The Curse

The warehouse fire painted the night sky orange.

We stood across the street, watching the flames consume the last traces of Viktor's stronghold. Sirens wailed in the distance—too late, as always. By the time the fire department arrived, there would be nothing left but ash and questions no one could answer.

Alistair hadn't let go of my hand.

His grip was tight, almost painful, but I didn't pull away. I felt his wolf through the bond—restless, angry, still hungry for the fight that had ended. Viktor was dead, but the rage remained.

"Alpha," Marcus said, approaching carefully. "We need to move. The humans are coming."

Alistair nodded. "Take the prisoners to the pack house. Sonya, you're in charge of the witch. Keep her sedated. I want to question her myself."

"And Lydia?" Derek stood a few feet away, his arms wrapped around a sobbing Lydia. She had woken up during the chaos and hadn't stopped crying since. Real tears or fake ones, I couldn't tell.

"Lydia comes with us," Alistair said. "She's a traitor to both packs. She'll stand trial."

Derek's jaw tightened. "She's still my wife."

"Then you should have chosen a better one."

Derek flinched but didn't argue. He handed Lydia over to two of Marcus's wolves. She went without resistance, her eyes vacant, her body limp.

I watched her go, feeling nothing.

---

We regrouped at Alistair's penthouse.

The space felt different now—no longer cold and untouchable. My things were scattered on his coffee table: a sweater, a notebook, the leather pouch Morwen had given me. Signs of a life slowly intertwining with his.

The pack warriors stood in the living room, covered in blood and sweat. Sonya was bandaging a wound on Leo's arm. Lance paced by the window, his wolf still close to the surface.

Derek sat apart from the others, his head in his hands.

Alistair stood by the fireplace, staring into the flames. His jaw was tight, his eyes distant.

I walked to him. "What are you thinking?"

"Viktor's last words. About the curse." He turned to me. "We need to interrogate the witch. Now."

"I'll come with you."

"No." His voice was sharp. Too sharp. "You've done enough tonight. Rest."

"I'm not tired."

"Clara." He cupped my face, and his expression softened. "You shifted for the first time in years. You used power you didn't know you had. Your body needs time to recover."

"My body is fine."

"Please." His thumb traced my cheekbone. "For me. Stay here. Let me handle this."

I wanted to argue. But the bond hummed with his concern, his fear. He wasn't trying to control me. He was trying to protect me.

"One hour," I said. "Then I'm coming after you."

A ghost of a smile. "I'd expect nothing less."

He kissed my forehead and left with Sonya and Marcus.

---

I couldn't sleep.

I lay on Alistair's bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing. The golden light still pulsed faintly beneath my skin. My wolf was restless, pacing, eager for more.

What curse? she asked. What did the witch do?

I don't know.

We should have gone with him.

He asked us to stay.

He's our mate. We protect him.

I sat up, unable to lie still any longer. I padded barefoot to the living room.

Derek was still there.

He sat on the couch, staring at the city lights. His face was haggard, older than his years. When he heard me approach, he looked up.

"Can't sleep either?"

"No."

He gestured to the spot beside him. I hesitated, then sat. Not close, but not across the room. Somewhere in between.

"I meant what I said," Derek said quietly. "I want to help. Not because I expect forgiveness. Because it's the right thing."

"The right thing," I repeated. "You didn't care about the right thing when you rejected me."

"I know." He closed his eyes. "I was a coward. I let Lydia poison me. I let my ambition blind me. And I lost the only good thing in my life."

"You lost me long before the rejection, Derek. You just didn't notice."

He nodded slowly. "I know that too."

Silence settled between us. Not comfortable, but not hostile either. Two people who had once loved each other, now strangers bound by shared history.

"Lydia will be imprisoned," I said. "Maybe executed."

"She deserves worse."

"Do you still love her?"

Derek laughed—a bitter, broken sound. "I don't think I ever loved her. I loved what she offered. Status. Power. A future." He looked at me. "You offered me love. Real love. And I threw it away."

"You did."

"If I could go back—"

"You can't."

"I know."

I stood. "Get some sleep, Derek. Tomorrow will be long."

"You're not going to sleep?"

"No. I'm going to find my mate."

---

The pack house was an old mansion in Westchester, hidden from human eyes by centuries of magic and careful lies.

I arrived at dawn, just as the sun began to paint the sky pink and gold. Marcus met me at the gate, his expression troubled.

"He's been down there for hours," Marcus said. "The witch won't talk. No matter what we do."

"Where is she?"

"The basement. Follow me."

