The Witch

The old woman's farmhouse smelled of rosemary and something older.

Woodsmoke. Candle wax. The faint, sweet rot of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling beams. Morwen led us inside without another word, her bare feet silent on the worn floorboards.

The interior was larger than it appeared from outside. A fire crackled in a stone hearth, casting dancing shadows on walls lined with jars. Each jar held something strange: dried roots, animal teeth, liquids that glowed faintly in the dark.

Alistair stayed close to me, his hand on my lower back. His eyes never stopped moving, cataloging every exit, every potential threat.

"Sit," Morwen said, gesturing to a wooden table scarred by years of use. "You didn't come all this way to stand."

We sat.

The old woman moved to the hearth and stirred something in a black iron pot. The smell made my stomach turn—sweet and acrid at the same time, like burning sugar and rotting meat.

"You have questions," she said without turning around. "About your mother. About the blood that runs in your veins."

"How do you know about my mother?" I asked.

Morwen chuckled. "I knew her, child. Before you were born. Before she ran away with that weak-willed Omega who claimed to love her." She glanced over her shoulder, her pale eyes glittering. "Your mother was not an Omega. She only pretended to be."

My heart stopped. "What?"

"Your mother, Elara Vance, was a Hidden Luna. The last of her line, or so I thought." Morwen turned fully, holding a ladle dripping with dark liquid. "She came to me when she was pregnant with you, begging me to hide her scent. To make her seem weak, ordinary. She didn't want Viktor to find her."

"Viktor?" Alistair's voice was sharp. "Viktor knew my mother?"

"Everyone knew Elara. She was famous among the old ones." Morwen set down the ladle and walked to the table, her joints cracking with each step. "A wolf who could strengthen any pack she joined. Doubling their power, healing their sick, making their young stronger. Viktor wanted her. He wanted to use her as a weapon."

"But she chose someone else," I whispered.

"She chose a simple Omega. A kind, gentle man who worked as a gardener on a pack estate. He had no power, no status, no protection. But he loved her." Morwen's expression softened. "They ran away together. Hid in the human world. And for a few years, they were happy."

"What happened?"

Morwen's eyes found mine. "Viktor found them. He killed your father. He would have killed your mother too, but she was already dying—giving birth to you had weakened her. She made me promise to hide you, to mask your power so Viktor would never find you."

I felt tears prick my eyes. "She died when I was seven."

"I know." Morwen reached across the table and took my hand. Her skin was cold, papery. "I hid you well. I masked your scent, buried your power so deep that even you didn't know it existed. But the mask is fading. Viktor has sensed something. That's why Lydia is sniffing around."

Alistair leaned forward. "Can you remove the mask? Show us what she really is?"

"I can." Morwen looked at him. "But it will hurt. And once it's done, Viktor will know. The moment her power awakens, he will feel it. Like a beacon in the dark."

"Do it," I said.

Both of them looked at me.

"Clara—" Alistair started.

"Viktor is already hunting me. Lydia already knows something is different. Hiding isn't working anymore." I met Morwen's gaze. "Do it."

The old woman nodded. "Drink this first." She pushed a cup of the dark liquid toward me. It smelled terrible—like blood and ash and something metallic.

"What is it?"

"Something to open your eyes. To show you the truth." Morwen smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. "Don't worry, child. You won't die. Probably."

"Probably?" Alistair stood. "I'm not letting her drink that." 

"If you want her to survive what's coming, you have no choice." Morwen's voice hardened. "Viktor has a witch on his side. A strong one. Without her power awakened, Clara will be defenseless. Do you want her to die?"

Alistair's jaw tightened. He looked at me, his eyes full of conflict.

"Trust me," I said.

"I do." He sat back down. "But I hate this."

I picked up the cup. The liquid was thick, almost syrupy. I held my breath and swallowed it in one gulp.

It tasted worse than it smelled.

For a moment, nothing happened. I set down the cup, waiting. Alistair's hand found mine under the table.

Then the fire went out.

Not faded—extinguished. The room plunged into darkness. I heard Alistair curse, heard Morwen's soft laugh.

"Let it happen," the old woman said. "Don't fight it."

Pain exploded behind my eyes.

I fell forward, but I didn't hit the table. I wasn't in the farmhouse anymore. I was somewhere else—somewhere vast and dark and cold.

And then I saw her.

My mother.

