The night was too quiet for someone like me to be out here, moving through the shadows like a thief with a death wish. The old witch library stood at the edge of the forest, twisted with ancient vines and silver moss that shimmered under the moonlight. Everyone said it was forbidden… cursed… protected by spirits that tore intruders apart.
But my heart was already beating too fast to care. I needed answers—answers only the witches' magic could give me. So I slipped through the cracked stone archway, my breath fogging lightly as the air inside swallowed me whole.
The moment I stepped in, the temperature dropped. Shelves towered above me, stretching into the darkness like the ribs of some sleeping giant. Dust floated like frozen stars, and the scent of old spells—dry herbs and dangerous secrets—wrapped around me.
I moved carefully, brushing my fingers along the wooden shelves. Most books were harmless. Some hissed. A few pulsed as if alive. But none of them were the one I needed. My lantern barely reached the far wall, but something tugged at me—something… calling.
A faint glow pulsed from a shelf deeper in, soft and warm, almost like a heartbeat. I froze. That wasn't normal. That wasn't safe. But my feet moved anyway. Every step felt heavier, the pull stronger, like invisible fingers curling around my wrist and dragging me closer.
When I reached the glowing corner, the air hummed. My skin prickled. There, tucked between two dead-looking scrolls, was a black leather book with silver edges that shimmered like moonlit water. It wasn't supposed to shine. Nothing in the library ever shone.
I lifted my hand slowly, almost trembling. The moment my fingertips brushed the cover, the glow flared. A pulse shot through me—warm, electric, intimate. Like the book had been waiting for me.
I jerked back with a gasp, but it was too late. The ground trembled lightly beneath my boots. A whisper of wind rose from nowhere, swirling around the shelves. My lantern flickered violently.
Then the alarms began.
A deep, ancient clang echoed through the entire library, followed by another, louder, shaking dust from the ceiling. My heart jumped to my throat. I grabbed the book without thinking—stupid, reckless—and sprinted back the way I came.
Shelves rattled. Pages flapped like wings. The floor vibrated as magic surged through the walls, chasing me. A cold breeze kissed my neck like a warning. My footsteps echoed, too loud, too fast.
I burst through the archway and into the forest, tripping on roots but not stopping. Branches whipped against my arms. The night felt alive—watching me, hunting me. I didn't stop until the library's glow disappeared behind the trees, swallowed by darkness.
My lungs burned. My hands shook. I finally leaned against an oak, trying to catch my breath.
That's when the book moved.
It shifted in my grip like it was breathing. I stared at it, wide-eyed, as the cover slowly unlatched itself. The pages fluttered open, one after another, as if fingers turned them.
A soft whisper rose from the glowing letters—gentle, eerie, unmistakably alive.
It whispered my name.
The sound of my name drifted through the air like smoke—soft, intimate, curling around my ears and sinking into my skin. I froze, my breath caught somewhere in my throat. Books weren't supposed to talk. Books weren't supposed to know who I was.
The forest around me grew still, unnaturally still, as if every creature was holding its breath. Even the wind stopped moving. Only the soft glow from the book pulsed against my palms, warming the center of my chest.
I swallowed hard and slowly lowered myself to the ground, back pressed to the rough bark of the oak tree. My fingers trembled as I held the book open. The pages were turning on their own—slowly, deliberately—until they stopped at a page covered in symbols that shimmered like stars trapped in ink.
The letters rearranged themselves before my eyes, forming words I shouldn't have been able to read… but somehow understood.
My heart hammered painfully, like my ribs were too small to contain it.
A chill brushed down my spine. Someone—or something—was approaching.
The forest shifted around me. A twig snapped. Another. Heavy footsteps, quiet but powerful, moved through the undergrowth. My pulse spiked, and I snapped the book shut. Its glow dimmed, almost as if it understood the danger.
I pressed it to my chest and tried to steady my breathing. Leaves rustled behind me, slow and deliberate. Whoever was coming wasn't trying to hide their presence. They wanted me to know they were there.
A silhouette emerged from between the trees, tall and broad, moving with the kind of effortless strength that made the night itself seem to step aside. His eyes glowed—bright silver, reflecting the moonlight—and locked straight onto me.
My stomach clenched.
Not human.
Not even close.
He stepped closer, the faintest snarl curling under his breath, his gaze dropping to the glowing book clutched in my hands. His nostrils flared, and something dark flickered in his eyes—recognition… and hunger.
"You shouldn't have touched that," he said, his voice low, almost a growl.
I pressed back against the tree, heart racing. "Who—who are you?"
He lowered his chin slightly, predatory and terrifyingly beautiful, moonlight catching the sharp angle of his jaw.
"The one who felt you steal it," he murmured. "The one who was drawn to you the second you opened it."
He took another step forward, so close I could smell the wild scent of pine and storm on his skin.
"And you," he whispered, eyes dropping to the mark glowing faintly on my wrist, "have no idea what you just started."
Before I could speak, a deep, distant howl cut through the night—long, commanding, and answered by another.
His head snapped toward the sound, jaw tightening. Something like panic flickered in his eyes before he masked it.
"They're coming," he breathed. "The others."
"Others?" I whispered.
He met my gaze again, silver eyes burning.
"Run."