Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~11 min read
Teaching kindergarten while secretly being a newly awakened witch with an immortal wolf bodyguard was, Hazel discovered, absurdly difficult.
She’d barely slept. Her eyes were gritty, her hands shook from too much coffee, and every time she glanced out the classroom window, she saw him.
Orion.
He’d stationed himself on a bench near the playground, laptop open like he was actually working on security assessments. But Hazel could feel his attention on her like a physical touch, tracking her movements, alert for any threat.
The bond hummed between them—distracting and warm and completely inappropriate given that he was basically her supernatural bodyguard and she was trying to teach the letter Q.
“Miss Cooper?” A small voice tugged her back to reality.
Hazel blinked down at Emma, one of her quieter students. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“You’re making the plants grow again.” Emma pointed at the windowsill.
Hazel’s heart dropped. The tulip had sprouted three more blooms. The classroom fern had doubled in size. And the supposedly dead succulent another teacher had given her last week was now vibrant and healthy.
Eighteen pairs of kindergarten eyes were staring at her.
Think, Hazel. Think.
“Wow!” She injected enthusiasm into her voice. “I guess the sunshine today is really good for plants. Isn’t photosynthesis amazing?”
Most of the kids looked confused. Tommy, however, narrowed his eyes with the expression of someone who knew exactly what was happening and was too polite to call her out.
The classroom phone rang—a merciful interruption.
“Miss Cooper, could you send Tommy Martinez to the office?” the secretary asked. “His mother is here to pick him up early.”
Hazel sent Tommy off with his backpack, grateful for the distraction. But as the little boy passed the window, he waved at Orion.
Orion, to Hazel’s surprise, waved back.
She would have to talk to him about maintaining his cover.
—
By lunchtime, Hazel’s control was fraying. Plants had responded to her anxiety all morning—growing, reaching, blooming out of season. She’d managed to play it off, but her students were getting suspicious.
She needed air.
Hazel grabbed her lunch and headed for the staff room, only to find Orion in the hallway, talking to Principal Morgan.
“—impressive report,” Principal Morgan was saying. “I had no idea we had so many vulnerabilities. The district will definitely want to implement your recommendations.”
“Security is often overlooked until something happens,” Orion said smoothly. “Better to be proactive.”
His eyes flicked to Hazel as she passed. Silver and assessing, seeing right through her forced calm to the exhaustion beneath.
She felt the bond pull taut, his concern washing over her like a wave.
*Tired. She’s too tired. Powers unstable when exhausted.*
Hazel stumbled, catching herself against the wall.
“Miss Cooper?” Principal Morgan’s voice was concerned. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Fine,” Hazel managed. “Just—didn’t sleep well.”
“You look pale.” Orion was suddenly there, his hand on her elbow, steadying her. The touch sent warmth flooding through her body, and the frantic energy that had been building all morning settled. “Perhaps you should sit down.”
“I’m fine,” Hazel repeated, but she let him guide her toward the staff room anyway because her legs felt uncertain.
Principal Morgan followed, fussing. “I can call a substitute for the afternoon if you need to go home.”
“No, really, I’m okay. Just need to eat something.”
Orion deposited her in a chair and, to her absolute mortification, pulled an orange from his jacket pocket and began peeling it.
“You’re not taking care of yourself,” he said quietly, placing orange slices in front of her. “Eat.”
“I’m not a child.”
“You’re running on three hours of sleep and too much caffeine.” He pushed the orange closer. “Eat, or I’ll have the principal send you home.”
Principal Morgan nodded enthusiastically. “He’s right, Hazel. You work too hard. Always here early, staying late. You need to take care of yourself.”
Hazel shot Orion a glare that promised retribution, but she ate the orange.
He sat across from her, his expression professionally concerned, but she caught the satisfied quirk of his mouth.
“I’ll make sure she gets home safely after school,” Orion told Principal Morgan. “Part of my assessment includes escort protocols for staff in case of emergencies.”
“Wonderful!” Principal Morgan beamed. “It’s nice to see our consultant taking such good care of our teachers.”
The principal left, and Hazel was alone with Orion in the staff room.
“Escort protocols?” she hissed. “Are you serious?”
“You’re exhausted, your control is slipping, and dark magic is circling the town.” Orion leaned forward, his voice low. “Yes, I’m escorting you home. We start training today.”
“I have papers to grade. Lessons to plan.”
“Which you can do after you learn to not accidentally turn your classroom into a jungle.” His eyes softened. “Hazel, I know this is overwhelming. But your safety—”
“Is your job. I know.” She finished the orange, hating that it did make her feel better. “Fine. You can follow me home. But I’m driving myself.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
A teacher Hazel barely knew walked in, and Orion smoothly transitioned into asking about emergency exit procedures. Professional. Competent. Giving nothing away.
But when Hazel stood to return to her classroom, his hand brushed hers—brief, warm, deliberate.
*I’ve got you,* the touch seemed to say.
And despite everything, Hazel believed him.
—
The afternoon dragged. Hazel taught letters and numbers on autopilot, her mind spinning with everything that had happened. Magic was real. She was a witch. Orion was—
What was he, exactly?
Guardian. Protector. Familiar.
Temporary.
That last thought stung more than it should.
When the final bell rang and the last parent collected their child, Hazel gathered her things with hands that trembled slightly. Orion was waiting in the parking lot, leaning against his truck—a sleek black vehicle that looked like it could survive an apocalypse.
Of course he drove a truck. Probably needed the space for whatever supernatural emergencies came up.
“Follow me?” she called.
He nodded and climbed into the truck.
