The Witch Who Remembered
The witch felt the shift the moment the curse trembled.
She paused mid-motion, fingers hovering over the shallow bowl of dark water before her. The surface rippled—not from touch or wind, but from power responding to power. The candles around the room flickered violently, their flames bending inward as if bowing.
Slowly, the witch smiled.
"So," she murmured, her voice rough with age and memory, "you finally found her."
The room she occupied was hidden deep within a forest no map acknowledged—a place where the trees grew too close together and the air hummed with old magic. The walls were stone, worn smooth by time, carved with symbols that predated written language. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, their scents sharp and bitter.
The witch was known by many names.
To humans, she was a myth.
To wolves, she was a warning.
Her true name had been lost centuries ago, but the packs called her Morwenna—the Moonbound Witch.
She had been young once.
Once, she had loved an Alpha.
Morwenna dipped her fingers into the bowl, ignoring the cold as it bit into her skin. The water darkened, then cleared, revealing a vision: a man standing in an alley, his presence blotting out the night itself.
Lucien Blackwood.
Her smile faded.
"You look just like him," she whispered.
Ten years ago, Lucien Blackwood had stood in this very room.
Not as the cold Alpha he was now—but as a furious, grieving wolf who had lost too much, too fast.
Morwenna remembered it clearly.
He had burst into her domain carrying death in his eyes, blood on his hands, and rage tearing through his control. His pack had been slaughtered by a rival Alpha who had broken sacred laws, and Lucien—young, powerful, reckless—had wanted vengeance no matter the cost.
"I want power," he had said. "Enough to make sure no one ever touches what is mine again."
Morwenna had studied him for a long time that night.
"You want a curse," she had replied calmly. "Because that is the only magic strong enough to give you what you seek."
"I don't care what it costs," Lucien had said.
She had warned him.
The magic of the moon demanded balance. Strength taken would be paid for elsewhere. Warmth, connection, love—these were not weaknesses, but anchors.
Lucien had been unmoved.
So Morwenna had bound the curse.
She had taken his warmth and sealed it away, wrapped his heart in ice, and bound his emotions beneath layers of control. In return, she had given him dominance so absolute no rival Alpha could challenge him.
She had done it because she was angry.
Because once, long before Lucien, she had loved an Alpha who chose power over her.
Because curses born of bitterness never truly rest.
Now, the curse stirred.
Morwenna lifted her fingers from the water, her eyes narrowing as the image shifted.
A woman.
Human—or close enough.
Dark hair. Tired eyes. A glow beneath her skin that shimmered like sunlight trapped in flesh.
Morwenna inhaled sharply.
"No," she whispered.
The warmth.
She recognized it instantly.
"That's not possible."
She moved quickly now, crossing the room to an old chest carved with lunar runes. She opened it and pulled out a faded leather-bound book, its pages yellowed and fragile.
Flipping through it with trembling hands, she stopped at a page marked with a dried flower.
The counterbalance, the text read.
Where cold is taken, warmth must be born.
Morwenna's breath shuddered.
She had never meant for the counterbalance to manifest.
It had been a precaution—a failsafe woven unconsciously into the magic, shaped by lunar law rather than her will.
A mate.
Not just any mate.
A living embodiment of warmth.
Morwenna closed the book slowly.
"So the Moon chose for you," she said softly. "Even after everything."
Her gaze hardened.
"If she stays near him, the curse will break."
And that—
That could not be allowed.
Not yet.
High above the city, Lucien stood in the shadows of his office, unaware of the eyes watching him through magic older than his bloodline.
Morwenna traced a symbol in the air, whispering a spell that carried her sight across distance.
She saw the woman in his tower—wrapped in borrowed clothes, standing near a window, staring out at the city like she was already caged.
The warmth pulsed steadily now.
Strong.
Too strong.
Morwenna felt something unfamiliar tighten in her chest.
Guilt.
"She doesn't know what she is," Morwenna murmured. "And you don't know what you've brought into your den."
The witch straightened, her spine stiff despite the years weighing on her bones.
"If the curse breaks too soon, Alpha," she said to the empty air, "it will not free you."
"It will destroy you both."
The candles flared violently, one extinguishing with a sharp hiss.
Morwenna reached for her cloak.
"It seems," she said quietly, "that I must intervene."
Lucien had fortified the tower before dawn.
Wards older than the city itself wrapped around the upper floors, woven quietly into steel, glass, and stone. They hummed faintly beneath his skin as he walked the perimeter of the private level, checking seals that had not been tested in years.
