Chapter 1

I walk through Aunt Mildred’s pink flat, taking in her smell and wacky style one last time. Gods, I’m going to miss her. I wish I was here to say goodbye, but I couldn’t get away without arousing suspicion. She was alone in the end, as she was alone most of her whole life. Cast out and forgotten – except by me.

Unbeknownst to my parents and our coven, I kept in touch with my aunt over the years. Like me, she had the power of projection, so we used to have entire conversations sitting on a cloud somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, or the peak of Mount Everest.

She was my favourite person in the world, and I’m the reason they kicked her out of the coven, though she never blamed me for it. She always said, “Willow, my dear child, they could have killed me, but your love saved me. That’s payment enough.”

I almost died for it, but because I was only ten at the time, my coven spared me. Instead, they got rid of my troublesome aunt and ordered me to break contact with her.

Once, about six years ago, right after my sixteenth birthday, and a month before my induction into the Crystal Rose Coven, I ran away and came straight here to hide. My aunt cast a protection spell around me, kept me away from prying eyes, but it didn’t work. My father found me two days later, here in this very flat. He beat me severely. I still have the scars. But it was worth it.

Don’t let the cutesy name of our coven fool you – they practice dark magic, and one of the ways to manifest a fledgling’s dark side is through constant torture and abuse. You become so angry after a while that you tap into that darkness because that kind of magic is stronger and far more dangerous than light magic.

In the end, you start learning it so you can punish the ones that hurt you – but before you know it, you are a grown-up, you’ve become just like the ones that hurt you, and you start doing the same to the little fledglings.

After dropping my bags in the spare room, pink like every other room, I take a quick shower in the cerise bathroom. It has been a long day, and all I want is some food, maybe a little bit of wine, and a good night’s sleep.

I realise my mistake when I start going through Aunt Mildred’s kitchen. There isn’t much in the way of food, and the little food she did have had gone off in the month since she had died. I should have brought food with me.

There is wine though. I pour myself a glass and step out onto the balcony. The view from the top-floor penthouse is spectacular. The wind whips up my dress, but I don’t bother to pull it down. I should be the only person here. Most of the luxury apartments here belong to rich holidaymakers, and since winter is approaching, they’ve all gone home

Inhaling the fresh, clean ocean air, I lose myself in the roar of the waves crashing against the rocks below. I open myself to nature’s power, feeling it radiate through me, recharging my energy, alleviating some of the hunger.

I wasn’t aware of the man that walked out onto the adjoining balcony until he clears his throat. “Good evening,” he says in a deep, melodious voice. “What are you doing in my pack house?”

All the alarms in my head starts jangling, and every witch sense is telling me to turn. Run. But there is something else much stronger that’s keeping me rooted. Something I’ve never felt before, something I can’t explain.

Blushing, I grab at my dress that blows up around my waist, giving the stranger a good view of my white panties, and pull it down. “Your pack house?” I ask, alarmed and curious at the same time. “You’re a werewolf?”

“Yes. So’s everyone else living in this complex.”

So that is why the alarm bells are screaming. “My aunt wasn’t a werewolf.”

“You’re Mildred’s niece?”

I nod, keeping my eyes on the impressive specimen mere feet away, getting ready to attack me, no doubt. Werewolves despise witches. Hate them. They tend to kill us on sight. Not that I can say much about their disdain for us, we don’t exactly love them.

His dark blonde hair flops over his brow, and light blue eyes pierce into my soul. “You’re tall,” I say, gaping up at him like a lovesick puppy. “Even for a werewolf.”

“Hm,” he grunts. “Mildred didn’t tell you about me?”

I search my memory but come up blank. I don’t think she ever mentioned that she lived in a pack house with werewolves. “I’m not sure…she might have. What’s your name?”

“Kane Madden. Lycan king of these lands. And you must be Willow Jones, daughter of the infamous Daniel Jones, coven master of Crystal Rose.”

Oh lovely, a fucking Lycan king. The deadliest, cruellest most ferocious wolves on the planet, and I am standing here talking to one like he’s my friendly neighbourhood soccer dad. “My aunt talked about me?”

He grunts and nods at the same time. “Well come on, it’s almost time for supper.”

“Uh-uh-uh,” I stutter. “What?”

“I can hear your stomach rumble, and knowing Mildred there can't be much to eat in her place.”

The idea of walking into the wolf’s den like a willing sheep to the slaughter is just a little too much to handle, even for a witch as brazen as me. “What are you planning?”

