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I have always been an outsider. Too human for witches, too witch for humans.

Isolated with no magic and raised in a coven that sees power as everything.

As the very essence of our ability to survive and thrive.

It will never matter how hard I work, how many potions or runes I perfect through study, or how many times I have to swallow my pride—without practical magic, I’m nothing to them; just an obligation.

So, when Cassie, the healer, sends me out alone to gather herbs near the shifter borders, I’m not going to argue. It’s easier this way. Easier to be ignored than to be reminded, yet again, that I don’t belong while they complete another initiation ceremony that doesn’t involve me.

But now, as I crouch in the undergrowth, fingers deep in the damp mossy earth, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

With several low, guttural growls rumbling through the trees, I realize that my inability to be an actual witch is going to be my rather obvious downfall.

I’m as defenseless and pathetic as they all say I am.

I crouch lower and hold my breath, hoping whoever is out there is only passing by and not as threatening as they seem.

I may not have any practical magic, but my rune-binding skills are second to none.

I reach into my bag and feel for the smoothed black rune I always carry with me for protection.

The ridges feel reassuring under my fingertips as I sink further into the soft moss.

The growling stops for a moment.

I exhale a shaky breath, fingers still clenched around the rune. The silence stretches on like an unraveling coil of yarn. Slowly, so as not to rustle the leaves and give away my position, I begin to stand slightly, intending to make my way down the ravine to find more cover amongst the trees.

However, before I can even get to my feet, a hand closes over my mouth, and a muscled arm hauls me backward into a crushing hold.

“What do we have here?” a voice with rancid breath laughs against my ear. He sniffs my hair, making my stomach twist, and turns me around to face his friends emerging from the shadows. “No wolf…a witch, maybe.”

“Nah,” one with long, dirty hair and a scar on his face mutters, “there’s no magic on her.”

Considering the seriousness of my situation, the comment shouldn’t even register, and yet it still stings. The shifters glance at one another, and my blood runs cold.

“She could still be fun,” the first one growls, leering at me.

I know without a doubt that I'm not leaving this forest alive if I can’t get away from them.

From the looks of it, they’re rogues completely unbound by a moral code or an alpha—dangerous.

Everyone knows the island has been in turmoil since the old alpha died, and the pack was split into three, with each of his sons becoming an alpha in their own right.

Marian, our high priestess, keeps saying all will be well when the shifters settle.

Personally, I think that’s taking too long.

Ralph may have been a cruel leader, but he respected the witches—or rather, he feared them, which was good enough.

With the packs in flux and these new alphas seemingly struggling to get a grip on the new power dynamics, the rogues have gone, well… more rogue.

There have been more attacks and more violence, and, as usual, the witches are the target. I briefly consider that it is probably why they sent me out here today. Am I simply more expendable?

But now isn’t the time for self-pity or recriminations. I need to get out of here.

Darkness will be creeping in soon, and I’m no match for shifters at the best of times.

I close my eyes and channel everything I have into my one chance—the rune in my hand.

It warms against my skin as I picture a distraction, anything to buy me time.

The rune activates just as it’s supposed to, with a zap of electricity that doesn’t affect me but sends the hulking shifter stumbling back.

His grip loosens just enough for me to break free, and when the others step back in surprise, I don't hesitate.

I bolt through the trees, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum as twigs snap and leaves crunch under my feet, betraying my every move.

I keep the rune in my hand, knowing it won’t work again for a little while, but I need it ready just in case.

Behind me, the shifters' growls fill the air; they’re closing in fast. My lungs burn as panic begins to set in, adrenaline-fueled fear propelling me forward.

Just as I start to think I can't run any more, a root catches me off guard and sends me tumbling to the ground.

I crack my head on something hard as I fall and lie there, winded and dazed.

I know it's over. There's nowhere left to run, and I’ve no more energy left to give.

The rune in my hand is still lifeless, and as I see the first shifter come into view, I feel oddly resigned to my fate; I close my eyes and wait for the end to come.

Even when I hear shouting and then a crash of bodies, I still don’t open my eyes. Are they fighting over who gets to kill me first?

Dying here in the cold, dark forest seems oddly fitting. Alone, like I always have been.

But as I wait for the inevitable, I realize something else is happening.

There’s more shouting, and then someone grabs my shoulders and pulls me upright.

I whimper as pain shoots through my body, but when I open my eyes, I see someone unexpected.

Not one of the rogues from before, not a rogue at all by the looks of him—a massive figure blocking out the early twilight with his broad frame.

He looks at me with concern etched into every line of his face, his deep brown eyes scanning me up and down, apparently taking in every cut and bruise.

Before I can speak or even react, he growls in the direction of the rogues who attacked me.

They hesitate for a moment before grabbing their injured friend and backing off.

Witnessing this stranger’s power over them, It's then that I realize he's not just any shifter; he's an alpha. My stomach drops to my feet as I wonder which one. My coven exists on the boundary of the new western and mountain packs, but I don’t know much about the new alphas. Only that they’re inexperienced and trying to rule differently from Ralph’s reign of terror.

No one mentioned they were also incredibly handsome.

He looks at me again, taking in my shaking form and the rune gripped in my hand, before finally speaking. "You’re hurt," he says simply, his voice deep and rough like gravel against skin.

"I-I..." I stammer.

He looks at the rune again, and something like disgust flashes across his face before he lifts his piercing gaze, seeming to study me more closely. “I don’t sense any magic,” he mutters almost accusingly before adding, “so why the rune?”

