#7 Confrontation

Branwen POV

I glare down at the lion bastard from my tree perch. My legs are dangling just out of claw reach, and my dagger is balanced on my knee like a threat. He is a sight, all golden skin and smug patience, his arms folded like he's got all eternity to wait me out. Which, in this godsforsaken hunt, he absolutely fucking does.

My thighs ache from the climb, sweat trickles down my back, and my cloaking spell is starting to fizzle at the edges. It's too much strain on my magic after the crate opening charm.

"Stare all you want, your mane-ship," I call down, my voice steady despite the knot in my gut. "I've outlasted worse than a pretty kitty with a god complex."

His golden eyes flash, his lips curling into a grin that's equal parts amusement and hunger. "Pretty? You wound me, wild witch. Come down, and I'll show you just how un pretty I can be." Heat creeps up my neck, damn him and his rumbling voice, like thunder and silk. But I shove it down. No time for traitorous thoughts when he's eyeing me like fresh kill. "Pass. I'd rather kiss a thornbush, you absolute twat waffle."

He chuckles, the sound is low and dangerous and he shifts his weight just enough to make his muscles ripple. The air thickens with his scent, it's like hot sand, smoke, and something feral that tugs at my witch senses.

My magic stirs unbidden, a wild pulse in my veins, like the land itself is whispering secrets about him. About mating. About bloodlines that could burn the world. Bollocks. Focus, Branwen. That's when I hear it.... distant snarls, crashing through the underbrush. Not one, but two. Wolf and tiger. Fuck me sideways.

Lion's head snaps toward the noise, his body tensing like a bowstring. "Company," he growls, his eyes narrowing. "And not the friendly kind."

The snarls grow louder, and branches are snapping loudly. Then they burst into the clearing...Black Wolf in full wolf form, his jaws dripping, with White Tiger slinking beside him, both with eyes locked on Hadrian like he's the intruder. "Mine," the black wolf growls with his hackles raised.

"Ours," white tiger grumbles as his amber gaze flicks upward, finding me in an instant despite the fading cloak. His tiger form ripples, half shifting to human as he rises, naked and furious. "Lion," he rumbles. "Step away from what is ours."

Lion doesn't flinch. He straightens, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "Yours? This witch is no one's pet. But if you want her, striped fool, and you, mangy cur, you'll have to go through me."

The air crackles with tension, three beasts circling, eyes on each other and me. My heart slams. Three Warlords. One tree. No escape.

I grip my dagger tighter, whispering a quick wind charm to the leaves. "Boys," I mutter, "if you're going to fight over me, at least make it entertaining. Bloody hell, it's like watching a pack of dogs argue over the last scrap of meat."

They all freeze for a second, their heads tilting toward my voice. Lion's grin widens, like he finds my mouth amusing. White Tiger's eyes narrow, a flicker of something almost like respect in those golden depths. Black wolf just snarls, but there's a huff in it, like even a wolf can appreciate a good insult.

"Entertaining?" Lion rumbles, not breaking his stare from the others. "Oh, wild witch, you have no idea. But if these fools want a show, I'll give them one."

Black Wolf lunges first, a black blur of fury, his jaws snapping toward Lion's throat. The lion king shifts in a heartbeat, golden fur exploding across his body as he meets the wolf mid-air. They collide with a thunderous crash, claws raking fur, teeth clashing in a spray of blood and snarls. White tiger doesn't wait, he circles, then pounces on Lion's flank, his white stripes flashing as his tiger form tears into the lion's side.

The clearing erupts into absolute fucking chaos. Trees shudder from the impacts, dirt flies, and the roars shake my bones. I press back against the trunk, my bow in hand now, arrow nocked but unsure where to aim.

Part of me wants to loose it into the lot of them, let the twats sort themselves out. But another part, the kinder bit that Ma always said made me too soft for the wilds, hesitates.

These beasts aren't just monsters; they're desperate. They are fighting over me like I'm the key to their survival. It's bloody tragic, in a savage sort of way.

Still, pity will get me killed. "Get on with it, you lot!" I shout down, voice snappy as a whip. "Or are you too busy preening to actually fight? Come on, lion boy, show me those claws aren't just for show!"

Lion twists free from black wolf's jaws, blood matting his mane, and he lets out a bellow that nearly topples me from my perch. He charges White Tiger, slamming him into a boulder with enough force to crack stone.

White tiger yowls, rolling to his feet and countering with a swipe that opens a gash across lion's shoulder. Wolf circles back in, nipping at lions hind legs, but the lion swats him away like a fly. It's brutal, but beautiful in a twisted way, like watching gods brawl over a forbidden fruit. My magic hums hotter now, responding to the violence and raw power crashing below.

The land is awakening, just like the whispers in the lore said. I feel it coiling in my marrow, stronger than before, begging to be unleashed. Enough watching. Time to be powerful, not just sassy. I stand on the branch, steadying myself, and draw deep from that wild core. "Veil and vine, fury and fire," I chant under my breath, my hands weaving the air. Mosswood storm spell, old as the roots, fierce as a coven's wrath.

The wind picks up around me, the leaves swirling into a vortex. I push it down, aiming for the trio below. Not to kill, I'm not that kind of monster, but to scatter them like leaves in a gale. The spell erupts. A whirlwind of thorns and debris blasts from the canopy, slamming into the Warlords.

Lion roars as vines snag his mane, yanking him off balance. Wolf yelps, tumbling into the underbrush. Tiger shifts to human form mid spin, and he's naked again, cursing in that exotic tongue as he's flung against a tree.

"Bloody hell!" I yell, leaping to a lower branch as the wind dies. "That's for thinking you can just claim me like I'm some tavern prize, you overgrown furballs!"

They recover fast, way too fast. Lion shakes off the vines, his golden eyes locking on me with a mix of fury and... admiration "Impressive, witch," he growls, shifting back to human."But you've only made me want you more."

Tiger straightens, staring at me, his gaze intense. "You wield the wild like it's yours. Join us. We could protect you from the others."

Wolf shifts too, his black hair wild, his chest heaving. "Protect? She doesn't need it. But she needs us. The clans are fracturing, war is coming. You're the key, witch."

I snort in response, dropping to the ground in a crouch, my dagger out and magic still crackling at my fingertips. "Key? Bollocks to that. I'm Branwen Mosswood, not some damsel waiting for her beasts to save her. You want me? Earn it. And not by ripping each other apart like jealous twats."

For a moment, silence hangs heavy. The three of them stare, lion with a predatory smile, tiger with calculating frost, wolf with raw hunger. Then, almost as one, they step closer, encircling me. The air thickens with their scents and their power, pulling at me like a tide.

My heart races, but I lift my chin defiantly, spicy fire in my veins. "Come on then. Who's first?"

But before anyone moves, a new sound splits the air, a distant, serpentine hiss echoing through the trees. Snake. Another Warlord, drawn by the noise. "Fuck," I mutter, backing toward the shadows. Four now? This hunt just got a whole lot wilder.

And as the beasts tense, ready to defend their claim, I whisper a quick shadow step charm and vanish into the undergrowth. Let them chase ghosts. I'm not done running yet.