CHAPTER 5: Smell

Waking up felt less like rising from sleep and more like being dredged from the bottom of a lake.

The first thing I registered was the heat. It was everywhere. A thick, suffocating blanket of warmth that seeped into my frozen bones. It was a stark contrast to the biting wind of the ridge, and for a moment, panic flared in my chest. Had I fallen into the fire?

My eyes snapped open.

I wasn’t in the fire. I was lying on a massive leather sofa that smelled of age and pipe tobacco. Above me, rough timber beams crisscrossed a shadowed ceiling. To my right, a stone fireplace roared with a blaze that could roast a boar, casting flickering orange shadows against the log walls.

I tried to sit up, but the room tilted violently. A groan escaped my lips before I could stop it.

"Stay down."

The command came from the corner of the room, low and rough, like gravel grinding together.

I turned my head, the movement making my neck pop. Guilermo was sitting in a winged armchair, his long legs stretched out toward the hearth. He had discarded his henley at some point likely ruined by the mud and blood of our trek and was wearing a thick, gray wool sweater that looked soft enough to sink into.

He wasn’t looking at the fire. He was looking at me.

"You’ve been out for three hours," he said, his voice devoid of the mockery I had come to expect. It was flat, clinical. "You lost a lot of blood."

I looked down at my left hand. It was resting on a pillow, bandaged neatly in white gauze that looked stark against the dark leather. The throbbing pain had dulled to a rhythmic ache, likely thanks to a numbing poultice. I could smell the faint, medicinal tang of arnica and comfrey.

"I finished the ward," I rasped. My throat felt like I had swallowed a handful of sand.

"You almost finished yourself," Guilermo countered. He stood up, the motion fluid and silent despite his size. "If I hadn’t carried you down, you’d be a frozen corpse on the ridge right now. And I’d be explaining to Sibal why his emissary is dead."

He walked over to a small wooden table and poured water from a pitcher into a glass. As he moved, the air in the room shifted.

That was when it hit me.

The smell.

It wasn’t just the woodsmoke or the herbs. It was him.

In the open air of the forest, with the wind whipping around us, his scent had been a background note—pine, wet earth, rain. But in the enclosed space of the cabin, with the heat cranking up the humidity, it was overwhelming.

It hit the back of my throat like a physical weight. It tasted of deep forest resin, of ozone right before a storm, and something darker, sweeter like amber heated until it melted.

And my magic… my magic lurched.

Usually, my power sat in my gut like a cold, heavy stone. It was disciplined. It waited for commands. But as Guilermo stepped closer with the glass of water, that stone cracked. Purple sparks danced behind my eyelids. The runic markings on my collarbone, usually invisible, began to itch violently, as if they were trying to surface.

"Here," he said, holding the glass out.

I hesitated. The air between us felt thick, viscous. Every breath I took pulled more of his scent into my lungs, and every molecule of it acted like gasoline on the embers of my exhausted magic.

"I can get it," I muttered, pushing myself up to a sitting position. My head swam, but I forced my arm to move.

I reached for the glass. My fingers brushed against his.

A low-frequency vibration rattled my teeth. It wasn’t a sound; it was a sensation, starting at the point of contact and shooting straight down my spine. The water in the glass rippled, forming perfect concentric circles despite neither of us moving.

Guilermo froze. His eyes, molten gold in the firelight, widened slightly.

I snatched the glass back, breaking the contact. The water sloshed over the rim, cold against my burning skin.

"Thank you," I said quickly, bringing the glass to my lips to hide the fact that my hands were shaking. I drank greedily, the cool liquid soothing my parched throat, but it did nothing to cool the sudden fever under my skin.

Guilermo didn’t move back to his chair. He stood over me, watching. He was too close. The scent was rolling off him in waves, permeating the wool of his sweater, the heat of his skin.

"Your eyes are glowing," he said quietly.

I lowered the glass. "It happens when I replenish energy. It’s a side effect."

"No," he said, shaking his head slowly. "This is different. At the ridge, when you cast the spell, your eyes were pale lilac. Right now? They’re almost black."

He leaned down, bracing one hand on the back of the sofa, boxing me in. He wasn’t threatening me, not exactly. He was inspecting me. Like I was a puzzle piece that didn't fit the board.

"Why does the air feel like static every time I get near you?" he asked.

I pressed myself back into the leather cushions, trying to put inches between us. It didn't help. The closer he got, the more his scent assaulted my senses. It was intoxicating. It made my brain fuzzy, replacing logical thought with a primal urge to lean in.

"It’s a reaction," I managed to say, my voice sounding breathless even to my own ears. "High concentrations of opposing magic types. You’re Earth and Aether. I’m Void and Veil. It creates… friction."

"Friction," he repeated, testing the word. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring.

I watched his throat work as he swallowed.

"You smell like burnt sugar and sage," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my neck where the pulse was frantically beating against my skin. "But under that… you smell like something else. Something I can’t place."

He leaned closer. Just an inch.

My magic snapped.

It wasn't a spell. I didn't speak a word. I didn't weave a rune. My magic just reached out, a tendril of violet light uncoiling from my chest like a snake. It wasn't attacking him. It was tasting him.

The wisp of light brushed against his chest, right over his heart.

Guilermo gasped, his whole body seizing tight.

