Mag-log inTThe bread was stale but Winter pocketed it anyway, along with two strips of dried meat that had been left unattended near the food stores. Stealing felt wrong (Griselda's voice in her head, 'thief, ungrateful wretch'), but the beast needed food and Winter wasn't about to announce to everyone that she'd spent last night nursing a creature that could probably kill half the witches here if it wanted to.She added a waterskin to her haul, filling it from the underground spring when no one was looking. The healing supplies were trickier. There was a designated area where the witches kept their medical stores (herbs, salves, bandages made from soft moss and spider silk), but it was always supervised. An older witch named Maren seemed to live there, grinding powders and mixing tinctures with the focused intensity of someone who'd forgotten what sleep was.Winter watched from a distance, trying to figure out how to get what she needed without being noticed. The wound had looked less angr
Winter extracted herself carefully from the beast's warmth and stood on shaky legs. Her undershirt was plastered to her body with sweat and blood. Her hands were stiff and aching. She should probably return to the main cavern, tell someone about the wounded creature, get help. But something stopped her. If she told the witches about the beast, what would they do? Would they heal it, or would they see it as a threat to be eliminated? This creature was clearly connected to the witch community somehow (Levi had mentioned beasts on the witches' side), but it was also wounded and vulnerable. And Winter had learned the hard way that vulnerable things were often the first to be sacrificed when people got scared. "I'll come back," she promised the sleeping beast. "Tomorrow. With supplies if I can steal them. You're not dying alone in this cave. Not if I can help it." The beast's ear twitched but it didn't wake. Winter picked up her ruined tunic from where she'd discarded it near the p
She moved closer to the wound and immediately regretted it. The smell hit her first, sharp and wrong. Decay. Infection turning flesh rotten. The edges of the gash were swollen and hot to the touch, oozing yellowish fluid mixed with fresh blood. Something had torn deep, exposing muscle and possibly bone. "gods," Winter breathed. "This is bad. This is really bad." She had no supplies. No medicine, no bandages, no clean water.. Nothing except her bare hands and absolutely no idea what she was doing. But she couldn't just walk away. Winter pulled off the outer layer of her borrowed tunic, leaving her in just the thin undershirt. The tunic was relatively clean. It would have to do. She crawled to the edge of the black pool and dipped the fabric in, soaking it thoroughly. The water was freezing, clear despite its dark appearance. She crawled back to the beast with the dripping tunic clutched in her hands. "This is going to hurt," she warned, though the beast probably already knew. "
It looked like someone had taken a wolf, a bear, and something prehistoric and smashed them together into a creature that should only exist in nightmares. and it was bleeding. The wet sound wasn't just its breathing. Blood pooled beneath its left flank, dark and viscous, too much blood. A wound carved deep into its side, edges ragged like something had torn through fur and flesh with claws or teeth. The beast's eyes opened. They glowed faintly in the darkness, gold-green and far too intelligent. They fixed on Winter with the focused intensity of a predator assessing prey. Winter's wolf instincts screamed at her to run. But she'd spent her whole life being prey. Being the thing that ran while others hunted. And she was so gods-damned tired of it. "I'm not going to hurt you," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. It felt stupid talking to a creature that probably didn't understand language and definitely wanted to eat her. But the alternative was silence, and silence
Winter walked until the voices faded.Past the sleeping chambers, past the practice room where she'd manifested (and nearly lost control of) her shadow magic, past the underground spring where Levi found her every morningShe walked until the lichen grew sparse and the darkness pressed close, until the only sound was her own breathing and the distant drip of water somewhere in the deepp.Nobody stopped her. Maybe they didn't notice her leaving, too busy celebrating her "progress" (their word, not hers)Or maybe they assumed she needed space after the demonstration. Either way, Winter was alone in the tunnels for the first time since she'd been brought here, and the solitude felt like finally surfacing after being held underwater.Her head still ached from the magic. Not a normal headache but something deeper, like she'd strained something inside her skull that wasn't meant to be used. Levi said it would get easier with practice.That using magic was like exercising a new muscle.Winte
The question hung between them. Winter didn't answer right away. Couldn't. Because the truthful answer would devastate her mother, would confirm everyone's fears about the bond's influence, would prove she was exactly as weak and confused as they thought. But the truthful answer was still: 'es. maybe. I don't know but I want the choice' "I want to talk to him," she said instead. "Just once. Ask him what he wants. What he intended. Because everyone here tells me he's a monster, but when I was there he also..." She struggled for words. "He let me see him. The real him, under the curse. And that person wasn't evil. Just broken." Levi absorbed this silently. Then: "Your grandmother broke him. With her curse." "I know." "Does that bother you?" "Yes." The admission felt like betrayal. "She had every right to her anger. To her revenge. But cursing an eighteen-year-old boy for his father's crimes... that's not justice. That's just more cruelty." "Most people here won't see it that way
Ezekiel didn’t pause. Rasmus was still collapsing, his life gushing out onto the flagstones, when the King turned to the other two. They had just managed to overwhelm Jax, one holding him while the other raised a sword for a final blow. They froze, their faces masks of pure, incredulous terror. E
“Just enjoying the fine afternoon, Beta,” Rasmus said, his voice oozing false deference. “Imagine our surprise at finding such a rare flower blooming in our dreary garden.” His pale eyes fixed on Winter, his gaze insolent and slimy. “Your post is on the eastern wall, Rasmus,” Jax said, his voice d
He didn’t take her back through the main door. He carried her to the wall beside the great hearth, to the secret passage he had used before. The stone swung inward, and he stepped into absolute darkness. The air here was old and cold, smelling of deep earth and dust. He didn’t slow down, navigatin
The word hung in the bloody air, a brand seared onto the sudden, ringing silence. ‘Mine’ It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t a term of endearment. It was a statement of fact, as absolute and final as the death surrounding them. He had declared ownership, and the proof was cooling on Winter’s skin and







