Head Witch Novels & Stories

I groaned as I looked around, trying to determine if I recognized it. Of course, I have no fucking clue where I am. I gripped the handle tighter, taking a defensive stance as a ring of fire surrounded the clearing, trapping me in the middle. “Oh, have I reached the boss level?” I questioned. “SHOW YOURSELF, SHIT WITCH!” I shouted. “That is not my name.” Shit Witch scoffed as the flames parted. “I am Melania, the most powerful witch in the world.” She did a cringy hair flip as she boasted.

I said with a much lackluster in me that I redefined the meaning of sarcasm. Suddenly and totally unexpected on my part she hit the brakes. If not for my body being secured by the seat belt, I would have been thrown forward, head slam into the dashboard, cracked skull, cut on my forehead, blood dripping down to my nose, dizziness and I'm petty sure I would have had a concussion as well by now.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him stretch languidly before sitting up and looking straight at her. "Look at me, Merlin", his voice wasn't loud but it was still commanding and she found herself turning her head to look at him. "Do you know who I am?", he asked, staring into her eyes. She shook her head, trying not to avert her eyes as she felt like she was drowning in those gray depths. "I'm Zeke, Alpha of the Graystorm pack", he spoke with a quiet authority. "How do you know my name?", she asked. "I need a witch, a powerful one and my search led me to you", he answered.

It was winter period when I first found my mate, she was beautiful and fair, had skin as white as snow, her hair was as flowy as velvet, and she had the voice of an angel. Perhaps, I was biased because she was mine, but it was the truth, one thing that kept me from pursuing her at first was that she was a witch. We werewolves and witches were not that close, we tend to get on each other’s nerves, so I knew my father would not approve, he was big on keeping to the rules.

She replied with a sharp tone. She walked to a boiling pot,she threw the hair into it and began to stir the pot. It began to bubble, foam came out of the pot and filled the room, Marcel began to choke. Marcel walked out of the room. The witch came out of the room, she bowed and said. “The soup is perfect now!.” Marcel looked at the witch with anger. “Why would you need her hair for soup?!.” Marcel asked. “We need it to make the witches strong!, with a hybrid like her!, she is stronger than a basic werewolf and Lycan!.” She replied

“Stay away. All the catty witches will start fighting over them. Sit back and let the competition take themselves out. Those two will take any women mixed up with them down when they fall. They are trouble on two or four legs. Sexy trouble, but trouble.” Heather’s words annoyed Rose. Heather was always a little jealous. She was the daughter of the Rolling Meadows Pack Healer. Rose knew Heather didn’t believe she belonged. She believed her father’s position made her less than, but they didn’t care. So, Amber had to drag Heather to these events.

The witch asked, "What's in it for me?" Alice replied, "When you do it, we'll discuss your payment.” The witch shook her head, "Your mission is a failed one already." Alice's eyes narrowed, "Say that again, and I'll boil your head in the pot over there." The witch remained silent, shaking her head once more. Her hair danced around her face, and when she stopped, she looked different, like a gypsy witch. She wore ceremonial attire, and her eyes were lined with kohl. She gazed at Vivian, "Bring the head."

She prances over to one of the women, dancing around her excitedly before rubbing her fur against her. I watch as the woman kneels down and pets her fur lovingly. "You're very special to me, Nia. This isn't your fault," she says, causing Nia to howl softly, acknowledging what she's being told. "My name is Hecate, little one," the woman with long dark hair responds. She stands tall in front of the other two. Her black, wavey hair matched the darkness of the dress that flowed to her ankles. A silver crown with a crescent moon resting in the middle, each point of the moon facing the sky.

The way she had no scent to everyone yet smelled like Herbs and Lavender to me. The way the wards had blinked. The way Morwenna couldn't read her mind. She was a witch. A Salem witch. The last of them. But I didn't know the family she was from. And I didn't care. I would burn the world before I let anyone hurt her. "Cressida." She didn't respond. Her eyes were still distant, still swirling with that pale blue light. The wings flexed, spreading wider, casting jagged shadows across the frozen floor. If I stepped to close I could be hurt.