Bonds

Chapter 148 Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

-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.” 

The woman with emerald eyes narrowed her gaze. “Help? You werewolves only come crawling to us when you need something. Newsflash, sunshine, witches aren’t exactly known for their willingness to lend a helping hand to your kind.” 

“I understand,” I rasped, pushing myself up on my elbows, ignoring the wave of nausea that threatened to engulf me. “But this is different. It’s serious. My wolf…” My voice trailed off, the words catching in my throat. 

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

I took a deep breath, the air sharp and sterile in my lungs. “He’s gone. Missing.” 

The emerald–eyed woman studied me with an intensity that bordered on unnerving. “Witches stay out of business that doesn’t concern us,” she finally declared, her voice firm but not unkind. “But our magic sensed your wolf. That’s why we knew what kind of creature you were. So why don’t you cut to the chase and tell us who really sent you? What are you monsters after, and why are you here?” 

Monsters. The word scraped against my raw nerves. I wasn’t a monster, not really. I 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, the memory of that terrifying transition flickering at the edges of my mind. 

“Come back to life?” The redhead 

you!” 

her voice dripping with disbelief. “That’s a rich one. You werewolves always think you’re special, don’t 

Special? Hardly. I felt anything but special right now. Just a shell of a man, adrift 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 for a moment. 

“Easy there, big guy,” the green–eyed woman 

again. 

cautioned, a hint of concern softening her gaze. But before I could respond, the redhead was at it 

This time, it wasn’t a verbal assault. A wave of 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 room morphing into a kaleidoscope of swirling colors. My body tensed, the primal instinct to fight clawing at the surface. But against what? An unseen force? 

It was like being trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake 

up, 

unable to 

escape. 

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The redhead continued her 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 out a groan. 

“Enough, Fiona!” The green–eyed woman’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent. The chanting stopped abruptly, the oppressive energy lifting like a suffocating fog. I slumped back onto the bed, gasping for breath, my body drenched in sweat. 

“See?” Fiona spat, her fiery hair bristling with indignation. “He doesn’t know anything! Just another lying, cheating werewolf.” 

“Maybe not,” the green–eyed woman 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 just…doesn’t know.” 

My mind reeled. Didn’t know what? I knew I’d lost my wolf, knew something was terribly wrong. But the details, the how and the why, were shrouded in a thick fog. Frustration bubbled within me, adding to the throbbing pain in my head. 

“Look,” I rasped, “I’m telling you the truth. No one sent me. My wolf is gone. But I need your help. I came here looking for a particular wolf. Vargas, my second in command, said she could help me find him, bring him back.” 

The green–eyed woman studied me for a long, silent moment. Her emerald eyes seemed to pierce through my defenses, searching for hidden truths, “You came here looking for Delores?” 

I nodded, “The last thing anybody wants is trouble. I just want my wolf back.” 

She continued to stare, her silence a heavy weight in the air. Finally, she sighed, a hint of resignation in her voice.“Alright,” she conceded. “But there’s no guarantee I can help you. This is uncharted territory, even for a seasoned witch like me. But considering the circumstances…” She trailed off, her gaze flickering to Fiona, whose face remained a mask of disapproval. 

“Considering what?” I pressed, a sliver of hope flickering within me. 

Just then, a new voice cut through the tense atmosphere. “Considering what, Agnes?” It was a woman’s voice, laced with a hint of anger. The sound of clicking heels echoed through the room before a figure materialized from the shadows behind me. 

“Delores,” Agnes began, her voice tight with surprise. “I didn’t realize you were-” 

But Dolores wasn’t interested in apologies. She cut straight to the chase. “Why is a werewolf here and what were you considering doing for him?” Her voice turned icy cold. “You know what happened the last time.” 

Agnes stammered out an explanation, but it was cut short by a sudden, ear–piercing scream. Agnes crumpled to the floor, her body convulsing as she pleaded for forgiveness. 

Delores let out a sigh that spoke volumes of irritation. With a flick of her wrist, the invisible force tormenting Agnes lifted. Agnes gasped for breath, her eyes wide with terror. 

Delores, still shrouded in shadow, turned her steely gaze towards me. “Werewolves are not allowed here,” she declared, her voice leaving no room for argument. 

I pushed myself to my feet, this time without the debilitating headache. “I didn’t come here for trouble,” I insisted, hoping my voice sounded more convincing than I felt. 

“Didn’t you?” she countered, stepping into the light. 

The air hung heavy, the silence thick enough to cut with a knife. As her face emerged from the shadows, my entire world seemed to tilt on its axis. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes locking with mine. In that moment, the air whooshed out of my lungs, leaving me gasping for breath and only one choked word escaped my lips. 

“Mom?” 

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