RAVYN'S POV
The shuffling of trunks and clinking of vials echoed through the stone chamber, a disheartened symphony of packing as my coven sisters moved around like ghosts—silent, slow, and far from enthusiastic. The scent of sage, old wood, and dried roses clung to the air, mixing with the familiar bitterness of farewell.
I wasn't any happier. My jaw was clenched as I folded my spell-stitched dresses and searched for my herbal pouches. My fingers moved automatically, brushing over enchanted lace hems and the occasional dried bloodstain, but my mind was heavy with resistance.
The only one not weighed down by gloom was Nyx.
Of course, Nyx.
"Wow! I can't believe we all get to go to the castle!" she exclaimed, twirling with gleeful abandon, a malicious little voodoo doll spinning between her painted fingers—its head adorned with the golden locks of her ex-lover, who I was fairly certain had been hexed into impotence last moon cycle.
The doll let out a tiny, muffled squeal. She giggled.
I paused mid-fold, shot her a flat glare. "Why the hell are you excited?" My voice was dry, unimpressed.
She didn't even spare me a glance. Her black-painted nails glinted as she flicked the doll again, watching its limbs spin.
"Nyx is always excited," Lilith muttered from across the room, draped dramatically on her bed like a cursed princess. Her velvet corset was loosened, one leg kicked up as she admired her perfectly sharpened nails. Her bag, of course, had been packed for hours. "Don't mind her, Ravyn. She's just hoping to fall in love again. Maybe with a castle butler this time."
I shot her a look. "Yeah, right. With weak little humans?"
My hands froze. My gaze drifted, catching the flame of a wicked idea. I smirked.
"Or maybe… with one of those big, strong Alphas?"
The words slipped out like a spell. Dark, teasing, laced with venom.
I turned slowly, savoring the moment—and just as I expected, both their faces were frozen in utter revulsion.
Lilith looked like she'd swallowed a spoiled love potion. Nyx? Her hand dropped the doll, eyes wide with horror.
I burst into laughter. "Hah!"
Nyx groaned and flopped onto Lilith's bed, her mood instantly deflated. "Why would you even say that, Ravyn?" Lilith muttered, practically curling into herself.
"She's such a mood killer," Nyx whined, covering her face with a silk pillow.
"I'm sorry, okay?" I snorted, turning back to my trunk. "I just couldn't resist."
Because truth be told, we all hated werewolves.
They treated witches like we were vermin—something unclean and unnatural. We were hunted, burned, and bled. In some kingdoms, witches were captured and sold to brothels, used to extract magical pleasure. In others, we were displayed like trophies—exotic and broken. It made your blood boil just thinking about it.
So yes, it was a perfectly normal thing for witches to hate wolves, and for wolves to hate us back. The animosity was etched in blood and bone.
Still… I had heard whispers.
Whispers of witches who had fallen for werewolves. Pitiable stories. Stupid ones, too.
The fated mates. The cursed lovers. The witches doomed to feel a bond they never asked for.
Those ones? They were the worst.
Because while a normal wolf could reject their mate and live to howl about it, a witch couldn't.
Not if it was a wolf.
When a wolf and a human were fated, rejection was painful but survivable. You might cry for a decade, sure, but you lived. You moved on. But when it was a witch? The bond turned deadly. If a witch rejected a wolf, her soul began to rot. If the wolf tried to force the bond—he'd be cursed. The old laws made sure of it.
It was why the Moon Mother forbade such unions altogether. And why we were all terrified of what fate might do if it got bored.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sharp clink of metal—my charm bracelet. I looked down and remembered the old leather satchel where I kept my… trophies.
My kills.
I reached up to grab it from the shelf, but it slipped. The whole thing tumbled down, spilling the contents with a loud, metallic crash. Bracelets scattered across the floor, each one carved with runes, blood-soaked sigils, and tiny cores turned to charms from the lives I'd taken.
The room fell deathly quiet.
All eyes turned to me.
Judgmental eyes.
Lilith's brow rose slightly. Nyx's lips thinned.
Yeah, they were definitely judging me.
