Witch Among Wolves - The Alpha's Enemy Bride

Pain hit before memory did. Sharp, cold, everywhere. She couldn’t tell if it was the ache of old wounds or something new—a pressure, a heaviness that made every muscle feel wrong.

Thalia’s eyes fluttered open to the pale light filtering through rough-hewn logs. She was sprawled on a tangle of wolf pelts that reeked of musk and rain and blood. A pounding ache throbbed at the base of her skull.

She tried to sit up. Bad idea—her stomach lurched, and the world blurred into streaks of shadows and moonlight.

Why does my body feel wrong? Why does everything smell so… wild? Did I drink something? Is this another dream?

She flexed her fingers, expecting the familiar ache in her right hand. Nothing. Her skin felt too smooth, too young.

“She’s awake,” a voice grunted from above—male, rough-edged, unimpressed.

Another, sharper voice: “Finally. For a moment, I thought we’d broken her.”

Thalia squinted at the sound, eyes burning from the musty air. Three figures loomed above her: two broad-shouldered men with wolfish, predatory grins, and a woman with silver-streaked black hair and eyes that could cut glass. None of them wore a smile.

Not faces I know. Not my coven. Not even my enemies, not the ones I remember. Where am I?

She scanned the room, piecing together details through her haze:

The walls were made of rough pine logs, cold and damp to the touch. Faded pelts covered the packed earth floor, and animal skulls hung from the ceiling beams, their jaws agape as if mid-snarl. Antlers, claws, a few dark stains she really didn’t want to think about. There was a battered iron stove in one corner, unlit. No windows, just one heavy door and a gap under it where cold night air slipped in, carrying the scent of pine needles and something wilder—fur, sweat, blood, earth. Somewhere beyond the walls, a wolf howled. The sound crawled under her skin.

Lovely. Kidnapped by interior designers with a flair for the macabre. Why can’t I ever wake up in a feather bed?

She searched her mind for answers, sifting through shards of memory: running—bare feet pounding earth—shouting, snarling, the taste of iron, the flash of magic, then darkness.

Wait—there’s something else. Not just fear. Loss. An ending.

I died. I know I did. I remember the cold, the nothing, and then… this.

A chill slithered down her spine.

So I’m not dreaming. I’m not in my body. Not my old one, anyway.

She glanced down—her hands were thinner, younger. Her hair—long, tangled, darker than she remembered—brushed her arm.

Did they bring me back? Is this a spell? Am I supposed to be grateful?

“You going to say something, witch?” The icy woman’s voice snapped her back.

Thalia blinked, mouth moving before her mind caught up. “Depends. Is this the standard kidnapping package, or is there an upgrade with breakfast in bed?”

The woman’s lips thinned. “Cute. You’ll want to watch that mouth, witch.”

Oh, so we’re starting with threats. Groundbreaking.

One of the men barked a laugh, quickly smothered by a glare from the woman.

At least someone in here appreciates quality banter.

Thalia clutched the blanket around her shoulders, noticing now the faint symbols stitched into the edges. Runes, some familiar, most not. Warding, maybe.

Whatever this is, they know what I am—or what I was.

She reached for magic, for that old golden spark in her blood, and found… nothing. Just static, just a headache and a thumping heart.

Reborn and running on empty. Just perfect.

The door groaned open, and the temperature dropped even further. Everyone snapped to attention as a tall, broad-shouldered figure entered. He moved with deliberate confidence, eyes dark and cool as a winter lake, jaw set in a way that brooked no argument.

Alpha, she thought at once. The kind that didn’t need to say it twice.

He wore a heavy wool shirt and leathers, a battered silver ring on one hand, scars threading his knuckles.

He paused, surveying the room, then fixed his gaze on Thalia.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice low and iron-edged. “Good. Saves us trouble.”

He came closer, boots thudding on the packed earth. She watched his eyes—cold, wary, intelligent.

Alpha. And not a fool. That’s almost worse.

“I’m going to be very clear, witch. You’re in my pack’s territory. You’re alive because I decided you might be useful. Don’t mistake that for mercy.”

Useful. That’s new. Last time I was this helpless, I died for it. This time, I’m not dying for anyone but myself.

She arched a brow, hiding her nerves behind a crooked smile. “Useful, huh? Well, that’s an upgrade from ‘bleeding out in the woods.’ What’s the job? Wolf-sitting? Haunted house tours?”

The man beside her stifled a laugh, shoulders shaking.

If I can keep them off balance, maybe I’ll get out alive.

Rowan’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “You’re here because you’re going to help me—and in return, you might live to see another sunrise. It’s simple.”

Thalia didn’t flinch. “Simple’s not my thing, but I’ll bite.

What do you want?”

He leaned in, close enough that she could see the faint line of a scar through his left eyebrow. “You’ll pretend to be my mate. Publicly. Convincingly. Long enough for the pack council to believe it.”

A chill crawled down her spine.

Pretend to be a wolf’s mate? Fate’s got jokes. Last time I trusted a wolf, I wound up dead. Not again.

“And if I say no?” she said, voice sharper than she meant.

His answer was soft, almost gentle.

“Then we let my people decide your fate. And they’re not nearly as polite as I am.”

Options: Die now, or die later. Or play along and figure out what the hell happened to me. I survived death once. I can do it again. And this time, I’ll have the last word.

She rolled her shoulders, forcing a grin.

“Well. This is all terribly sudden. I don’t even know your star sign.”

Rowan didn’t blink. “You’ll learn. Quickly.”

He stood, straightening. “You have one hour to decide. Don’t try to run. My wolves can smell fear a mile off.”

He nodded to his packmates and left, the door shutting behind him with a heavy finality. The other two followed, though the icy woman paused, leaning in.

“You might be clever, witch, but you’ll never be one of us.”

Thalia held her gaze, heart thumping. “I wouldn’t want to be. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing else. Soon, Thalia was alone in the chill, shadowed room, the silence broken only by distant howls.

She let herself collapse back on the pelts, clutching the scratchy blanket.

Dead, reborn, captive, powerless. But not for long. This time, I get to decide who I become.

She stared up at the beams overhead, feeling her new heart thud.

Let them think they’ve trapped me. I’ve come back for a reason. And I am not done yet.

She grinned, wry and defiant, a spark in her chest at last.

Let the wolves think they’d cornered her.

She was back from the dead—and this time, she was ready to bite.