For me, the sensation was instantaneous and terrifying. I could feel his heartbeat through the magic, powerful and fast. I could feel the heat of his blood. I could feel the raw, chaotic energy of the wolf trapped beneath his skin, pacing, waiting.

It felt... delicious.

The realization horrified me. I wasn't just sensing him; I was craving him. My magic wanted to latch onto that boundless energy source and drink.

"Stop," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. "Move away."

Guilermo didn't move. He made a low sound in his throat. "What are you doing to me, Witch?"

"I’m not doing anything!" I cried, my voice cracking. "It’s automatic. You’re… you’re too loud. Your energy is too loud."

I shoved my hand out, the uninjured one and pushed against his chest.

This time, the contact didn't just vibrate. It flared.

A shockwave of amethyst light exploded from my palm. It wasn't enough to hurt him, but it was enough to shove him back physically. He stumbled a few steps, catching himself on the edge of the heavy timber coffee table.

The connection broke. The static in the air snapped and vanished, leaving the room suddenly, deafeningly quiet.

I gasped for air, clutching my chest. My heart was racing so fast I thought it might burst. The runic markings that had flared on my skin were slowly fading, the heat dissipating into a cold sweat.

Guilermo straightened up. He looked at his chest, rubbing the spot where I had pushed him, then looked at me. His expression was a mix of shock and something darker. Arousal? Anger? I couldn't tell.

"That wasn't friction," he said hoarsely.

"I told you to move," I said, pulling my knees up to my chest, curling into a protective ball. "My control is shot. I’m empty. When I’m empty, I instinctively reach for sources to recharge. And you… you’re a walking nuclear reactor."

It was a lie. Or at least, a half-truth. I had been empty before, around other supernaturals. I had never tried to siphon a person by accident. I had never felt that hunger.

Guilermo stared at me for a long moment, the golden light in his eyes slowly dimming back to a deep amber. He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the dark strands.

"You’re dangerous," he said.

"I’m tired," I corrected. "And I want to go home."

"You can’t," he said, turning away to walk back to the fire. He picked up a poker and stabbed at the logs, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. "The storm has set in. The roads back to Oakhaven are washed out, and I’m not carrying you through five miles of mud in the dark."

I looked toward the window. Sure enough, rain was lashing against the glass in sheets, turning the world outside into a black, watery void.

"So I’m trapped here," I said, feeling a fresh wave of anxiety. Trapped in a small cabin with the source of the smell that was driving my magic insane.

"We’re trapped here," he corrected, placing the poker back in the stand. "Until morning."

He walked to a small kitchenette in the corner of the room, opening a cupboard. "Are you hungry?"

"No," I said instantly. My stomach growled, betraying me loud enough to be heard over the crackling fire.

Guilermo’s lips quirked up at the corner. It wasn't a smile, but it was close. "Liar."

He pulled out a loaf of bread and some dried meat. He placed them on a plate and brought them over, setting them on the table near me.

He didn't get as close this time. He stayed a careful three feet away.

"Eat," he commanded. "You need the calories to replenish the blood you lost."

I reached for a piece of bread, my hand still trembling slightly. "Why are you helping me?"

"I told you," he said, moving back to his chair. "I hate paperwork."

"That’s a deflection," I said, tearing off a piece of the crust. "You could have left me on the ridge and called the Coven to pick up the body. Sibal wouldn't have cared. He would have just sent another battery."

Guilermo went still. He looked at me, his gaze sharp. "Battery?"

I bit my lip. I hadn't meant to say that. The exhaustion was loosening my tongue.

"It’s what he calls us," I muttered, looking down at the bread. "The ones with high capacity but low lineage. We’re useful until we run dry."

The silence stretched. The fire popped.

"He drains you," Guilermo said. It wasn't a question. "That’s why you looked like a ghost when you arrived. Why you smelled like… depletion."

"It’s the price of protection," I said defensively. "The Coven protects us from the humans; we provide power to the Elders. It’s a transaction."

"It’s slavery," he growled.

"It’s survival!" I snapped, my eyes flashing. "Not all of us are born Alphas, Guilermo. Some of us have to pay rent for the space we occupy."

He looked at me, really looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. Not as the enemy, not as a witch, but as something broken and trying desperately to hold the pieces together with tape and stubbornness.

"You don't have to pay rent here," he said quietly.

"I’m fixing your wards," I reminded him. "That’s rent."

"That’s a job," he said. "There’s a difference."

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. "Eat your food, Lilura. We have two more anchors to fix at dawn."

I watched him for a while as I ate. The bread was dry, the meat salty, but to my starving body, it tasted like a feast.

But even as I ate, even as the warmth of the fire soothed my skin, I couldn't relax.

The scent was still there.

It hung in the air, a constant, pervasive reminder of the monster sitting five feet away. Every time I inhaled, I tasted him. Every time I tasted him, my magic hummed a low, discordant note of want.

I finished the food and lay back down, pulling the heavy wool blanket up to my chin. I stared at the fire, watching the flames dance.

I needed to be careful.

Sibal drained me because he was greedy. But this? This pull toward Guilermo? This felt different. It didn't feel like I was being drained. It felt like I was trying to merge.

And if I wasn't careful, if I let my guard down for even a second, I had a terrifying feeling that my magic wouldn't just taste him next time.

It would devour him.

Or he would devour me.

I closed my eyes, listening to the rain and the steady, rhythmic breathing of the Alpha across the room, and prayed for the morning to come quickly.