Nothing crossed his territory without his permission.
And yet—
He stopped near the window of the corridor, his reflection staring back at him like a stranger.
The warmth was still there.
Muted, contained, but persistent.
Lucien clenched his jaw.
The curse had never behaved like this. It had been absolute—clean in its cruelty. Cold meant cold. Control meant control.
Now there were fractures.
He turned sharply and headed toward the guest suite.
Arielle hadn't slept.
She stood barefoot near the window, wrapped in a soft robe someone had left for her, staring out at the city below. From this height, everything looked distant and unreal, like a model version of the world she had walked through just days ago.
Her warmth pulsed gently beneath her skin, steady now—less frantic, more aware.
Like it was listening.
She sensed him before the door opened.
The air cooled slightly.
Lucien stepped inside without speaking, his presence filling the room instantly. He looked as composed as ever—tailored clothes, controlled posture, eyes dark and unreadable.
But Arielle felt the tension beneath it.
"You're guarded like a fortress," she said quietly.
Lucien's gaze snapped to her. "You noticed."
She shrugged faintly. "I feel things."
That earned a pause.
Lucien crossed the room slowly, stopping several feet away from her. He kept the distance deliberately. Every instinct screamed at him to close it.
"You reacted last night," he said. "That wasn't human."
"I didn't mean to," Arielle replied. "It just… happened."
He studied her carefully. "Did anyone ever tell you that you were different?"
Arielle hesitated.
"My grandmother," she said. "But she never explained how. She just said I carried warmth for a reason."
Lucien's chest tightened.
The Moon's counterbalance.
The witch's fail-safe.
"You are under my protection," he said firmly. "That is not optional."
Arielle met his gaze. "Protection from what?"
Lucien didn't answer immediately.
"From those who would use you," he said at last. "And from those who would fear you."
"And from you?" she asked softly.
The question struck deeper than it should have.
Lucien looked away.
"I am the danger you understand least," he said.
Morwenna crossed the city by paths no one else could see.
The closer she drew to the tower, the heavier the air became. The Alpha had done well—his wards were layered, ancient, reinforced by both power and paranoia.
Good.
It meant he had already sensed her.
She stopped at the edge of his territory, her cloak whispering against the concrete as she lifted her hand.
The wards reacted instantly.
Lucien froze mid-step.
Cold surged violently through his veins as the curse flared—not in warning, but recognition.
Her magic.
He turned toward the eastern wall, eyes narrowing.
"She's here," he said quietly.
Arielle felt it too.
The warmth tightened, curling inward like a living thing bracing itself.
"Who?" she asked.
Lucien didn't answer.
The air shifted.
And then the witch stepped through the ward like it had invited her.
Morwenna stood in the center of the room, her presence bending the light around her. She looked older than Arielle had expected—lined skin, silver-streaked hair—but her eyes were sharp, intelligent, and painfully aware.
"So," Morwenna said calmly, "this is what the Moon chose."
Arielle stiffened.
Lucien moved instantly, positioning himself between them. "You will not touch her."
Morwenna's gaze slid to him, cool and knowing. "Still protective. Even now."
"You had no right," Lucien said, his voice low with contained fury. "You cursed me."
"I warned you," Morwenna replied evenly. "You accepted."
Her eyes returned to Arielle. "Do you know what you are?"
Arielle shook her head. "No. But I know you're the reason he's suffering."
Morwenna's expression flickered—something like regret passing through it.
"He chose power over warmth," she said. "You are the balance."
Lucien snarled. "You will not explain her existence like she's a tool."
Morwenna raised a brow. "And yet that is exactly what fate has made her."
The warmth surged sharply in Arielle's chest.
"No," she said suddenly. "I'm not a balance. I'm a person."
Silence fell.
Morwenna studied her closely now—not as a concept, but as a living being.
"…Interesting," the witch murmured.
Lucien felt it then.
Hope.
Dangerous. Unwelcome. Real.
Morwenna stepped back slowly. "The curse is cracking," she said. "If it breaks without preparation, the cost will be catastrophic."
"What cost?" Arielle demanded.
Morwenna's eyes softened—just slightly.
"Love always demands one," she said.
And with that, she vanished.
Lucien exhaled slowly, his control barely holding.
Arielle turned to him. "You're not going to send me away, are you?"
Lucien met her gaze.
"No," he said. "But staying will change everything."
She nodded. "So will leaving."
For the first time, Lucien did not argue.
Because deep down, he already knew—
The curse had begun its countdown.
And warmth had finally found its way home.