Page 1

Chapter

One

HAZEL

“ H onestly, Hazel, you're thirty-five, not fifteen. The Blackwoods received the highest bid for your contract in coven history. When are you going to take your position in this family seriously?"

My mother's voice crackled through the speaker, her irritation carrying clearly despite the poor reception at the edge of pack territory.

"I am taking it seriously," I replied, adding another splash of wine into the coq au vin. Half for the sauce, half for me.

"That's why I moved out here three years ago, remember?" I reminded her. "To woo my big bad wolf properly?"

The cottage's kitchen was small but efficient; every herb and spice within easy reach.

No magickal summoning, no floating ingredients, no enchanted stirring spoons.

Just me, my hands, and the old copper pots I'd collected over the years.

The silver charm bracelet on my wrist caught the afternoon light, a constant reminder of the contract signed at my birth.

Through the phone, I heard the distinctive tinkle of several items moving at once, indicative of Mother orchestrating a small symphony of magickal multitasking while she lectured me.

Never waste a moment! Efficiency, efficiency.

Show-off.

"Moving closer to the Black Pine pack was supposed to expedite the consummation, not give you an excuse to play princess in the woods while Xavier makes eyes at that she-wolf," she snapped.

Spoon still in my hand, I paused.

"He's not making eyes at anyone," I said, ignoring the tiny voice reminding me how Xavier and Evangeline danced at last month’s supernatural summit..

"And I'm hardly playing princess. I'm creating a home. Building a life. You know, those little details you skipped when you auctioned me off before I could even cry?"

"You're doing mundane work that any human could do," she countered. "You're a Blackwood witch, Hazel. Or at least you will be, once you stop insisting on this ridiculous romantic notion of yours and complete the contract."

I checked the roasting vegetables, their edges caramelizing to perfection. The scent of herbs, including rosemary and thyme that I'd grown myself, filled the warm air.

"Excuse me for wanting my first time to be about more than just unlocking magick," I bit out. "Some of us prefer our sex with a side of actual feelings."

Mother clucked over the phone. "Your sister didn't need all this...domesticity to unlock her powers."

I choked back the desperate laugh in my throat.

"Yes, well, Catherine always was an overachiever," I admitted with ill grace. I adjusted the table settings, making sure Xavier's favorite wine glass caught the light just so. The good crystal, part of a set my grandmother had given me when the contract was first signed.

"Besides, you know Xavier wanted to wait until he was settled as Alpha," I assured her. "He takes his responsibilities seriously. You know the reports of the paranormal children trafficking have been getting worse and he’s had a lot on his plate trying to keep the pack children protected."

A series of rapid clicks echoed through the phone. I imagined several of Mother's infamous bracelets hitting the counter as she gestured.

"And now? What's the excuse now that he's been Alpha for two years? The trafficking isn’t a good enough excuse," she demanded.

I glanced at my garden through the window.

Late spring roses climbed the trellis I'd built myself.

Their deep red petals caught the dying sunlight, seeming to glow from within.

The unusually fierce winds from earlier had settled, though the weatherman had predicted clear skies all week.

These sudden storms had been happening more frequently lately, defying forecasts and leaving meteorologists baffled.

I'd spent three years cultivating this place, turning it into the perfect blend of witch heritage and wolf comfort.

That was three years of learning to cook his favorite meals, of hosting pack gatherings, of trying to show him that our arranged marriage could be more than just a magickal transaction.

Surely, I'd earned my keep.

Surely, I'd earned his respect.

Perhaps even his love.

"Actually," I said, smoothing my apron with slightly trembling hands, "he's coming for dinner tonight. And I think...I think we're both ready."

The silence on the other end was deafening.

Finally, Mother sighed. "Just like that? After all this time?"

It sounded absurd to me, as well.

"Not 'just like that,' " I argued. "After years of getting to know each other, and years of building trust, and making sure this was more than just a contract!"

I ignored her scoff over the phone.

I touched the new lingerie hidden beneath my dress, black lace that made me feel both powerful and terrified.

"I love him, Mother. I want this to be special."

More silence.

"Love wasn't part of the arrangement, Hazel."