The drive back to her cottage took fifteen minutes, and Hazel spent all of it hyper-aware of the headlights behind her. He wasn’t tailgating, wasn’t driving aggressively, but his presence felt massive. Protective.
She pulled into her driveway, and he parked behind her, effectively blocking her in.
“Subtle,” Hazel said as she got out.
“Safe.” Orion surveyed the property, his expression going distant in the way she was learning meant he was sensing magic. “The wards held last night. But they’re weakening faster than I’d like.”
“Can you strengthen them?”
“I can. But we should start with teaching you to control your own power first. The wards will work better if they’re connected to your magic.”
Hazel unlocked her front door and stepped into a veritable forest.
Every plant in her house had grown. Again. The pothos vine now covered the ceiling entirely. The fern was as big as a small tree. And the herbs had taken over the kitchen counter, sprawling in every direction.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Hazel muttered.
“This is your power manifesting without conscious control.” Orion moved through the space like he owned it, checking windows, testing locks. “Your emotions are feeding into your magic. Fear, anxiety, exhaustion—all of it makes the power spike.”
“So I just need to stop feeling things? Great advice.”
His mouth twitched. “No. You need to learn to direct the feelings. Channel them. Magic isn’t separate from emotion—it’s fueled by it. That’s why love is the strongest magic of all.”
The way he said it—casual, like he was reciting a fact he’d learned centuries ago—made Hazel’s chest tight.
“Have you ever felt it?” she asked before she could stop herself. “That kind of magic?”
Orion went very still. “I’m a familiar. We’re bound to duty, not—” He stopped, jaw tight. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here to train you, not discuss my past.”
Professional distance. Right. They’d established that.
So why did his avoidance feel like rejection?
“Okay,” Hazel said briskly. “How do we start?”
Orion gestured to the chaotic plant life. “You’re going to tell these plants to stop growing.”
“I tried that last night. It worked for like ten minutes.”
“Because you were commanding them. You need to ask. Plants are living things—they respond better to partnership than orders.”
“You want me to negotiate with my houseplants.”
“I want you to connect with them. Feel their energy. Understand what they need.” He moved closer, and Hazel caught his scent—pine and earth and something wild that made her want to lean in. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because you see too much with them open. Magic isn’t visual. It’s sensory. Emotional.”
Hazel closed her eyes, feeling ridiculous.
“Now breathe,” Orion said. His voice was closer now, like he’d moved to stand right behind her. “Focus on the plants around you. Not with your eyes—with your awareness. Can you feel them?”
At first, nothing. Then—
There. A faint pulse, like heartbeats scattered throughout the room. The pothos was eager, reaching, wanting to grow more. The fern was content, soaking up ambient magic. The herbs were confused, growing too fast, seeking guidance.
“I feel them,” Hazel breathed.
“Good. Now ask them what they need.”
“How?”
“However feels natural.”
Hazel focused on the pothos vine, the eager one currently eating her ceiling. *What do you need?*
The response came as sensation, not words. *Sun. Water. But mostly—you. Your magic is so bright. We want to be near it.*
“They’re drawn to my magic,” Hazel said, eyes still closed. “They want to be close to it.”
“So give them enough to satisfy them, but set boundaries. You’re the source. They’ll respect that.”
Hazel gathered the humming energy in her chest—the same power that had been spiraling out of control—and imagined sending it out in a controlled pulse. *I’m here. You’re safe. But you need to stop growing now. Rest.*
The eager reaching stopped.
Hazel opened her eyes. The plants looked the same size, but they’d stopped moving. The frantic growth had ceased.
“I did it,” she said, surprised.
“You did.” Orion’s voice held approval. “That’s the foundation. Control comes from connection, not force.”
Hazel turned to face him and found him closer than she’d realized. Close enough to see gold flecks in his silver eyes. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin.
The bond between them pulsed, and for a moment, Hazel could feel what he was feeling.
Pride. Relief. And something warmer, quickly suppressed.
“This bond thing,” she said. “It goes both ways, doesn’t it? I can feel what you’re feeling.”
Orion stepped back, expression shuttering. “Sometimes. When emotions are strong. But familiars learn to shield. To keep the bond professional.”
“Why?”
“Because otherwise—” He stopped. Started again. “The bond isn’t real affection, Hazel. It’s magical connection. Proximity. It can feel like more, but it’s not. I’ve seen witches fall for their familiars before, and it never ends well.”
There it was. The warning. The professional distance he kept trying to maintain.
“Right,” Hazel said, ignoring the way her chest hurt. “Wouldn’t want to make things complicated.”
“Hazel—”
“When’s the next lesson? Should I practice connecting with plants? Maybe I can work my way up to not accidentally creating a forest everywhere I go.”
Orion studied her face, and Hazel had the uncomfortable feeling he could see right through her false brightness.
“Tomorrow,” he said finally. “After school. We’ll work on shielding—keeping your magic from leaking out uncontrolled.”
“Great. Anything else?”
“Try to sleep tonight. Exhaustion makes everything harder.”
“I’ll do my best. Kind of hard to sleep when you know a dark witch is hunting you, but sure. I’ll just pop some melatonin and hope for the best.”
His jaw tightened. “I’ll be outside. You’re safe.”
“Right. My guardian wolf.” She forced a smile. “Thanks for the lesson, Orion.”
She all but pushed him toward the door, needing space, needing to not feel the bond pulling at her when he’d just made it clear that what she felt wasn’t real.
Orion paused in the doorway, looking like he wanted to say something. But in the end, he just shifted into wolf form and disappeared into the woods.
Hazel closed the door and leaned against it, surrounded by her now-calm plants, and tried very hard not to cry.
Professional distance was important. The bond wasn’t real.
She just needed to keep reminding herself of that.
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