The basement was cold and damp, lit by flickering fluorescent lights. Sonya stood guard outside a heavy metal door. She nodded at me and stepped aside.

I pushed open the door.

Alistair stood in the center of the room, his back to me. His shirt was off, revealing the muscles of his shoulders, the scars on his back. In front of him, chained to a chair, was the witch.

She looked different in the harsh light—older, frailer. The dark energy was gone, replaced by pale skin and hollow eyes. But when she saw me, she smiled.

"The Hidden Luna," she whispered. "Come to witness your doom?"

"I came to hear the truth."

Alistair turned. His eyes were gold, his face hard. "Clara. I told you to stay at the penthouse."

"And I told you I'd come after you."

He sighed, but some of the tension left his shoulders. "She won't break. I've tried everything short of killing her."

"Let me try."

"She's dangerous."

"So am I."

I walked to the witch and crouched in front of her. Up close, I could see the silver mist still clinging to her skin—Morwen's brew, slowing her magic.

"You cast a curse on Alistair," I said. "Before I stopped you. What kind of curse?"

The witch's smile widened. "A slow one. A cruel one."

"Explain."

"He will lose his wolf. Day by day, piece by piece. First his strength. Then his senses. Then his ability to shift. Eventually, he will be nothing more than a human. Weak. Powerless." Her eyes glittered. "And the bond you share? It will wither too. You'll feel him fading until there's nothing left but an echo."

My blood ran cold. "How do we break it?"

"You don't."

Alistair stepped forward, his hand closing around the witch's throat. "Tell me how to break it, or I'll tear your head from your shoulders."

"Do it," she choked out. "I'm already dead. Viktor was my only ally. Without him, I have nothing to live for."

Alistair's grip tightened. The witch's face turned purple.

"Stop!" I grabbed his arm. "Killing her won't help."

"She won't talk."

"Then we find another way." I pulled his hand away. The witch gasped for air. "Morwen. She'll know how to break the curse."

Alistair stared at me, his eyes wild. "What if she doesn't?"

"Then we find someone else. There's always another way."

He turned away, his fists clenched. The muscles in his back trembled.

"I can feel it already," he said quietly. "My wolf. He's... quieter than before. Like he's fading."

"Alistair—"

"Don't." His voice cracked. "Don't tell me it's going to be okay. Not yet."

I went to him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I pressed my cheek to his back, feeling his heart pound.

"We'll fix this," I whispered. "Together."

He covered my hands with his. "Together."

---

We left the witch in the basement. Marcus and Sonya would guard her until we decided what to do.

On the drive back to the city, Alistair was silent. I watched him from the passenger seat, noting the lines of tension in his face, the way his hands gripped the wheel.

"Do you want to stop for coffee?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"Breakfast?"

"No."

I reached over and rested my hand on his thigh. He flinched, then relaxed.

"I'm scared," he admitted. "I haven't been scared since I was a child. Not like this."

"Fear isn't weakness."

"It feels like it."

I squeezed his leg. "My mother was terrified every day of her life. She still fought. Still protected me. Still loved." I looked out the window. "Fear is just... fuel. It reminds us what matters."

Alistair was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "You matter. You're what matters."

My heart swelled. "You matter too. And I'm not letting some curse take you from me."

He glanced at me, and for a second, the gold in his eyes flickered—not with anger, but with something softer. Love, maybe. Or the beginning of it.

"We'll go to Morwen tomorrow," he said. "First thing."

"And tonight?"

"Tonight, we rest." He took my hand and lifted it to his lips. "And we hold onto each other."

---

The penthouse was dark when we returned.

Derek was gone. A note on the coffee table: "Went to pack house. Will handle Lydia's trial. You two take care of each other."

Alistair read the note, then crumpled it. "He's trying."

"He is."

"Doesn't mean I forgive him."

"It doesn't. But it means he's changing." I took his hand. "Come. You need to sleep."

"I won't be able to."

"Then we'll lie in the dark together. You don't have to sleep."

He followed me to the bedroom. We undressed in silence, then climbed into bed. He pulled me against his chest, his arms wrapped around me, his face buried in my hair.

"Clara?"

"Hmm?"

"If I lose my wolf... if I become human..."

"I'll still be here."

"I won't be able to protect you."

"You've already taught me to protect myself."

He was silent for a long time. I felt his chest rise and fall, felt the steady beat of his heart.

"I love you," he whispered. So quietly I almost didn't hear.

My eyes filled with tears.

"I love you too," I whispered back.

And in the darkness, with the curse already gnawing at his soul, we held each other and pretended that everything would be okay.