Page 4 of Witch’s Wolf (Bound by the Howl #2)

4

SAM

“ Y ou’re not staying for dinner?”

Raul’s tone is neutral, but there’s no mistaking the look in his eyes, betrayal and disappointment. Dinner is a family occasion in his mind. It doesn’t matter if we all agree or not. It’s not for me. Ray, Nora, and Raul, my Alpha, are my family. The humans are not.

“No, not this time,” I say, keeping my voice carefully even.

I turn away, the weight of his unspoken questions settling on my shoulders like an ache I can’t quite shake. Sadness creeps in, slow and insidious, like smoke curling under a door. The last thing I want is to disappoint him. An empty chair at the table isn’t just a gap in the seating arrangement. For him it’s a wound. A tear in our family structure. He doesn’t see it, but the humans are his choice, not mine.

Still, I get it. It’s in our nature as shifters to want our pack close. I felt that same hollow ache when Nora left for two weeks. We all knew where she’d gone, off to Miami, basking in the sun and playing tourist. And still, her absence gnawed at us more with each passing day. But this… this is different.

Raul doesn’t understand that staying here could mean trouble. Not just for me, but for the woman whose name and scent lingers in my thoughts far more than I’d like. Erica Connors. I exhale sharply, trying to push her from my mind.

I’m not one for arguments. To me, they’re nothing more than a contest to see who can shout the loudest. Two people tossing words like stones until someone either bleeds or walks away. It’s an alpha game, and that’s not who I am. I don’t see that there’s any point in that kind of mess. Besides, it’s better to spare Erica the frustration and myself the chaos.

I wish the memory of last night didn’t burn so fresh in my mind, though. The way she looked at me, the quiet challenge in her eyes. She doesn’t understand what she’s risking. How could she? She has no idea what it means for me to even think about getting close to her. It’s safer this way. For both of us.

“Sam?” Raul’s voice cuts through my thoughts, but I don’t turn back.

“I’ll see you later,” I mutter, more to myself than to him.

Distance. That’s what I need. Enough space to quiet the conflict raging between my heart and my mind. Far away from Raul’s prying nose and ears. Someplace where I can be alone with my thoughts and my own troubles, free of his judging eyes.

I head for the woods. I want to get away from the house and be free of the prying gazes of the humans who don’t belong. They already don’t understand and I sure as hell don’t want them to see me shift.

As I walk into the trees the early spring air is cool. I inhale the sharp scent of pine and damp earth. Normally it grounds me, but tonight it does nothing to silence the storm in my head.

Deep in the woods, I shed my human skin and let my beast take over. The shift is seamless. Second nature and as familiar as breathing. My wolf stretches into the wild, muscles coiling and uncoiling with every powerful stride. The rough terrain and muddy patches that would trip up a human are nothing to him. Rocks don’t slow him; his paws press them deeper into the earth, his balance unwavering.

The fading daylight casts long shadows through the trees as my destination comes into view. Lake Paxton. Hidden behind a veil of trunks and undergrowth, its still waters shimmer like glass, reflecting the fading colors of the sky. This place has always been a sanctuary, a corner of the world untouched by the chaos that constantly seems to circle me.

I should feel the burn in my legs after the hard fifteen-minute sprint through the woods, but I don’t. Seeing the lake, being by it, always has the same effect. The quiet ripples across its surface, the smells of the woods, pine, damp soil, the subtle decay of fallen leaves and pine needles. It’s comforting and strips the tension from my body better than any words or logic.

Sitting on my haunches next to the lake, the water stretches wide and calm. Its surface mirrors the treetops that frame it with the last rays of the setting sun. A log floats lazily, carried by a soft current. Near the edge, rocks glisten like polished jewels, promising to shine brighter under the rising moon. It’s a magnificent sight, a reminder of the beauty that exists even when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.

“Second son…”

The voice drifts on the breeze, light and familiar. My ears twitch, and I freeze as a cold chill rushes over my wolf body. Only one person in the valley calls me that.

