The Witch Collector Novels & Stories

The battle is won, but looking at the silver scars covering my side, I know the war has just begun. "Your Highness!" A guard approaches. "We found something in Margaret's car. Documents. Plans." Byrde takes the papers, his face paling as he reads. "This isn't over. Marcus and Margaret were working for someone else. Someone called 'The Collector.'" "The Collector?" I repeat. "According to this, he collects rare wolves. Wolves with special abilities." He looks at me, fear in his eyes. "And Margaret sent him information about you. About a silver wolf who survived concentrated wolfsbane."

I rolled my eyes before settling into the seat behind my desk. Carter and Colin team up to brainstorm. They go back and forth, trying to figure out how to get his wolf. While they're still brainstorming, Colin wonders why and how he hasn't been caught yet. After hours of not finding anything, they come across an article about an old witch. (She did something and it convinces them that she might be able to help.”

The moment Hylda came into the picture and put Sadie to death the tradition had died with her. The witch's quarters looked old and worn down from years of neglect. Sadie was long gone by the time she had even been permitted to enter the pack house but she'd heard from the older generations what it used to be like. The walls apparently had a glow to them from the amount of magick in the room. There was rumored to be a large crystal sat in a well, center of the room where the users would replenish themselves. Foliage decorated the room making it look like a green house with work stations set up. Large wooden work tables covered in rare ingredients and spells books from past generations lay on

Who knows what happens next? After all, the Vire Queen had always been pretty unreadable and unconventional. She is a strong and powerful witch. And she can make any man beg on his knees just to avoid her wrath and anger. Apart from that, she also possesses that perpetual beauty that will never make her age and really give her a quality to remain a Queen for the powerful kingdom. But getting married with the young prince, what would that even give them?

God better that bandana is clean, that’s what I hope internally as I glare at him one last time through my moistened lashes. The driver opens the door yanking me out which I didn’t cause any trouble. David gets out from the car right behind me in fear of me running away. I mentally laugh at the thought that how afraid they look being the werewolves as I am a mere witch who didn’t posses any powers yet. “Alpha is waiting eagerly for this chick”, driver chuckles wickedly as my skin gets pricked with goosebumps. As David’s hand grabs my arm yanking towards the woods I mentally prepare for what am going to do.

“Our collection is eternal. You should be honored, very few qualify for preservation.” The Progenitor manifests from wherever it exists between trials. “Release her,” it commands with authority that shook reality during the Wolf Trials. “She passed the trials, earned her return to life. You have no claim.” “We have the only claim that matters,” the Collector replies. “She broke cosmic law by restructuring it while mortal. That makes her ours by rights older than your trials.” “What rights?” the Progenitor demands. “The Right of Collection,” it states. “Established before reality itself by the things that watch realities form and collapse. We collect the anomalies, the beings who shouldn’t ex

That help is waiting. The contract is written in elaborate script, the words flowing across the parchment in what definitely looks like dried blood. I scan the terms, my stomach sinking with each line. *The Bearer of this Contract, hereafter referred to as "The Collected," does willingly and without coercion bind herself to The Collector for the duration of her natural life.* *The Collected agrees to:* *- Serve The Collector in all matters relating to the acquisition and maintenance of supernatural artifacts* *- Use her bloodline, abilities, and curse fragments for The Collector's benefit*

Even as I witnessed this scene, I had already resolved to leave. But the pain—the unbearable pain—refused to subside. It felt as if my chest was being crushed, my heart writhing in agony. In the haze of their passion, I closed my eyes and reached out with my mind, calling upon the High Priestess of the Misty Forest. "High Priestess, I am ready to return, to resume my life as a witch, and to inherit your position." "Are you certain?" Her voice was laced with anticipation. "That's wonderful. Among all the witches, you are the most exceptional. If you return, you will become the next High Priestess of the Misty Forest!"

That's right. I bought this top-tier, brawny werewolf to scrub my cauldron and do my chores. The inspiration came from a fellow witch I met at the wizarding market. She was bragging about her new half-orc slave, claiming he could lick the floors so clean you could see your reflection in them and even served as her personal foot warmer in the winter. While the other witches burst out laughing and treated it as a joke, I was the only one who zeroed in on two key words: labor and warmth.

"Tamper just told me. Apparently there's been one this whole time, running some kind of operation collecting things from wolves' bodies for remedies, and a group of women work directly under this person, and nobody bothered mentioning it because, and I quote, it didn't come up." Fenrir's jaw tightened the way it did whenever something slipped past him that shouldn't have. "Why does that not surprise me and also terrify me at the same time." "Same boat." "I want to know who it is," he said. "Today, if possible." "You say that like I have a sorcerer detector in my back pocket." "You have Kate," he said. "And a new Beta.” He gave me a knowing look. “Use her, Elara. Don't drain yourself. Witches