Chapter 4: A pack that hates her

The night air was thick with tension as Seraphina Vale stood at the gates of the Blackveil Pack's territory, her heart pounding in her chest. The packhouse loomed before her like an ancient fortress, its dark, towering walls speaking of strength, pride, and centuries of tradition. The flickering lights inside cast long shadows, the murmurs of the pack audible even from a distance.

Seraphina could feel the weight of their hatred long before she set foot within their walls. She wasn’t blind. The whispers, the glares, the way the air seemed to crackle with hostility it all pointed to one undeniable truth: She was an outsider here. She was a witch, and to the Blackveil Pack, witches were nothing but poison.

"Stay close," Dorian Nightbane’s low voice broke through her thoughts, his hand briefly brushing against hers as they made their way toward the gates. His touch was cold, but his presence was a constant force, anchoring her as the wind howled around them. "And remember what I said if they try to kill you, I won’t stop them." His words were laced with a dark edge, but there was no mistaking the gravity of his warning.

Seraphina glanced up at him, her chest tightening. Despite the bond now connecting them, there was a distance between them a wall he had built, and she could see it clearly now. Dorian was a man bound by duty, by power, and by a pack that hated her very existence. The night she had agreed to marry him had been a turning point, but this this was a test. A test of her strength, her resolve, and her place within the pack that despised everything she was.

The gates creaked open as they approached, revealing the Blackveil Pack’s warriors, standing tall and imposing, their expressions unreadable. They were all Alpha blood, born of the strongest wolves in the land. And in their eyes, Seraphina was nothing but a stain on their territory.

"You brought a witch here?" one of the warriors sneered as Dorian and Seraphina approached. He was tall, his dark eyes filled with contempt. "What’s the Alpha thinking? Letting a filth like her walk on our grounds. What’s next, bringing in demons?"

The taunt echoed through the clearing, and Seraphina felt the heat of their gaze burning into her. The pack was already murmuring, voices low but filled with rage. They could sense the magic in her blood, feel the witch's power radiating off her in waves, and it disgusted them.

Dorian’s hand curled into a fist beside her, his jaw tight with frustration, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He was the Alpha, and his presence commanded the room. But to them, to the Blackveil Pack, that presence would only go so far. The venomous whispers grew louder, and Seraphina could feel her pulse quicken.

"Didn’t think the Alpha was foolish enough to marry a witch," another warrior growled, his voice full of disdain. "What makes her so special, Dorian? You’re too good for her. She’s nothing but trouble."

Seraphina lifted her chin, standing tall despite the weight of their hatred. She could feel the bitterness in the air, but she would not let it break her. These people, these wolves they may hate her, but she wasn’t going to cower. She had lived through worse. She had fought for her survival long before she ever stepped foot in this cursed pack.

Dorian didn’t stop the warriors, didn’t attempt to defend her, and his silence spoke volumes. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, his thoughts unreadable, and it only spurred her on.

"Enough," Seraphina finally said, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. The words came out sharper than she intended, but she didn’t care. "You can glare all you want, but your words mean nothing to me. I’m not here to beg for your approval. I don’t need it."

The wolves fell silent, startled by her defiance. They weren’t used to witches speaking so boldly, let alone challenging them. Their surprise was clear, but it was the next words that came from the warrior’s mouth that made Seraphina’s blood boil.

"Bold words for a witch," the warrior spat, his eyes flashing with anger. "Let’s see if your magic can save you from this."

Before Seraphina could react, he lunged at her, his massive form moving like a blur. The pack gasped, but it was clear that no one was going to stop him. This was a test, an opportunity to show the witch just how worthless she was in their eyes.

But Seraphina wasn’t a helpless witch. She had been trained for moments like these—when her life was on the line, when her very existence was a threat to someone else’s pride.

Without hesitation, she stepped into the attack, her body moving with an unnatural grace. She could feel the surge of power within her as she called upon the magic deep inside her, tapping into the ancient bloodline of the Vale witches that flowed through her veins.

With a flick of her wrist, the air around her hummed with energy, and a powerful gust of wind slammed into the warrior, sending him stumbling back. He growled in frustration, his claws extending as he lunged again, but Seraphina was faster. She stepped aside, her movements fluid and precise, and with a snap of her fingers, the ground beneath him cracked open, trapping his legs in a magical hold.

The pack was dead silent as they watched their warrior struggle, but Seraphina wasn’t done. She lifted her hand, and the warrior’s body was lifted into the air, his arms flailing as he gasped for breath. The pack gasped as they saw her control, her strength. This wasn’t just the magic of a witch; this was something far more potent something ancient, something the Blackveil Pack had never experienced before.

She brought him down slowly, the magic releasing him from her grip as he fell to the ground with a thud, landing hard on his back. He gasped, winded, as he struggled to stand, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Seraphina stood over him, her expression unwavering. "I don’t want to fight," she said coldly. "But if you’re going to make me, know this I will not lose. You will not break me."

The warrior glared at her, his pride wounded more than his body. He had underestimated her, and now he was paying for it. Slowly, he rose to his feet, his packmates watching in stunned silence.

"You think you can just waltz in here and demand respect?" the warrior spat, though there was an edge of hesitation in his voice.

Seraphina didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. She had already proven her point. She had fought back, and she had won. And the Blackveil Pack knew it.

Dorian stood at the edge of the clearing, his eyes fixed on her. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way he watched her something akin to admiration. It was brief, fleeting, but it was there.

Seraphina couldn’t help but meet his gaze, her heart pounding as she realized that, despite everything, she had just earned something important. Respect.

The warrior stood tall again, but this time he said nothing. His packmates were still silent, watching her with a mixture of confusion, awe, and begrudging respect. And Dorian? He didn’t speak, but his posture had shifted ever so slightly.

The warrior finally bowed his head. "You’ve earned your place here, witch," he muttered, turning to walk away, clearly humiliated.

Seraphina didn’t let herself relax, not just yet. But when she caught Dorian’s eyes again, her heart raced for a reason she couldn’t explain. There was a flicker of something in his gaze something she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

"You’ve made an impression," he said quietly, his voice carrying an undertone of something dangerous. "But don’t expect things to be any easier. They won’t forget this."

Seraphina nodded, her chin lifted high. "I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to survive. And I intend to do that, no matter what."

The tension in the air didn’t dissipate, but it had shifted. The pack might have hated her, but they had seen her power, and that power would change things. The Blackveil Pack may despise witches, but Seraphina had made one thing clear: she wasn’t someone to be underestimated. Not by anyone. Not even Dorian Nightbane.

As the night continued to unfold, the whispers began anew, but this time, they carried a different tone. Fear. Respect. And perhaps, for the first time, curiosity.

Seraphina Vale wasn’t just a witch. She was a force to be reckoned with. And the Blackveil Pack was about to learn that the hard way