“Shift. We need to talk.”

Helena.

I whip my head towards her voice, a low growl rumbling before I can stop it. She steps into view, her dark cloak blending with the shadows of the trees. Her presence shattering the fragile peace I’d come here to find.

“Shift, little pup,” she snaps, her voice sharp. She takes a step closer, gesturing sharply . “This is more important than your pity party.”

I bare my teeth in silent protest, but the urgency in her tone slices through my irritation. If I know anything about Helena, it’s that whatever brought her here isn’t something she can handle on her own. She doesn’t involve us lightly. That realization makes something twist in my gut. With a reluctant huff, I pad to a nearby rock and shift. The cool air bites at my skin as I take my human form. Helena watches, arms crossed, with the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.

“Good boy,” she says, though her voice softens slightly.

I bristle, her words raising my hackles no matter which form I’m in. Hands clenching into fists and eyes narrowing, I grit my teeth and suppress the urge to growl. Forcing my hands to unclench, I try to appear calm and composed, ignoring the insult.

“Helena,” I say, leaning against the rock and pulling my knees to my chest. “What’s so important that you had to ruin my evening?”

Her smirk fades, replaced by a look that makes my stomach drop. This is going to be bad. Real bad.

“I hate to be the bearer of ill news,” she says, frowning. She pauses for a moment, looking away. When she looks at me again, there appears to be actual concern, but I don’t know if I can believe it or not. “But since this concerns Erica, I have no choice.”

“Is this about what’s happening at dinner right now?” I ask, curling my arms tighter around my knees. The unease in my chest twists sharper. “Because if it is, I’m pretty sure she’ll vent to Monica, and Monica will run straight to Raul.”

Helena shakes her head, her gaze slipping to the lake. The evening light catches the subtle sheen of her dark cloak, making her look like she’s part shadow herself.

“It’s about Erica, yes,” she says, calm, but with a weight to her words. “But it’s not about what’s happening at dinner. It’s also not exactly bad news. It is more… unsettling is a better word. But it’s definitely not about last night.”

I narrow my eyes as anger surges. She knows about last night? Why can’t she leave us alone? Especially me.

“Still getting used to how much you pry into everyone’s lives, Helena. Actually, I fucking hate it, could you maybe stop?”

“Ah, ever the gentleman,” she says, her lips curling into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Instead of joy or amusement, I see a bitterness in her expression and something else. Fatigue, maybe? “I’m not digging into your personal affairs, Samuel. Believe me, I don’t have the time or the inclination. What I am doing is watching for things that might hurt you. Because whether you like it or not, I care about you. You, your family, your pack. Erica…” she trails off, drawing a slow, deliberate breath. “How well do you know her?”

I stiffen, wanting to tell her to piss off, but also understanding that she is not only powerful in her own right, she’s an ally. Helena’s a pain in the ass, sure, but she’s saved our family more than a few times. Ignoring her would be reckless, no matter how much I want to.

“Not well,” I admit, not liking where this is heading. “She’s good at music. She’s sharp-tongued. That’s about it. Look, she’s Monica’s best friend. Why don’t you ask her? She’d know more than I ever could.”

Helena’s lips press into a thin line, her gaze shifting back to the lake as though she’s trying to decide how much to say. Her fingers brush the edge of her cloak absently, a rare tell that she is more unsettled than she’s letting on.

“That was my first thought too. But Monica’s only known Erica since college. They’re close, yes, but I need someone who’s known her far longer than that. Someone who’s seen her in ways Monica never has.”

“And what would ever make you think that’s me? Stop dancing around your point, Helena,” I snap, a growl edging into my voice. “If you know something, if there’s a reason you’re this concerned, then just fucking say it. What is it about Erica that’s got you so damn worried?”

The words burst out, raw and edged with something close to fear. I don’t like the way my stomach clenches at the possibility she’s about to confirm something I don’t want to hear.

“Alright,” she says, her voice steady as her gaze locks onto mine. “After your little squabble last night, I tried to look into Ms. Connors’s future. To my surprise, I couldn’t. My orb went pitch-black. That can only mean one thing, Samuel.”

