Bonds

Chapter 148

-Alex’s POV-

I didn’t waste time chasing shadows. Ivan wanted to play cat and mouse, and I wasn’t in the mood. He was a master manipulator, Miranda had lived there, so if he wanted to occupy the house, let him. My eyes darted back to the paperwork sprawled across the desk, a mountain of frustration I needed to climb.

Just then, my phone screeched back to life. Vargas‘ name flashed on the screen, and with a deep breath, I answered. His voice was clipped, efficient. “I found one.”

Three simple words that had landed me in this current predicament.

Witches and werewolves. Not exactly a match made in wherever our souls were sent after we died. Centuries of bad blood, a tangled history I’d never bothered to untangle. Honestly, it hadn’t been relevant. But now, whatever reason I was still breathing while my wolf was MIA, it had to do with magic.

That’s why I needed a witch.

Hindsight, a wonderful thing. Because here I was, neck–deep in what I now realized was enemy territory. The moment I stepped into the heart of the market Vargas had pointed me towards – a haven for the ostracized, the outcasts, and yes, apparently, witches who did favors I was attacked. Not physically, no. I’d never been on the receiving end of a spell before, but trust me, it felt like a thousand hammers were taking turns jackhammering my skull from the inside out. Then, blessed darkness.

Consciousness returned in waves, a slow, agonizing process. Whispers floated around me, punctuated by a rhythmic beeping. My eyelids fluttered open, revealing a blurry scene. Two figures, women from what I could tell, hovered over me, their voices low and urgent. Their conversation swirled around me, a mix of frustration and something else I couldn’t quite place.

Finally, one of them stepped into focus. Her face was lined with irritation, her eyes a startling shade of emerald green. “You are finally awake,”

My head throbbed in protest, a steady ache that pulsed with every beat of my heart. “Where am I?” I croaked.

The other woman, younger with fiery red hair, scoffed. “Where do you think you are, huh? Pixie dust and sunshine land? You’re in the heart of Whisperbrook Hollow, the last place a werewolf would be caught dead.”

Werewolf. The word hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of what I was, what I was missing. Anger flared, hot and intense, but it was quickly doused by a wave of dizziness. I wasn’t exactly in top fighting form.

I let out a groan that mirrored the throbbing pain in my head, “I didn’t come here to cause any trouble. I need your help. The help of a witch.”

you need something.

nausea that threatened to engulf me. “But this is different. It’s serious. My wolf…” My voice trailed

echoed, a flicker of curiosity dancing in her fiery eyes. “What about it?”

air sharp and sterile in

concern us,” she finally declared, her voice firm but not unkind. “But our magic sensed your wolf. That’s why we

was Alex Thorne, CEO, werewolf, and currently, a man missing a crucial part of himself. “Like I said,” I forced out, my voice hoarse, “I lost my wolf. When I somehow managed to come back to life.” My stomach lurched,

to life?”

you!”

voice dripping with disbelief. “That’s a rich one. You

in a sea of uncertainty. I gritted my teeth, ignoring the throbbing pain in my head. “Nobody sent me,” I insisted, pushing myself up on my elbows, the room tilting precariously

guy,” the green–eyed woman

again.

softening her gaze. But before I could respond, the redhead

energy, hot and tingling, slammed into me. My head, already pounding like a drum solo, exploded in a symphony of pain. My vision blurred, the white

trapped in a

up,

unable to

escape.

1/2

assault, her voice chanting in a language I didn’t understand. Each syllable sent another jolt of pain coursing through me. My muscles screamed in protest, my vision tunneling into darkness. This wasn’t right. Vargas wouldn’t have sent me here for torture. This was supposed to be help then again the thought circled again. Vargas sent me here. I let

energy lifting like a suffocating fog. I slumped back onto the bed, gasping for breath,

hair bristling with indignation. “He doesn’t know anything! Just another lying,

countered, her gaze fixed on me. “But something’s not right. There’s a flicker of something in his mind, a resistance to the spell. He’s not lying, Fiona. He

how and the why, were shrouded