His eyes flash angrily, but his voice is still calm and even. “I plan on feeding you.”

“Why?”

“Because Mildred would want me to look after you. She thought of you as her daughter. Spoke about you often.”

“You were friends?”

“Hm. Come, don’t come, but the invitation stands.” He turns and walks back into his flat without looking back.

I consider it for about ten seconds. My rumbling stomach decides for me. I run back inside, quickly pull a brush through my windswept hair, and tie it up, find a pair of strappy sandals that go with the light yellow dress I have on, and finally raid Aunt Mildred’s wine collection. Werewolf or not, it will be rude to show up empty-handed. Since I know nothing about wine, I grab a bottle of white and red, hoping it’s the right kind of red and white.

About ten minutes later, I knock on Kane’s door. He opens within seconds, almost like he’s been waiting for me right on the other side. The man doesn’t move. He stands frozen, looking down on me, a small frown between his eyes. His nostrils flare and he inhales deeply. “Mister Madden?” I ask, uncertain and more than just a little afraid.

His eye colour changes from light blue to yellow. I didn’t pay much attention when my elders taught me about werewolves, but I know when their eyes change like that, it means their wolf is about to surface.

I take a step back, getting ready to launch my magic at him when he takes a deep breath and shakes himself from whatever daze he’d been in. “Call me Kane,” he says. “Please come in.” I don’t move. The little bit of trust I had evaporated when his eyes changed colour. “I won’t harm you. On my honour.”

I don’t want to do it, but some kind of unknown, much stronger force compels me forward, towards him. I don’t know what it is, and I can’t fight against it. He turns sideways, inviting me into his home.

I push past him, my breasts brushing against his chest. A cascade of sparks electrifies my body, making every hair stand at attention. What the hell is that? Some kind of physical attraction? For a werewolf? Impossible. We are natural enemies; we repulse each other.

“This is weird,” Kane mumbles.

“What?”

“No nothing.” He stares at me with those yellow eyes and lets out a low, uncontrolled growl. I should be afraid – this is the moment a werewolf generally attacks, but what I feel isn’t fear. I feel safe. And horny. Yeah, he’s right. This is weird. “Follow me to the kitchen.”

He closes the door behind us, and wordlessly I follow him through the penthouse to the luxurious kitchen. It is much better and more modern than Aunt Mildred’s. Tiled black from top to bottom, the latest and best appliances gleam atop grey and white marble counter spaces.

A delicate scent fills the air. I have no idea what it was, but it makes my mouth water. “I hope you eat meat. Mildred never touched it.”

“No,” I say. “Meat diminished the power of her magic.”

“She was a light caster, right? We didn’t discuss her magic much.”

“Yes.” I put the wine down, and lean against the counter, watching him chop celery into very small chunks. It is mesmerizing, the way his long fingers handle the vegetables so delicately.

He opens his fridge, peering inside. “I’m sorry. If I knew you were coming, I’d have prepared a proper vegan dish…but I should have enough here for a decent salad.”

He is much nicer than I imagined. “I eat meat.”

Very slowly, he closes the door and turns to look at me. His eyes are yellow again, and the power radiating from him very nearly knocks me off my feet. “You’re a dark caster?”

“Yes,” I whisper, dropping my head in shame. “It’s not by choice.”

I feel his approach but can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. Whatever else werewolves may be, dark casters are so much worse. He grips my chin in his strong hand and forces my head up, sending more of those weird sparks of delight through my body. “I don’t hold it against you. We don’t choose our family.”

For some reason, I want to throw myself at him, get lost in those massive arms, drown myself in him. Again, I wish I paid more attention when old Nan told me stories about werewolves. Do they have the same magnetism vampires have? I can’t remember.

“Open the wine,” he says and turns back to the stove, breathing heavily. “The white. We’re having chicken.”

While I open the wine, I try to read his aura. It isn’t something I do often, and I am bad at it, but I want to know if I should fear him. It is much more difficult to focus on him than humans, almost impossible, and forgetting about the wine, I concentrate on him. I am just about to see it when he snaps at me. “Don’t read my aura, damn you, if you want to know something ask. I’ll answer honestly.”

I flinch, surprised. Usually, people aren’t even aware that someone is reading their aura. “Sorry,” I mumble. “It’s just that…we are supposed to be enemies, and here we are breaking bread together. It’s not normal.”

Dropping the large metal spoon on the counter with a loud clatter, he turns to look at me, his eyes flashing. “No. I’ll tell you what’s not normal. The fact that you’re my mate.”