Page 25

NICHOLAS

N icholas's hands wouldn't stop shaking.

The relic pulsed with sickly light through the cloth he'd wrapped around it, casting an eerie glow against the trees as he trudged through the morning mist and deeper into the forest. He hadn't slept properly in two days—not since Sylvie had discovered his secret and kicked him out of her shop and her life.

His tiger prowled restlessly beneath his skin, fighting to break free, while his human side remained clamped down, refusing the shift.

Caught between forms, he felt his muscles spasm painfully. Neither fully man nor beast. Just like his thoughts, neither here nor there, neither resolved nor at peace.

He stumbled over a root, catching himself against a tree trunk. The bark bit into his palm, drawing blood. The scent triggered his tiger's hunting instinct, but the shift remained incomplete with claws emerging from human fingertips, canines elongating in a human mouth.

Perfect metaphor for my life , he thought bitterly.

Hazel Fairweather's cottage appeared through the trees, the smoke from her chimney curling up into the morning air like a beckoning finger. Nicholas hadn't planned to visit the forest witch, but his feet had carried him here anyway. If anyone could tell him how to fix this, it would be Hazel.

He knocked on her moss-covered door, the sound hollow against the ancient wood.

"Back again?" Hazel's voice preceded her as the door swung open. Ancient eyes peered out from a face that seemed both eternally young and impossibly old. "You look like death warmed over, tiger."

"Feel worse," Nicholas managed, his voice rough.

"Come in before you collapse on my doorstep. I've enough fertilizer in my garden."

The interior of Hazel's cottage felt larger than physics should allow with books piled to the ceiling, herbs hanging from rafters, and strangely, what looked like fish swimming through the air in lazy circles.

"Atmospheric sprites," Hazel explained, following his gaze. "Distant cousins to water nymphs. They're drawn to emotional turmoil." She poked at one that had drifted too close to Nicholas's shoulder. "And you're practically a buffet for them right now."

Nicholas slumped into a chair by her hearth and placed the relic on the table between them. "Can you help me destroy it?"

She snorted. "If I could destroy it, I would have done so centuries ago."

"You've tried before?"

Hazel placed her hands on either side of the relic, not quite touching it. "Close your eyes, tiger boy."

"I didn't come here for?—"

"Close. Your. Eyes." Each word carried the weight of ancient command.

Nicholas obeyed, and immediately felt a rush of images flooding his mind.

A forest clearing, not unlike Echo Woods, but pristine and untouched by modern development. A broad-shouldered man with familiar amber eyes—eyes that matched Nicholas's own—stood with a woman whose face glowed with love. They exchanged vows beneath a full moon, their hands bound with silver cord.

"Your ancestor," Hazel's voice floated through the vision. "William Whitmore. First of your line to settle in these parts."

The scene shifted. The same man now hunched over a wooden table, a familiar relic glowing between his palms. His face contorted with grief, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"What happened to her?" Nicholas asked, though somehow he already knew.

"The curse consumed her," Hazel replied. "William found the relic during a border dispute with a rival pack. It promised power, protection for his mate and future cubs. But power always carries a price."

Nicholas watched in horror as the vision showed the woman, William's mate, withering, her life force draining into the relic with each passing day, until nothing remained but a hollow shell.

"The relic feeds on bonds," Hazel explained as the vision faded. "Particularly mate bonds. It drains them, corrupts them, turns love to ash."

Nicholas forced his eyes open, gasping as if he'd been held underwater. "Is that what's happening to Sylvie and me?"

Hazel studied him. "The bond between you and the witch wasn't created by the relic. It was there all along, just waiting to be acknowledged."

"But the candle spell?—"

"Merely unmasked what both of you were too stubborn to see and still are." Hazel reached for a kettle and poured something that smelled like pine needles and moonlight into two cups. "The relic is drawn to your bond because it's powerful. Pure. Exactly the kind of connection it feeds upon."

Nicholas stared into his cup. "How do I stop it?"

"The same way William failed to." Hazel sipped her tea. "Choose love. Not by fate's design, not by magical compulsion, but by conscious choice."

"But Sylvie thinks I trapped her on purpose. She won't even talk to me."

"Then make her listen." Hazel's gaze turned sharp. "But first, you need to contain that thing before it does any more damage. Take it to Briar Hollow Inn."

"The haunted hotel?"

"The very same. Ask for Mayble Marlowe. Tell her I sent you."

Nicholas drained his cup and stood. Finally, after far too longm, his tiger settled, as if satisfied they finally had a plan.

"Thanks, Hazel." He wrapped the relic carefully.

"Nicholas?" Hazel called as he reached the door. "The curse in your bloodline ends when someone loves deeply enough to break it. William couldn't save his mate because he thought the magic would do it for him. Love isn't passive, boy. It's the most active choice you'll ever make."

Nicholas nodded once and stepped back into the forest, his path suddenly clear.