for her, and then he went to his. We ate for a few moments in silence before he broke the it. “Is there anywhere you would like to go?”

“Right now? Aren’t there still hunters after me?” she worried.

“There are, but I can handle them,” he said with a confident smirk.

“Then I would like to see my home.”

“I’m not sure if I can get you there just yet...” he muttered. “They don’t exactly like my kind.”

“Right...” She had forgotten what he had done.

“What did happen between you, the wolves, and fairies?” she questioned, finally feeling as though she was allowed to be curious.

Peirceton sat in thoughtful silence, knowing she deserved the truth. He took a deep breath and began. It had happened some 20 or 30 years ago—long before she was born. Back then, he had been younger, more impulsive, and far too quick to let emotions dictate his actions. He didn’t handle things well when they didn’t go his way. But over the last three decades, he had worked hard to ensure he wouldn’t repeat those mistakes.

Peirceton was quiet for a long time. It wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss. What he had done was, and should have been, unforgivable. Yet now, the Fairy Queen seemed to have let it go—at least partially. Still, he had to tell his fate-spell. It was the right thing to do. He just feared it would change how she saw him. She was already wary of this fate-spell bond—now this?

He took a deep breath. She deserved to know, even if it altered her perception of him. They were bound, after all. It had happened twenty or thirty years ago, back when his control over his emotions was weaker. After that incident with the Fairy Queen, he’d spent decades working to own his actions. And now, he was ready to face them.

It had been nearly three decades since the war began. It had been brief—lasting only a couple of weeks—but the chaos it caused, along with the loss of life, had been devastating.

Many believed he had started the war on a mere whim. But to him, it had felt like something deeper. He had been scorned—hurt—and he wanted revenge. The fairies themselves had done nothing to deserve it. However, their proximity to werewolf territory made them easy to use as pawns in his scheme.

In truth, it had begun with the wolves. Their alpha had told him he was not powerful enough to command anyone. And so, determined to prove himself, he started a war by controlling the fairies.

Within weeks, it was over. Both sides had been left in ruins, their lands and people devastated.

It was only when the Fairy Queen sought him out—unaware at first that he was the one responsible—that things began to change. When she realized the truth, she pleaded with him to end it. To stop the destruction.

She understood him well. She knew he craved recognition—power, yes, but also the acknowledgment that came with it. Though he already knew himself to be one of the most powerful sorcerers alive, it still wasn’t enough. He wanted others to see it, to say it. So she used that. And in the end, he relented.

He released his control, and the war came to an end. Both sides withdrew from each other’s lands and began the long process of healing—tending to the wounded, rebuilding their homes, and trying to piece their lives back together.

It took time for him to tell Cora all of this. As he spoke, he watched her expression slowly fall. Though he spared her some of the harsher details, she understood enough. The devastation must have been immense—for the fairies to still hold resentment after thirty years, and for the werewolves to refuse any contact with him at all.

“I will always be sorry,” he told her quietly. “There is nothing I can do to undo the past or change what I’ve done. But I hope that, moving forward, I can make up for it.” She could hear the sincerity in his voice. He meant it—every word. He wanted to atone, to be better. But she didn’t know how to respond. What could anyone say to someone who had started a war simply because their pride had been wounded?

“I can see you are trying to find the words to say, but I know there are none.” His eyes were sad and filled with worry.

She took another few moments to gather her thoughts. “You’re right. There are no words that I can say.” He lowered his gaze, his shoulders slumped. He was in pain from her words, or was it fear? “But...” she began, and he stiffened. “You are not the same man that did those things, are you?”

“No, I hope I have changed. I have tried hard to change,” he quickly responded to her words.

“Then we can try to move on from this as well. However, I think it would be best that you make some kind of formal apology to both sides, and possibly we can figure out some way to make a kind of amends for what you have done,” she suggested.

“Things which I should have done long ago,” he seemed to be in agreement.