Chapter Six

Rita

The dorm room was a cocoon of warmth, lit by flickering candlelight and the soft glow of Pru’s enchanted dreamcatcher. Freda sat cross-legged on her bed, her brow furrowed as she traced ancient symbols in a weathered spellbook. Across from her, Rita held a tarnished silver locket in her palm, her eyes closed as Pru guided her.

“Focus on the energy it carries,” Pru murmured. “Objects hold memories. Let them speak to you.”

Rita exhaled, trying to quiet her mind. For a moment—nothing. Then, a flicker. A woman’s laughter, the scent of roses, a whispered promise—

“I see her,” Rita breathed. “She’s… happy.”

Pru grinned. “You’re a natural.”

Deidre, sprawled on her bed like a starfish, sighed dramatically. “I wish I was a witch. You all look so… ethereal.”

Freda snorted without looking up. “Says the cornflower-blue-eyed, pure blond-haired, tall, pale, long-lashed immortal. If anyone is ethereal, it’s you, Vampire Barbie.”

Rita burst out laughing. Deidre did look like a high-end doll, her silk pajamas probably costing more than Rita’s entire wardrobe.

Deidre preened, flipping her hair. “Darling, I know I’m stunning. But you witches glow. Literally.”

Rita shook her head, still grinning—until Deidre’s expression turned sly.

“Speaking of glowing… Nathan Parker has been extra wolfy around you this week.”

Freda’s quill paused. “Oh, he’s obsessed. I caught him staring at you during lunch every day. And I may have overheard him asking how many senior witchcraft electives he could cram into his schedule.”

Rita’s cheeks warmed. “He’s just… dealing with witch allure, right?”

“He’s hot,” Pru said bluntly. “But I’m not down with the whole pack thing.”

Deidre tilted her head. “How is that different from a coven?”

Pru leaned forward. “Wolves are born into their packs. It’s not just loyalty—it’s biology. Some say they can hear each other’s thoughts in wolf form.”

Rita’s eyes widened. “That’s insane.”

“So is a coven bond breaking and fracturing your soul,” Freda pointed out.

“Yeah, but you choose your coven,” Pru countered. “Wolves don’t get a choice.”

Deidre’s gaze sharpened. “How do you know so much about wolves?”

Pru shrugged. “I bunked with them every year until now. Wolves hate silence. They’ll talk your ear off if you let them.”

Nathan

Nathan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his packmates’ chatter fading into background noise. The city lights blurred past, but his mind was back at Blackthorn—with her.

The council social was in full swing when they arrived, the sprawling pack house alive with laughter and the scent of roasted meat. Wolves lounged in clusters, some sparring playfully, others deep in conversation. Normally, Nathan would’ve relaxed into the familiarity.

Tonight, every second felt like a countdown.

“Nathan!” His mother’s voice cut through the noise, her arms already outstretched. “I’m so glad you came!”

She fussed over him, her fingers brushing his cropped hair with a wounded noise. “My baby’s hair—”

“Nathan, you cut your hair?” Ingrid appeared, her smile easy. “You look really handsome. Who’d have thought?”

Nathan shot her a grateful look. Ingrid had always been kind—too kind for his mother’s not-so-subtle matchmaking.

“See, Mama?” Ingrid teased. “He’s rebellious now. Very dangerous.”

His mother huffed but softened, already drifting toward the food table with Ingrid in tow—no doubt plotting their imaginary wedding again.

Nathan exhaled, rolling his shoulders. The pack’s energy usually grounded him. Tonight, it itched under his skin.

Because halfway across the city, a witch with storm-kissed magic was laughing with her friends—and he wasn’t there to hear it.