CHAPTER 229: CHAPTER 229 THE WITCHES’ REALM (5)

The scent got stronger with every step.

Theo’s voice faded into the background as Alaric veered off the path, slipping between two tall tents and heading toward the edge of the trees. His blood rushed in his ears.

He didn’t even know what he was doing, just that something inside him was pulling hard like a string tied to his ribs was being yanked by fate.

He barely noticed when the music behind him faded.

He stepped deeper into the woods, his boots crunching over the dry leaves. The trees were thicker, and most of the noise from the festival faded into the background. The silence around him felt too still, almost like the air was holding its breath. Yet his pulse kept racing faster.

Midnight kept growling in his head, completely restless and excited.

Alaric slowed near the edge of a small clearing, narrowing his eyes. "I know someone’s there," he called out with a calm voice.

"I’m not here to fight." He raised his hand to surrender.

Every muscle in his body screamed for him to go claim her and mark her. But he pushed down the feeling.

Deep down he feared getting bound to the wrong race.

There was no reply. The moment he moved forward, the ground cracked beneath his boots. Glowing orange symbols lit up under him, and heat rushed up his legs.

"Don’t move," a sharp voice came from behind a tree.

He froze. Her voice made his skin tingle in a way he never knew possible.

The voice was confident, and annoyed. A moment later, she stepped into view.

She was slender with the right curves, and her hair was red. Her eyes were a striking shade of green, they were bold and fearless.

One of her hands glowed, pulsing with a spell, while the other rested at her hip like she was ready to summon more.

Alaric couldn’t speak for a second. His chest clenched with an unexplainable feeling.

"Let’s claim her." Midnight demanded.

The bond hit him without warning, crashing into his senses like a punch to the gut. His knees buckled slightly, and his breathing grew shallow.

’Mate.’

But no... no, it couldn’t be. His mate wasn’t supposed to be a witch.

"You’ve been following me," she said, calm but clearly pissed. "Give me one good reason not to burn you alive right now."

He blinked, still stunned. "I was just..." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, trying to sound normal. "I saw you earlier. From across the street. And I... I followed."

She raised one brow. "So, a stalker."

"No," he said quickly. "I mean... not really." He looked down at the trap glowing under his boots. "Okay, maybe a little bit. But not in a creepy way."

Her hand burned brighter. "Are you mocking me?"

"No, not at all," he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "If I were mocking you, I wouldn’t be this charmed doing it."

She narrowed her eyes. "You think being charming is going to save you?"

"Not really, but it might buy me time." He winked at her.

"Time for what?" she snapped. "To figure out how to escape?"

He tilted his head. "Honestly? I was hoping to get your name before you turned me into ash."

’Who would have thought my mate would have a fiery temper? That’s hot.’

"You still haven’t answered my question. Why were you following me?"

Alaric hesitated. The truth pressed hard on his chest, but he couldn’t say it. He wouldn’t.

’Because fate gave me the one thing I wanted most, and then made it impossible. Because you’re supposed to be mine, and I can’t even tell you.’

"I don’t know," his breath hitched, but his eyes locked on hers. "But your scent made it irresistible for me to follow you."

Her expression changed for a second, and something flickered across her face. Then her nose flared.

"You’re a werewolf," she said with disgust in her voice. "No wonder you were stalking me."

"Now tell me why you were stalking me?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously at him.

Alaric’s eyes flickered with pain. "I don’t know."

She stepped closer, lowering her hand a bit. "So what? You think being a wolf gives you some kind of right to follow witches?"

"I didn’t mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?"

"If you knew what I’m feeling right now, you might understand." He muttered under his breath in exasperation.

"Don’t," she cut in sharply. "Don’t say it. Don’t say anything about a bond."

Alaric shut his mouth.

She looked at him like he was something disgusting. "If you’re about to talk about some mate bond crap. I don’t feel a thing for you."

"I know," he said quietly, but his heart was being squeezed out. "Witches usually don’t."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "So, you already know how this works."

"I did. But that doesn’t make it hurt less." His shoulders slumped. Fate was really playing games with him.

Why give him something he couldn’t have? Witches of all races? The same creatures that murdered his entire family?

He closed his eyes. He didn’t even know what to feel anymore... caught between love and hate, past and future.

She held his stare for a long second. "Then why didn’t you walk away?"

His lips lifted slightly. "Because it’s not easy to."

She scoffed and shook her head. "This is pathetic."

Alaric stepped forward. "You can hate me all you want. But I didn’t ask for this either."

"You expect me to care?"

"No," he said, his throat tightening, "but you should know I’ve spent years wondering who she would be. Who I would feel this for. And now you show up and try to roast me alive... that isn’t fair."

She glared at him. "Because you’re a threat."

"I didn’t touch you. I didn’t even speak to you until now."

"Yet you followed me into the woods."

"I couldn’t stop myself." His voice dropped lower. "It was you."

She stared at him, and this time her silence was louder than her threats.

"You’re everything I was taught to hate," she said coldly. "And you’re standing there acting like this is fate."

"It doesn’t matter what we think... fate doesn’t care," his hands curled into a fist.