Tough titties.

"Well, I'm making it part of it," I said firmly, though my heart fluttered as I thought of Evangeline's perfect face. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a seduction to prepare for."

I hung up before she could respond, exhilarated to defy her in this small way.

I took a deep breath of herb-scented air.

I stirred the burgundy-rich sauce of the coq au vin, watching the wine-braised chicken practically fall off the bone among the pearl onions and mushrooms. The bacon lardons I'd meticulously cut had rendered their fat, lending a rustic decadence to what was, at its heart, a peasant stew–though Xavier would preen if he heard me call his favorite dish that.

Adjusting the flame, I watched the sauce reduce to the perfect consistency, knowing he'd expect nothing less than a proper French preparation.

The kitchen windows had steamed up from all the cooking, creating a cozy barrier between my cottage and the darkening woods beyond.

A wolf howled in the distance – not Xavier's voice, I knew his too well – and my hand trembled as I reached for the wine bottle.

"The winds are stronger than they should be," I murmured, eyeing the trees bending ominously outside. "It's like the earth itself is restless."

Just a splash more for the sauce. Maybe a larger splash for me.

The silver charm bracelet clinked against the crystal goblet as I poured, its familiar weight both comfort and constraint.

Grandmother had clasped it around my wrist during my eighth-year Binding ceremony, along with the goblets that every promised witch in our coven received.

As if giving an eight-year-old marriage tokens somehow made the contracts our parents signed at our births more real.

Grandmother always said the bracelet would feel lighter after the magick came.

Twenty-seven years later, and it still felt like chains disguised as charms.

I dabbed another spot of jasmine perfume behind my ear, hand trembling slightly as his footsteps crossed the porch. Not the heavy tread he used at pack meetings, but the lighter step he saved for our dinners, the one that made my heart skip.

His knock came as I was tucking a last stubborn curl behind my ear: three quick taps, our signal since that first awkward dinner three years ago.

I opened the door.

He filled the frame completely, wind and rain had dampened his hair.

He held wild asters that must have come from our clearing.

The predator's mischief danced in his forest-green eyes as they crinkled at the corners.

His perfectly matched dress shirt did nothing to hide the wild beneath that polished exterior.

"You're early," I managed as I took the flowers.

"You're beautiful," he countered and bent to kiss my cheek.

His lips lingered, warm against my skin, before he pulled back.

A whiff of alcohol and cologne hit me. Almost as if he was trying to cover the smell of his drinking with it.

The mail hit the counter, a loose flyer for a missing fae child facing up at me.

"Something smells amazing in here," he said.

The flowers trembled slightly in my hands as I turned toward the kitchen. His hand found the small of my back, gentle, familiar, guiding me forward like he always did.

I busied myself arranging the asters, hyper-aware of Xavier moving through my kitchen with the easy familiarity of countless dinners shared here.

The copper pots gleamed in the brief flash of spring sunset breaking through the storm clouds outside as he fumbled slightly with a glass, his movements looser than usual.

"Coq au vin," he said, inhaling deeply. "You remembered."

"Of course I remembered," I replied, smiling. "The first time you came here, you told me about your grandmother making it." I adjusted a flower, not quite looking at him. "Though I doubt mine measures up to hers."

"Are you kidding?" He was already lifting the pot lid, breathing in the aroma. "Yours is the only version that's ever come close."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," I teased, swatting his hand away from the pot, causing the lid to drop back onto the pot with a clang. "But dinner's not ready yet, and if you keep sampling the sauce, there won't be any left."

"Can't blame a wolf for trying." He leaned against the counter, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. "Need any help?"

How novel.

"You could open the wine," I suggested, reaching past him for the thyme. "Unless you're planning to just stand there looking pretty all evening."

His rich laugh filled the kitchen as he reached for the wine bottle and smirked.

"Looking pretty, am I? That's quite the compliment from someone who managed to make 'domestic witch' haute couture."

I watched his forearms flex as he worked the cork free. The fading sunlight caught the silver in his dark hair. Not from age, he was only thirty-eight, but from the same wolf genes that made him tower over my five-foot-six.