Bound By Magic And Moonlight

Chapter 5

Aiden's Point of View

The road stretches endlessly before me, the dark asphalt illuminated only by my headlights as I push the truck faster. The hum of the engine fills the silence, but it does nothing to drown out the thoughts swirling in my head.

I replay the scene over and over, every word, every look Hazel gave me. She just wanted me to reject her. No hesitation, no second thoughts. Like our bond, the one thing I’ve spent my entire life waiting for, meant absolutely nothing to her.

I clench my jaw, my grip tightening around the steering wheel. My wolf stirs uneasily inside me, unsettled by the rejection, by the emptiness it left behind. The bond is severed now, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It feels like something raw and jagged is tearing through my chest.

She spoke about the supernatural world like it was a burden, something she wanted no part of. Like I was something she wanted no part of.

I exhale sharply, shaking my head as if that’ll somehow force the thoughts away. I can’t afford to dwell on this. Hazel made her choice. She wanted out, and I gave her what she asked for.

But then why does it feel so wrong?

I reach for the radio, turning the volume up, hoping the music will drown out the weight pressing down on me. The deep bass thrums through the truck, but it barely scratches the surface of my thoughts.

It’s a two day drive back to Blackwater. Two days of empty roads and too much time to think.

With a low growl of frustration, I press harder on the gas. Maybe if I drive fast enough, I can outrun the ache sitting heavy in my chest.

Exhaustion weighs heavy on my body, my arms stiff from gripping the wheel for hours. But just ahead, the glow of a town cuts through the darkness. Relief washes over me, finally, a place to rest.

As I pull into the parking lot of a small hotel, my gaze flicks to the neon sign of a bar across the lot. Perfect. Just what I need. A stiff drink to dull the ache in my chest and the thoughts that refuse to leave my mind.

I kill the engine and climb out, heading straight for the check in area. The warm glow inside contrasts with the cold night air, and a woman behind the counter greets me with a bright smile.

"Good evening, sir. How can I help you?"

I don’t have the energy for small talk. "I need a room. Double bed. One night."

She nods her head, fingers flying over the keyboard. The rhythmic tapping fills the silence until she looks up again. "That’ll be..."

I don’t even let her finish before I hand over my card. She swipes it, hands me my key, and says, "Your room is on the second floor, B4."

I nod my head once and turn away, barely acknowledging her thanks as I pocket the key. Sleep can wait. First, I need that drink.

The bar is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and cheap cologne. A low hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills the space, but my attention is immediately drawn to a woman sitting alone at the bar.

She has her back to me, long black hair cascading over her shoulders like liquid midnight. But it’s not just her presence that pulls me in, it’s something else. Something deeper. A strange, magnetic force I don’t understand.

Before I can talk myself out of it, my feet are moving. I slide into the seat beside her.

She turns to face me, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. She is stunning, sharp cheekbones, full lips, an air of confidence that makes it impossible to look away. But it’s her eyes that capture me.

Bright red. Unnatural. Unsettling.

A flicker of something passes through my chest, like a warning, but I ignore it. Right now, I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel. I just want distraction.

I order us both a drink. She lifts her glass in silent acknowledgment, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

We talk. About what, I’m not sure. The words don’t matter, only the moment, the escape.

So when I lean in and invite her back to my room, she doesn’t hesitate.

And I don’t stop to question why this feels so easy.

***

Sunlight spills through the thin curtains, streaking the room with soft golden light. I stir awake, my body heavy with exhaustion, my head clouded with the remnants of last night. Blinking against the light, I sit up slowly, running a hand through my messy hair.

The room is eerily quiet. I glance at the other side of the bed, empty. No trace of the woman from last night. No lingering scent, no stray belongings, not even an indentation in the sheets.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to pull the memories from the fog of my mind. It’s all hazy, blurred conversations, the taste of alcohol, the way her red eyes seemed to glow in the dim bar lighting.

But beyond that? Nothing.

I exhale sharply and push myself off the bed. My body feels stiff, my mind sluggish. A shower, that’s what I need.

I glance around the room, searching for my bag, but it’s nowhere in sight. Then it hits me. I never brought it in.

I curse under my breath and grab the room key before heading downstairs. The morning air is crisp, a stark contrast to the stale warmth of the hotel room. My truck sits exactly where I left it, a thin layer of dew clinging to the windshield. I yank open the door, reach into the backseat, and grab my bag before heading back inside.

Back in my room, I strip off my clothes and step under the shower’s steady spray. The hot water eases the tension in my shoulders, washing away the remnants of last night. But even as I stand beneath the cascade, letting the steam fill the space around me, my thoughts drift, not to the woman with red eyes, but to Hazel the beautiful woman with the red hair.

No matter how much I try to push her away, she lingers in the corners of my mind. Her voice, the way she looked at me when she asked for the rejection, the determination in her eyes.

Why do I still care?

I shake the thoughts away, finish my shower, and dry off quickly. I dress, slipping into my jeans and shirt before grabbing my bag.

As I leave the room, I drop the key into the return box outside the check in office without a second glance. There’s nothing keeping me here.

Sliding into my truck, I turn the key in the ignition, the engine rumbling to life. The open road stretches before me, leading home.

Back to Blackwater.

Back to reality.

The drive back to Blackwater feels like it drags on forever, the road stretching endlessly ahead of me as the thoughts I can’t shake keep swirling in my head. I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to focus on anything but the nagging feeling in my chest. Hazel’s face flashes in my mind again, her eyes, her voice, the way she asked me to reject her.

I pull into a gas station, hoping the quick stop will give me a moment to breathe. I fuel up the truck, the pump clicking as the gas tank fills. Stepping out, I head inside the convenience store, the dull hum of the fluorescent lights overhead mingling with the low murmur of people talking. I grab a sandwich and a drink, paying quickly, eager to get back on the road and away from the lingering sense of unease.

After handing the cashier the money, I leave the store, the cool air outside a welcome relief. I climb back into the truck, the seat feeling like a second skin as I settle in. The bag of food sits in the passenger seat, but I don’t feel like eating. My stomach is tight, my mind still tangled in knots, but I force myself to focus on the road ahead.

I pull back onto the highway, the truck humming steadily as I push forward. The sky is shifting, the last traces of daylight slipping beneath the horizon, leaving the world in deep purples and blues. The sun sets behind me, casting long shadows across the road, and in the distance, Blackwater slowly comes into view.

It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for, the end of the drive, the end of the search. Blackwater is home. It always has been.

But as the familiar outline of the pack grounds grows closer, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe… maybe the search isn’t really over.

The last stretch feels like the longest of the entire trip. I turn off the highway, the familiar dirt road guiding me back to my home, my family, my pack. The trees lining the road are a blur as I pass by them, the lights of the pack flickering in the distance.

I take a deep breath, pulling up to the pack house.

It’s over. Or at least, it should be.