She stood in a field of white flowers, her brown hair loose around her shoulders, her hands outstretched. She looked exactly as I remembered: kind eyes, soft smile, the small scar on her chin from a childhood fall.

"Clara," she said. "My brave girl."

"Mom?" My voice broke. "I don't understand. Are you... are you real?"

"I'm real. And I'm not." She walked toward me, her bare feet leaving no prints in the flowers. "This is a vision. A message I left with Morwen, to be given to you when you were ready."

"Ready for what?"

"To stop running." She stopped in front of me and cupped my face in her hands. Her touch was warm—impossibly warm for a ghost. "Viktor killed your father. He hunted us for years. I hid you because I was afraid. Afraid he would take you too. But hiding is not living."

"What should I do?"

"Fight." Her eyes blazed with a fire I had never seen in life. "Embrace your power. Use it to destroy him. Don't make my mistakes, Clara. Don't run until the day you die."

"I don't know how to fight. I'm just an Omega."

"You were never an Omega." She kissed my forehead. "You are a Hidden Luna. The strongest in a century. Your power is not just strengthening packs—it's binding them. You can unite wolves who have been enemies for generations. You can end wars."

"That's too much. I can't—"

"You can." She stepped back, and the white flowers began to fade. "Trust yourself. Trust your mate. And remember: Viktor's weakness is his pride. He will underestimate you. Use that."

"Don't go. Please."

"I'm always with you, my darling. In your blood. In your heart." She smiled. "Now wake up. Your wolf is waiting."

---

I opened my eyes.

I was lying on the floor of the farmhouse, my head in Alistair's lap. He was stroking my hair, his face pale with worry.

"Clara? Can you hear me?"

"I'm okay." My voice was hoarse. "I saw her. My mother."

"What did she say?"

I sat up slowly. The room spun, then steadied. Morwen stood by the hearth, watching me with something like satisfaction.

"She said I'm a Hidden Luna. The strongest in a century." I looked at my hands. They looked the same—same scars, same calluses. But something beneath them felt different. Hot. Alive.

"The mask is gone," Morwen said. "Can you feel it?"

I closed my eyes.

Yes. I could feel it. A river of power running through my veins, wild and bright. My wolf stirred, no longer cowering. She stood tall, her golden eyes meeting mine.

We are not weak, my wolf said. We never were.

"What do I do now?" I asked.

Morwen handed me a small leather pouch. "There's a ritual. One that will bind your power to your mate. Together, you will be stronger than Viktor could ever imagine. But it requires trust. Complete, absolute trust."

"What kind of ritual?" Alistair asked.

"A blood bond. You will cut your palms, press them together, and share your power. Clara's strength will become yours. Your protection will become hers." Morwen looked between us. "If either of you holds back, the bond will fail. And Viktor will sense it."

Alistair turned to me. "This is your choice. I won't push you."

"You're my mate," I said. "My second chance. I trust you."

He took my hand. "Then we do it together."

Morwen handed me a small silver knife. The blade was cold, ancient. I didn't hesitate. I drew it across my palm—a shallow cut, but deep enough to bleed.

Alistair did the same.

We pressed our hands together, blood mixing, sealing.

Power exploded between us—golden and blinding. I felt Alistair's wolf surge, felt his strength flow into me, felt my own power flow into him. The room seemed to shake. Jars rattled on the walls. The fire roared back to life, flames leaping high.

Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped.

We were both breathing hard. Our hands were still pressed together, but the cuts were gone. Healed.

"The bond is complete," Morwen said softly. "You are now true mates in blood as well as fate. Nothing but death can sever what you have created."

Alistair pulled me to my feet and kissed me—deep, fierce, full of wonder.

"You're glowing," he whispered against my lips.

I looked down. Faint golden light radiated from my skin, then faded.

"The warehouse," I said. "Viktor and Lydia. Tomorrow night. We need to stop them."

"We will." Alistair's eyes were gold, steady. "Together."

Morwen handed me a small vial. "This will slow Viktor's witch. Pour it on the ground before the ritual begins. It won't stop her, but it will buy you time."

"Thank you," I said.

The old woman smiled—almost kindly. "Your mother was proud of you. Even in death, she watched over you. Don't disappoint her."

I clutched the vial and looked at Alistair.

"We should go. We have a lot to prepare."

He nodded.

We walked out of the farmhouse into the cold night air. The stars were bright overhead, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I understood who I was.

A Hidden Luna.

A mate.

A fighter.

And tomorrow, I would prove it.