The witch execution

The air was thick with tension, the kind that settled in your bones and made it hard to breathe. The crowd gathered around the center of the town square was a mix of fear and anticipation, waiting for the inevitable. The sun had just begun to rise, casting a dim light over the stage of Seraphina Vale’s death. It was a cruel irony that this was her final dawn, and the very warmth of the sun seemed to mock her as it spread across the cold stone beneath her feet.

Seraphina’s wrists were bound by silver chains, burning into her skin with every movement. Her once-beautiful gown, stained with dirt and blood, clung to her frame like a shroud. Her dark hair, usually wild and untamed, hung in matted strands around her face, a stark contrast to the calm resolve she wore on the outside. Her heart beat fiercely in her chest, but there was no fear in her. There was only acceptance.

The last of the Vale witches was to be burned at dawn, and there was no escape from it. The town had already condemned her, the high priest and his loyal followers eager to see her perish for the sake of their so called safety.

She had known this day would come, the day when the blood of witches would no longer be tolerated. Her family, her kind, had been hunted and slain for years, and now, here she was, standing at the precipice of her own death. The people around her, the ones who once whispered of her lineage with awe and fear, now looked at her with nothing but disdain.

"She is the last of the Vale witches," the high priest proclaimed, his voice booming through the square. "Her blood is tainted with darkness, and if we let her live, the curse will consume us all!"

The crowd murmured in agreement, their voices a chorus of condemnation. Fear gripped their hearts, and they clung to the illusion of safety they believed this execution would bring. Seraphina’s heart ached, but she knew it didn’t matter. There was no saving herself now.

The executioner moved toward her, holding a torch, the flames dancing in the early light, casting an ominous glow across her face. Seraphina refused to flinch.

"Burn her," the high priest commanded, his voice laced with venom.

But just as the torch was about to be set to the wood at her feet, a voice, deep and commanding, cut through the air.

"Stop."

The crowd stilled, turning as one to the source of the interruption. Seraphina’s breath hitched, her heart skipping a beat.

From the mist that seemed to roll in with the morning came a figure. Tall, dark, and powerful. His presence alone made the air thrum with energy, and the tension shifted, becoming heavier, more oppressive. The onlookers stepped back in awe and fear, making way for him as he strode forward with a confidence that seemed to part the crowd like water.

Alpha Dorian Nightbane.

Seraphina had heard the stories. They were whispered in the shadows, spoken of only in hushed tones. He was a creature of legend, a man whose power rivaled that of the gods themselves. He commanded not just wolves, but the forces of nature, bending them to his will. His pack was the most feared in the land, and his ruthlessness was well-known. The very mention of his name made the bravest men tremble.

But what did he want with her? A witch, bound and helpless, waiting for death.

The high priest stammered in shock, his voice shaking with disbelief. "Alpha Nightbane," he began, bowing his head in deference. "This witch is a threat to our people. Her execution is"

"I know what she is," Dorian interrupted, his voice a low growl that carried a weight of authority none dared challenge. "But she is mine now."

The words echoed in the square, sending a ripple of confusion through the crowd. Seraphina’s heart dropped. What did he mean, ‘she is mine?’

Before anyone could react, Dorian stepped closer, his eyes fixed on her, cold and unblinking, as if she were the only thing in the world. Seraphina’s breath caught in her throat. He was close now, too close, the heat from his body radiating against her chilled skin. She could feel the raw power that pulsed off him, almost tangible, like an invisible force she couldn’t escape.

The air around them seemed to thrum with energy, something ancient and primal. And then, without warning, it hit her. A sharp, searing pressure, as if something deep inside her chest had snapped into place.

Her pulse spiked, her breathing shallow. No. It couldn’t be.

She lifted her chin defiantly, though her body betrayed her. "You have no power over me," she spat, her voice harsh, filled with all the fury she could muster. "I am not yours. I am no one’s."

Dorian’s lips twitched upward into a slight smirk, but his eyes never left hers. "You’re wrong, Seraphina," he said, his voice low and velvety, but with an unmistakable edge of command. "You are mine."

Something inside Seraphina shattered, and she staggered back, the silver chains rattling against her skin as she fought to regain her composure. She felt it, felt the bond snap into place something irrevocable, undeniable. Her heart beat faster, a tug deep inside her chest, as if the universe itself had chosen this moment, this man, for her.

No. This was not possible.

The mate bond.

She could feel it now, coiling around her very soul. His power was connected to hers, wrapped tight, suffocating, consuming. She could taste the magic in the air, in the very space between them, and it wasn’t just his wolf blood that she felt. It was something more something darker, something that threatened to pull her under.

"Don’t you dare touch me," she hissed, the words strangled in her throat, her body trembling. The strength of the bond made her sick. "I won’t be your prisoner."

Dorian stepped closer, the intensity of his gaze pinning her where she stood. His aura enveloped her like a dark storm, and she could feel his resolve, unyielding and absolute.

"You don’t have a choice," he murmured, his voice like molten steel. "You are mine, Seraphina. Forever."

The chains around her wrists felt heavier now, as if they had suddenly grown impossibly tight, as if the silver had become molten and burned her to the core. She gasped in pain, her skin burning, but the bond between them the connection that had snapped into place was stronger than anything she had ever felt.

She wanted to scream, wanted to fight, but there was no denying it. The mate bond was undeniable. And with it, she was bound to him. Her future, her freedom, all of it slipped away in that one moment.

The crowd around them stood in stunned silence, unable to comprehend the turn of events. The high priest was the first to speak, though his voice was faint, filled with uncertainty. "But... but she’s a witch. You can’t... you can’t claim her."

Dorian’s gaze flicked toward the priest, his expression cold, impassive. "I just did."

Seraphina’s heart was still racing, her entire world spinning out of control. The firewood at her feet seemed to mock her now, but it no longer mattered. Dorian had taken her from them, claimed her as his. She was no longer the condemned witch to burn at the stake. Now, she was bound to him.

Her mate. Her prison.

But as Dorian leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin, she could see the flicker of something darker in his eyes. The beginning of a storm. And Seraphina, whether she liked it or not, was now caught in the eye of it