Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Aneira

Living alone in an enchanted mountain cottage turned out to be significantly less peaceful than expected.

Mostly because the cottage itself appeared to be mildly sentient.

I discovered this on the third morning after Morvena gave me the cottage before she vanished into the forest.

At first, I blamed exhaustion. Then I blamed the strange tea. Then I blamed the black cat.

Because obviously it was his fault somehow.

“You are deeply unpleasant,” I informed him while glaring across the kitchen.

The cat blinked slowly from the windowsill, entirely unbothered by my suffering.

His name was apparently Hex, which suited him perfectly considering he behaved like a curse specifically designed to inconvenience me.

The cottage creaked softly around me as morning light spilled gold through the circular windows, illuminating drifting herb smoke and dust particles suspended lazily in the air. Outside, snow dusted the mountains in silver while cold fog curled between the trees surrounding the clearing like something alive and watching.

Inside, warmth pressed heavily against my skin from the constantly burning hearth. Herbs hung drying from nearly every beam overhead, filling the cottage with the sharp scent of mint, crushed lavender, smoke, pine resin, and something bitter I still could not identify.

Morvena had left behind enough supplies to sustain a small army. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, crowded with jars of crushed plants, strange powders, oils, dried flowers, and handwritten notes in sharp slanted script that somehow became increasingly threatening the longer I stared at them.

One note simply read:

Do not mix moonroot with frost sage unless you enjoy hallucinating your own death.

Naturally, that only made me curious.

So far I had managed not to poison myself.

Barely.

I leaned over the cluttered wooden table again, bracing one hip against the edge as I squinted suspiciously at the bundle of herbs spread across it. My thick wool sweater kept slipping off one shoulder every time I moved, sleeves rolled messily to my elbows after an hour spent grinding roots into powder.

“Either this is silverleaf,” I muttered, “or I’m about to accidentally kill someone.”

Hex made a noise that sounded disturbingly judgmental.

“Oh, don’t act superior. You lick your own fur for entertainment.”

The cat flicked his tail once before hopping gracefully onto the table directly beside my herbs.

Then he sat on them.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

“…I understand now why Morvena abandoned you.”

Hex yawned directly into my face.

Infuriating creature.

Still, despite the cottage’s strange atmosphere and its demonic cat guardian, the mountains had slowly begun settling beneath my skin in a way Ashfang never had.

No snarling orders.

No frightened servants avoiding eye contact.

No whispers following me through hallways.

No one waiting for me to fail.

The silence here felt different.

Peaceful.

Lonely sometimes.

But peaceful.

And for the first time in years, my body no longer felt constantly aware of itself. No cruel stares lingering too long. No sharp comments disguised as jokes. No noblewomen looking me up and down with thinly veiled disgust whenever I entered a room.

Up here, the mountains did not care what I looked like.

Which was probably why the bond irritated me so much.

Because even now, days later, it still existed. Sometimes it pulsed unexpectedly beneath my ribs like something refusing to die quietly.

Usually at inconvenient moments.

Like while I was chopping herbs.

Or trying to sleep.

Or attempting not to think about silver eyes and overwhelming dominance and the way Alpha Kale had looked at me right before I ran.

It was all so deeply aggravating.

I slammed the knife down harder than necessary against the cutting board.

Hex startled slightly before glaring at me for disrupting his nap.

“Don’t judge me,” I muttered. “I’m going through something catastrophic.”

The cat looked unimpressed.

Honestly, living with him felt strangely similar to living with an elderly nobleman who secretly hated everyone.

By the end of the first week, I had successfully learned three important things.

First: Morvena’s cottage sat near ancient trade paths used by rogues, travelers, and mountain healers generations ago.

Second: people occasionally climbed into the mountains seeking medicine.

And third—

Healing people apparently paid extremely well.

I discovered that accidentally.

An injured traveler stumbled into the clearing just before sunset one evening with a badly infected leg wound and approximately three hours left before it started killing him.

At least according to the horrifying medical notes Morvena left behind.

Apparently enchantresses enjoyed writing diagnoses like threats.

The man had nearly collapsed on the porch before I managed to drag him inside. Which, frankly, would have been significantly easier if he weighed less than an entire bear carcass.

By the time I got him onto the bed near the fireplace, my arms hurt, my braid had partially fallen apart, and I was reconsidering every life choice that led me here.

I had almost turned him away.

Fear would have been smarter.

But instinct took over before logic could.

The strange thing was…

My wolf liked healing.

Not fighting.

Not blood.

Healing.

She stirred quietly beneath my skin every time I crushed herbs beneath the mortar or wrapped bandages around shaking hands or cleaned infected wounds. Not violently like she had reacted to Kale.

This felt different.

Steadier.

Like this part of us made sense.

That realization unsettled me more than it probably should have.

Healing left traces everywhere now.

Green stains beneath my fingernails.

Smoke tangled permanently into my clothes.

Dried lavender caught in the sleeves of my sweaters.

The cottage smelled constantly of herbs and simmering medicines while bundles of plants crowded nearly every surface.

Now, two weeks later, glass jars filled the shelves from floor to ceiling.

Bandages soaked beside the fireplace.

Dried herbs hung thickly from the rafters overhead.

And somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about running a healer’s cottage, people had started returning.

Which meant I officially had responsibilities now.

Terrible development.

Unfortunately, healing people also required supplies.

And after staring into nearly empty jars for the better part of an hour, I finally reached a deeply unfortunate conclusion.

I needed to go back near Ashfang territory.

Terrible idea.

Absolutely not.

Which naturally meant I was already considering it.

“We’re out of supplies,” I informed Hex.

The cat continued sleeping beside the fire, one paw stretched dramatically toward the warmth.

“And mountain fever season is starting.” At least, that was what the old lady said the other day while I treated her arm.

No reaction.

“I may need to risk my life.”

Hex opened one eye briefly before closing it again.

I hated the damn cat.

I sighed heavily before dropping backward into the chair hard enough for it to creak beneath me.

The nearest trade routes sat dangerously close to Ashfang borders. Mountain merchants occasionally traveled through the lower villages beneath the pack territory, especially before winter settled fully across the cliffs.

If I disguised myself properly…

No.

Still terrible.

But slightly less terrible.

A sharp knock echoed suddenly through the cottage.

I froze instantly.

Hex lifted his head.

Another knock followed.

It was not the frightened knock travelers usually gave when approaching my cottage.

This one sounded confident.

My hand moved automatically toward the knife strapped beneath the table.

Then the bond twisted violently beneath my ribs.

Pain slammed through me hard enough that I nearly doubled over against the edge of the table, a sharp breath catching painfully in my throat.

“What in Nythera’s name—”

The sensation vanished almost immediately afterward, leaving only lingering ache beneath my skin and irritation curling hot through my chest.

I hated this bond.

Carefully, I moved toward the window first and peered through the frost-covered glass.

Then I blinked once.

“…You have got to be kidding me.”

Leaning casually against the porch railing stood a very familiar blond rogue.

Darius looked entirely too comfortable for someone standing outside an enchantress’s cottage in the middle of the mountains.

Snow dusted the shoulders of his dark cloak while silver eyes tracked lazily toward the window the second he sensed movement.

There was dried blood near the cuff of one glove.

Not his.

Then he smiled.

Trouble.

Actual trouble in human form.

Hex hissed immediately from somewhere behind me.

“See?” I muttered toward the cat. “Even the demon dislikes him.”

Another knock sounded against the door.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, kitten?” Darius called lazily through the wood.

I groaned softly and let my forehead fall briefly against the cold window glass.

Of course this was happening to me.

Of course.