I didn't blame them. No witch ever turned the core of their victims to charms on bracelet. But not me. I did it and I took pride in mine. Each piece a victory, a survival, a scream turned silent.
I bent down and began gathering the scattered trinkets. "Sorry," I mumbled, forcing a tight smile as I swept them into my palm.
Still, I could almost hear their thoughts.
She's still keeping those? Still adding more?
But I didn't care. One day, when I found my mother again, I'd show her all of them. One by one. And she'd look at me—not like a child—but as a daughter worthy of the ravenblood name.
After sealing the bag with a flick of my wrist and a whispered incantation, I tucked it behind a false cupboard panel, hiding it from both curious eyes and common magic.
Just as I stood upright, the door burst open.
Circe stomped in, arms crossed tight under her chest, her bottom lip jutted out like a sulking child. Her dark curls were a frizzy halo around her flushed face.
The girls and I exchanged a look.
Uh-oh.
"She didn't let you stay behind, did she?" I asked, barely holding in my laugh.
Circe growled—an actual growl—grabbed the nearest pillow, and hurled it at my face.
We exploded into laughter.
"Don't worry, dear Leonard will most definitely wait for your return," Nyx sang teasingly, fluttering her lashes.
Circe shrieked and leapt onto the bed, tackling Nyx in a flurry of skirts and feathers. They wrestled like children possessed, shrieking and cackling, while Lilith just shook her head and muttered something about "hormonal moon cycles."
I smiled softly and turned back to my trunk, but the moment of levity was cut short by the heavy, familiar sound of footsteps outside the door. The air shifted—cooler, stiffer, older.
The door creaked open.
An elder stood there, robed in silver and deep violet, her eyes like river stone.
"The ride is here," she announced.
Then she left.
Just like that.
The silence returned. We looked at each other.
No one wanted to move. But we did, one by one, dragging our feet toward the exit, shoulders squared but hearts uncertain.
...
Outside the shared quarters—known among us simply as The Sisters' Rest—the air was damp with moss and magic. Stone walls, cracked with age and warded with old sigils, lined the winding hallway that led to the heart of the hidden coven.
Torches flickered with green-blue flame, their enchanted light casting shifting shadows across the timeworn murals—scenes of witches past, triumphant or burning.
Boots thudded softly as we walked, our bags slung over shoulders or levitated behind us. No one spoke much now. The weight of the moment had settled over us like a funeral veil.
We arrived at the coven's central hall, The Witch's Heart, its high ceiling draped with spider-silk banners and star-dyed cloth. A dozen braziers burned low, scenting the space with lavender, bloodroot, and ash bark. Covensisters lined the walls, dressed in shades of dusk and mourning, lips pressed tight as they watched us enter.
This wasn't a betrayal.
It was a mission.
We stood before the Moon Mother, her cloak stitched from serpent scales and feathers of nightbirds, her face painted with ash and garnet dust. Behind her, the Council stood in silent rows, eyes ancient and watching.
"Our sisters leave tonight," the Moon Mother's voice rang clear, strong despite its age. "Not to betray the blood—but to fight for it."
Her staff tapped the stone.
"To walk among wolves. To learn what they have taken. To find those we've lost and bring their names home."
A ripple of murmurs stirred.
"They leave not as traitors—but as blades. Eyes. Fire."
Lilith straightened beside me, face unreadable but jaw tight. Nyx lowered her head slightly, for once not smirking. Even Circe stilled.
The Grand Mother raised both hands. "Blood to blood. Bone to bone. May the stars watch over your path. May the moon refuse your silence. Go with shadow. Return with truth."
We knelt.
A trail of salt was cast in a wide circle around us. Dried herbs burned in black iron bowls, smoke rising and wrapping around our bodies like living things. One by one, sisters stepped forward, brushing powdered moonstone across our foreheads, whispering blessings into our hair.
I closed my eyes only for a moment, gripping the obsidian pendant around my neck—my mother's. Cold, solid, steady. A promise I hadn't yet fulfilled.
When it was over, we stood again. Bows were exchanged. Tears fought back. Smiles masked fear.
Then we walked out into the night.