“Protection,” I reply, lifting my chin. “It worked a treat.”

We stare at each other for a moment before I notice his lips smirk slightly and then break into a smile that transforms his entire face.

It's like a light has been switched on in the darkness of his expression. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he lets out a small, warm, rich chuckle, and I find myself smiling back in spite of everything.

"Well then," he says, looking around before turning back to me. "I guess I owe that entire victory to you, then."

His humor is infectious, and I find myself smiling despite the lingering pain wracking my body. When I wince as my ribs hurt, he immediately looks concerned again. “Do you live far? We need to get you home before it gets too dark.”

I shake my head. “Just over by the Emmersons’ farm,” I say.

The Emmersons gifted my coven some land years ago, and we’ve lived on the edge of the border town ever since.

He nods. “I know the Emmersons. Good folk,” he says, placing a large hand around my waist to steady me as I start walking.

As soon as he touches me, I feel it. A warmth that spreads throughout my whole body.

It begins slowly, where his hand is touching my skin through the thin fabric of my dress, but then creeps outward until my whole body is bathed in golden warmth.

My eyes flicker to his, and I realize that he must feel it, too, because we both stand there, seemingly lost for words, wrapped in an invisible embrace.

The silence stretches on until he lifts his other hand and smooths some of my auburn hair from my face.

The small action leaves goosebumps racing across my skin.

I physically can’t tear my eyes away from his amber gaze, stunned by the sensations flooding my body.

He brushes his thumb along my cheekbone, sending shivers down my spine.

"You have the most beautiful eyes," he whispers before leaning in closer, his breath tickling my sensitive skin.

I gasp and shut my eyes at the unexpected sensation, another shiver running down my back.

He chuckles softly against my skin before gently kissing my neck.

His warm lips move slowly down as I breathe in his unique and manly scent; having never been this close to a man before, it feels overwhelming.

My body aches for more as he continues to trail his mouth along my jawline, nipping lightly at my skin.

I can feel my body begin to tremble, and he pulls away slightly, causing me to make a sound of disappointment.

He chuckles darkly, his hair falling into his eyes as he looks down at me, something unreadable in his expression.

He pauses, almost warring with himself, before I see the resignation in his eyes. “Forgive me.”

I don’t have time to ask for what before his lips crash down onto mine—a searing kiss, my first, that completely takes my breath away.

I don’t know what I’m doing, but as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, I respond instinctively, mimicking his movements.

Our tongues dance together, tasting and teasing.

It feels like an eternity before he pulls away, leaving me breathless.

"I should get you home," he says gruffly, his voice ragged.

"I don't think I can control myself if I don’t.

" As he speaks, his hand slides down to cup my ass, and he pulls me close.

When he kisses me again, it's even more intense than before, his free hand tangling in my hair as I reach up and cling to his strong, broad shoulders.

I moan into the kiss, never wanting it to end.

When we finally break apart again, he appears as shaken as I am.

I’m dimly aware that he must have lifted me off the ground as he slowly lowers me back down, still holding me close.

The silence is deafening for a moment, but he clears his throat and looks slightly sheepish as he meets my gaze.

“I apologize,” he says, suddenly looking more boyish.

“You’ve been through enough without me accosting you like this.

I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. ”

I shake my head, intensely aware of the blush creeping over my face. “N-no, it’s fine,” I whisper.

He nods, and then, glancing around the now-dark forest, he adds, “Let me get you home. But I want to see you again. Is that okay?”

I know I’m beaming as I nod; he smiles, too, and we begin walking the trail leading to the Emmersons’.

He holds my arm, presumably to help me walk, but all it does is keep my body on edge.

I long for him to kiss me again. Instead, we talk and laugh.

He tells me his name is Tristen and confirms he’s the alpha of the new western pack.

Our stories flow easily, and although the walk only takes just over an hour, by the time I see Emmersons’ farmhouse in the distance, I can sense my life is about to change forever.

He's in the middle of telling me a funny story about his youngest brother, Aiden, when we reach the crossroads.

Tristen looks confused for a moment when I turn to follow the path leading away from the farmhouse.

“Don’t you live in the farmhouse?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, my coven lives on the edge of the farm. We’re actually right on the border with Aiden’s pack.”

As soon as the words have left my mouth, I sense the change in him. He immediately drops his hand and steps back. “You lying fucking witch,” he snaps, causing me to stumble back physically. “How did you do it? How did you hide your magic?”

My stomach drops as I take in the change in him. Suddenly scared, my hand instinctively goes for the rune. Something he notices causes his expression to get harder. “I-I haven’t done anything.”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “You just happened to make me kiss you after I just happened to be there to save you. It was probably all a ruse, wasn’t it? Unbelievable.”

I can feel my heart shattering as my brain tries to catch up with what he’s saying. “I-I haven’t done anything, Tristen. I tho—”

He cuts me off before I can say anything else, stepping forward menacingly. “Run, witch, before I change my mind.”

The threat is clear, and I try to fight the tears, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing how broken I am.

I turn and walk away, feeling his eyes on me the whole time, not knowing if he’s going to attack.

When I reach the top of the hill, I finally glance back, but he’s gone.

I stand there in the cold, dark lane, feeling as empty as the night.

Feeling stupid that I actually thought he was something amazing. That something amazing could happen to me. A cry that almost sounds like a laugh escapes my lips at the thought that my coven rejects me because I’m not a real witch, and Tristen has just rejected me because he thinks I am one.

And that will be my life.