Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~7 min read
Hazel woke to voices arguing downstairs.
“—pushing her too hard.” Orion’s voice, hard-edged.
“She needs to be ready.” Meadow, equally firm. “Mara won’t care if she’s tired.”
“Mara won’t attack here. These wards are too strong. We have time.”
“Do we? You feel the dark magic circling. It’s getting bolder. More frequent. Mara is building toward something, and when she makes her move, Hazel needs to be ready.”
“Ready doesn’t mean broken. You’re training her like she’s a soldier going to war.”
“She is!”
Silence.
Then Meadow’s voice, quieter. “I know what I’m doing, Orion.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to turn her into her mother. And Elara was trained from childhood. Hazel has weeks.”
“Which is why we can’t afford to waste time coddling her. The gentle approach isn’t working.”
“The aggressive approach is going to get her killed. She nearly lost control yesterday. If those thorns had reached Tommy’s house—”
Hazel sat up on the couch, her heart pounding. Tommy lived close to Meadow’s property. Close enough that if her thorns had kept growing—
“She stopped in time,” Meadow said.
“Because I was there. What happens when I’m not? When she’s alone and scared and her power spirals?” Orion’s voice dropped. “I’ve seen awakening witches die from their own magic. I won’t let that happen to her.”
“Then we train smarter. But we don’t stop training.”
Footsteps. Orion appeared in the doorway, saw Hazel awake, and his expression shifted from angry to carefully neutral.
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know you two are fighting about me. Again.” Hazel stood, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. “And that I almost hurt Tommy.”
“You didn’t—”
“But I could have. If you hadn’t stopped me.” She looked between them. “Maybe Meadow’s right. Maybe I need to be pushed harder.”
“No,” Orion said flatly.
“Orion—”
“No, Hazel. I’ve protected twelve witches over three hundred years. I know what works and what doesn’t. Brutal training breaks more people than it builds.” He turned to Meadow. “Elara wouldn’t have wanted this for her daughter.”
Meadow flinched. “Don’t talk about Elara like you knew her.”
“I knew her better than you think.” Orion’s voice went soft. “I was there the night she died.”
The room went deathly quiet.
“What?” Hazel whispered.
Orion closed his eyes briefly. “Your father called for help. Used the familiar bond to send out a distress signal. I was in Portland—too far away to arrive in time. But I felt him die. Felt the moment he gave up his immortality to create a shield strong enough to protect you.” He opened his eyes, and they were haunted. “I reached Moonridge an hour later. Found you hidden in a spelled trunk, sleeping peacefully while your parents’ bodies cooled in the next room. I’m the one who brought you to your adoptive parents. Who made sure the suppression spell stayed intact.”
Hazel couldn’t breathe. “You’ve been watching me my whole life.”
“From a distance. I couldn’t bond to you—your powers were suppressed, so the familiar magic didn’t recognize you as a witch. But I checked in. Made sure you were safe. Waited for your powers to wake so I could protect you like I failed to protect your father.”
The guilt in his voice broke something in Hazel’s chest.
“That’s why you won’t let yourself feel anything,” she said. “You blame yourself for their deaths.”
“I should have been there. If I’d been closer—”
“You would have died too,” Meadow interrupted. “Mara brought her entire coven that night. Twelve dark witches against two protectors. You couldn’t have saved them, Orion. No one could.”
“I could have tried.”
“And Hazel would have lost her protector before she ever needed one.” Meadow’s voice was firm. “Elara and Marcus knew what they were doing. They chose to fight, chose to hide their daughter, chose to give her a chance. Don’t diminish that by drowning in guilt.”
Orion looked away, jaw tight.
Hazel moved toward him, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. “Is that why you’re so scared? Because you think caring about me means you’ll fail again?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Too bad. We’re talking.” Hazel planted herself in front of him. “You’ve been carrying this guilt for twenty-seven years. Blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. And now you’re so terrified of failing me that you won’t let yourself—” She stopped, the realization hitting. “You won’t let yourself care because you think it’ll distract you. That emotions make you weak.”
“Emotions make familiars reckless. Your father proved that.”
“My father saved my life!”
“And lost his own in the process!”
The words hung in the air like a slap.
Orion’s expression crumbled. “I can’t lose you like I lost him. I can’t—” His voice broke. “If caring about you means I fail to protect you, then I won’t care. I won’t make his mistake.”
“Loving my mother wasn’t a mistake,” Hazel said softly. “And he didn’t fail. I’m alive because of him. Because he loved me and my mother enough to sacrifice everything.”
“He died, Hazel. He was twenty-eight years old and he died because he gave up his familiar powers for love.”
“And had twenty-seven years of happiness first. You said that yourself.” Hazel reached up, cupping Orion’s face between her hands. “You’re not my father. And I’m not my mother. What happens between us doesn’t have to follow the same path.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Then help me understand. Stop pushing me away and talk to me. Really talk. Tell me what you’re so afraid of.”
Orion closed his eyes, leaning into her touch for just a moment. “I’m afraid that if I let myself love you, I’ll become human at the worst possible moment and you’ll die because I wasn’t strong enough to save you. I’m afraid that I’ve lived three hundred years and never felt anything real, and now that I might, it’s going to destroy us both.” He opened his eyes, and they were swimming with silver fire. “I’m afraid that you’re already under my skin, in my head, in my heart, and it’s too late to stop it.”
Hazel’s breath caught. “Orion—”
A massive boom shook the cottage. The windows rattled. Magic screamed through the wards, dark and vicious and hungry.
Meadow swore. “She’s here. Mara’s attacking.”
Orion shifted instantly, moving in front of Hazel as silver light enveloped him. But he didn’t change to wolf form. Instead, the light crystallized into armor—spelled protection that hummed with power.
“Stay behind me,” he commanded.
Another boom. The wards flared, visible now as golden light covering the entire property.
Through the window, Hazel saw them.
Not shadow scouts this time. Real witches. A dozen of them, dressed in black, chanting in unison as they threw magic at the wards.
And at the front, a woman with midnight-black hair and eyes that glowed red.
Mara Nightwind.
She smiled, and Hazel felt it like ice down her spine.
“Hello, little seedling,” Mara called, her voice carrying through the wards. “Your mother killed three of my coven. I’ve been waiting twenty-seven years to return the favor.”
The wards cracked.
And the real battle began.
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