Clover: The Witch’s Forbidden mate

The first thing Clover noticed that morning was the silence.

It wasn’t the peaceful silence that came before sunrise or the comforting hush that settled over the countryside after a long day. This silence felt… wrong. Heavy. As though the world itself was holding its breath.

She paused on the worn wooden porch of the small cottage she had called home for as long as she could remember. The morning air was cool against her skin, carrying the scent of pine trees and damp earth.

The birds should have been singing.

Instead, they were gone.

Clover tightened the faded green cloak around her shoulders and glanced toward the edge of Blackwood Forest. A thick blanket of mist curled between the ancient trees, swallowing the narrow path that led into the woods.

“You’re staring at the forest again.”

The familiar voice pulled her from her thoughts.

She turned to see her grandmother, Agnes, standing in the doorway with a basket of freshly baked bread balanced on one hip.

“You know I don’t like you going near those woods,” Agnes said gently.

“I wasn’t going in,” Clover replied, though even she knew it sounded unconvincing.

Her grandmother smiled sadly.

“The forest has a way of calling to people.”

Clover looked back toward the trees.

Sometimes, especially at night, she could have sworn she heard whispers drifting through the wind. They never frightened her.

They sounded like they knew her name.

She had never told anyone.

Not even Agnes.

“Take these to the village before the rain starts,” her grandmother said, handing her the basket.

Clover nodded and started down the dirt road.

The village of Ashbrook was small enough that everyone knew everyone. Merchants were already opening their stalls, children chased one another through the square, and the smell of fresh pastries drifted from the bakery.

It should have felt like home.

Yet no matter how many years passed, Clover couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t truly belong.

People were kind to her.

But whenever they looked into her unusually bright green eyes, they hesitated.

As though they recognized something they couldn’t explain.

By noon, dark clouds had swallowed the sky.

A distant rumble of thunder rolled across the hills.

Clover hurried along the forest road with an empty basket tucked beneath her arm.

She was almost home when a desperate cry shattered the quiet.

“Help!”

The voice came from deep inside Blackwood Forest.

She froze.

Agnes had warned her countless times never to enter those woods.

But someone was in danger.

Without another thought, Clover ran toward the sound.

Branches scraped her arms as she pushed through the undergrowth. The deeper she ventured into the forest, the colder the air became.

Then she saw him.

A massive black wolf lay trapped beneath the broken trunk of an ancient oak. Blood stained its thick fur, and one amber eye struggled to remain open.

Clover stopped in her tracks.

Every instinct screamed at her to run.

Yet when the wolf looked at her…

She saw pain.

Not cruelty.

Slowly, she stepped closer.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The wolf let out a low growl—not threatening, but wary.

Clover knelt beside the fallen tree and pressed both hands against the heavy trunk.

It didn’t move.

She wasn’t strong enough.

“I have to do something…”

As panic surged through her, warmth spread through her palms.

A soft green light flickered beneath her fingers.

The forest fell completely silent.

The light grew brighter.

Vines burst from the earth, wrapping around the shattered oak. They tightened, lifted, and gently rolled the trunk aside as though guided by invisible hands.

Clover stumbled backward in shock.

“What…?”

The glowing vines melted back into the soil.

The wolf slowly rose to its feet.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

The creature stared at her with wide amber eyes—not with fear, but with recognition.

Then it bowed its head.

As quickly as it had appeared, the wolf disappeared into the shadows between the trees.

Clover stood alone, her heart pounding.

She looked down at her trembling hands.

Tiny silver sparks danced across her fingertips before fading into nothing.

Far away, hidden among the highest cliffs overlooking Blackwood Forest, a pair of golden eyes opened.

“The Moon Witch…” a deep voice murmured.

“She’s alive.”

And for the first time in two hundred years…

The hunt began.