Her use of my Christian name rankles. Only my mother called me that and I don’t care about her history with our family, my mother she is not. I growl but she carries on. Either oblivious to my grumbling or not caring.

“Someone has cast a spell on her. Someone strong enough to block me from looking into her life. That is no ordinary dabbler. They’re powerful and they were either close to her once or still are.”

Her words are heavy, foreboding, and for a moment, I falter. Why would anyone bother casting a spell on Erica? What could they gain? The thought twists in my gut before my irritation wins out. I shake my head, scoffing. A spell? On Erica? Who cares?

“So, what? Erica’s got some wizard or witch looking out for her? Is that what you’re saying?”

Helena’s jaw tightens, and her scent sharpens with a mix of sweat and something metallic. I recognize it, she’s frustrated. I also don’t miss the way her fingers twitch, like she’s resisting the urge to slap me.

Go ahead, witch. Slap me and see what happens.

“No,” she says, her voice brittle. “This isn’t protection. It’s… deliberate. Someone doesn’t want her warned about what’s coming.” Her eyes lock onto mine, the faint shimmer of magic flickering behind her pupils. “And, Samuel?—”

My growl cuts her off. “Don’t call me that.”

“Fine,” she says, exhaling sharply and pulling her cloak tighter. “You’re not going to like this… but my gut tells me she’s got witch blood in her veins.”

I snort, looking away. The lake glimmers under the fading light, its surface disturbingly calm compared to the turmoil in my head.

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t like it. And let’s say you’re also right about her blood. She’s twenty-eight. Wouldn’t she know by now?”

“Not necessarily,” Helena says, rolling her shoulders. “Witchcraft isn’t inherited like your family heirlooms. To awaken it, she’d have to delve into it consciously. If she hasn’t, she might not even know it’s there. But if she does have witch blood, her powers will peak fast. Faster than mine ever did.”

The weight of her words settles on my chest. I don’t know if I buy into her theory, but it’s unsettling enough to make me consider it.

“It’s a stretch,” I mutter, struggling with why this is my problem and more importantly why I don’t feel like I can walk away, which is what I should do. “Fine,” I spit, making a slashing motion with one hand. “I won’t rule it out. Yet. How do we find out? What am I supposed to look for?”

Helena’s eyes spark, the weariness in them momentarily replaced by sharp focus.

“I was hoping you’d ask. Your sense of smell, it’s better than the rest of your family’s, isn’t it?” I half-shrug, half-nod, not liking the claim to fame. “Here’s something useful. Witches’ scents fluctuate with their emotions because their life force is tied to their magic. When she’s sad, her scent will fade. When she’s happy, it will intensify. Pay attention to that.”

I snort, unease churning in my gut.

“That’s not enough and you know it, Helena. If she’s really a witch, I’ll need more than a theory about her scent to convince her or myself.”

“Fair,” Helena says, her tone approving. “Spend time with her. Get to know her. Watch closely. When you’re ready, come find me. Take care, second son.”

Her words fade, but one line clings to me like a burr stuck to my fur. Spend time with Erica. The thought twists me up inside, pulling me in two directions. One part of me wants to ignore her completely, push her, and all of this, out of my life. The other part? It’s already wondering what I might find if I let myself look closer.

It’s not that I hate her. That would be easier by far if I did, but even so, the idea of getting close to her is its own kind of hell. Her presence, the way her eyes pierced me in that small dressing room. The way her lips curve when she’s annoyed, her sharp wit and the constant stream of sarcasm. She’s a distraction I can’t afford. All that without thinking about her body, which… no. I shove the thought away, clenching my fists.

If Helena’s right, and that’s a big if, then I have to figure this out. I have to get past her beauty, past the pull she exerts on me, and see the truth. Whatever that truth is, I’m sure it’s buried beneath layers of sarcasm and guarded smiles.

And if I’m not careful, I might lose myself trying to uncover it.