Bewitched Branch Novels & Stories

Alina fell forward, and Kael caught her, his arms shaking with the effort. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.” But the third witch was already moving. She raised her hand, and the bone-trees above them groaned and shifted. A massive branch, thick as a pillar, broke free and came crashing down. Straight toward Kael and Alina.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“Ms. Rebecca ran over Ms. Sophia on North Park Avenue. When we arrived, Ms. Sophia was already dead at the scene. “Witnesses reported a dispute between Ms. Rebecca, Ms. Sophia, and Mr. Ethan at the roadside. “Ms.Rebecca then drove into Ms. Sophia, killing her. When we arrived, Mr. Ethan was holding Ms. Sophia’s body.” I looked at Mom. She laughed triumphantly as she muttered to herself, “Dad, I avenged you! Hahaha, I avenged you…”

The moon had bled into a thin crescent by the time Elara returned to the manor, her boots leaving bloody footprints across the stone threshold. The chase through the forest had been brutal, branches whipping her face, lungs burning, hybrid senses screaming every direction the cloaked figure turned. She had lost them at the river’s edge, the water swallowing scent and sound like a grave. But the cloak she now clutched in her fist, torn from a low branch during the pursuit, was unmistakable; Blackthorn black, edged with the subtle silver embroidery reserved for inner-circle betas.

The night sky over the Witches’ Domain shimmered with a strange hue, a pulsating silver mist flowing through the air like magic itself was alive. The trees here whispered secrets to one another, and the wind carried more than just the scent of the earth—it carried memories, power, and bloodlines long thought extinguished. Salem, a high witch and cousin to the Queen, stepped out of the twilight portal that opened near the Obsidian Stones—a gateway reserved for the ancient bloodlines. Her long midnight-blue cloak trailed behind her, brushing the moss-covered stones as she descended the forested path toward the sacred hall.

Destiny works in strange ways, the witches and the wolves have been enemies for a long time, neither cross each other's boundaries and it is highly forbidden to ever mate with each other. Over the years, witches have been mated to wolves, but once the council finds out, they cast a spell to sever the bond immediately. The spell works, but the victim's life changes completely and he or she becomes an outcast, the spell also weakens his or her original powers causing such a person to become weak.

He was completely unresponsive, leaving Elena alone to face the nightmare gliding through the splintered doorway. The lead witch moved with a weightless grace. Her tattered ash-colored cloak drifted behind her like living smoke, and her translucent skin pulsed with thick, black veins that seemed to throb in sync with a low, dissonant chant hummed by her remaining coven sisters out in the corridor. In her skeletal right hand, she gripped a staff carved from ancient, blackened bone. The jagged crystal embedded at its tip bled a putrid aura that suffocated the natural scent of winter rain and cedar wood that usually filled the royal wing.

I stood in the familiar grand hall of the Quirrel estate. The invited astrologer sat rigidly upright as he meticulously analyzed each woman's natal chart. I was shaking all over, as if my bones broken by that iron rod in my past life were still throbbing with pain. To my surprise, I hadn't died—I had been reborn. The astrologer's head snapped up. His face was flushed as he pointed a trembling finger at me. He said, "Her chart's extraordinary. The stars point to a rare healing energy, a fate not only to restore her husband's health but also to give him heirs who will carry on the family name.

There were only a few beans on the branches and Brianna thought of leaving a couple just in case someone else needed them. Violet mentioned the entire plant could act as the cure, but the beans were more potent and acted quicker in neutralizing the Belladonna poison. Bree strapped the kid’s backpack across Bran’s enormous back, making him look ridiculous, but he did not care. He slipped into the shadows and immediately disappeared into the night. “Your brother is a shadow walker, isn’t he?” Violet asked as she led the way into the house. There was no more reason for them to be outdoors, and Violet was afraid next time something unfriendly might come out of the woods.

The Vistolet quickly jumped back behind a tree trunk, sharpening one end of a branch with his sword as he went, and felt his cover shake from the blow. “Bad one,” Vic muttered. However, what else could be expected from a walking corpse? No wonder the necromancer liked the idea of ​​getting himself a werewolf so much. “You chose the wrong path,” whispered a voice that was very quiet and at the same time carried far between the trees. - I will help you.

My back hit a branch and I groaned. “You piece of shit, I'll kill you,” he growled, still holding his ears. My eyes widened and I hurriedly stood up but fell again when I tripped on a branch. Oh no. The man picked up a huge wood and raised it, intending to hit me with it. I noticed the little branches beside his leg and whispered a spell. It started weaving themselves around him, causing him to stumble. He tried pulling his legs away but the branches were stuck in his leg. With a loud growl, he shifted to his wolf.