Page 2 of BeWolfed

But Rose would never do that. My stomach knotted at the memory of that conversation, at how easily they'd dismissed my concerns.

She was my only family, and I was hers. No matter how busy she got, she always let me know she was okay. Even when my grief-fueled magic had blown out the bookstore's windows. Even when I'd accidentally hexed her favorite chair. Even when I'd ranted about leaving for college because I needed space from being "Rose's project."

And now—nothing. Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones – a cold dread that hadn't left me since her first missed call, her first unanswered text.

We reached Rose's Rare Books & Curiosities. The store's protective runes still recognized me as family, but they felt strained, like they'd been fighting off magical attacks.

"I should go." Charlotte squeezed my hand. "Text me once you're settled? And El... be careful. Something's very wrong in this town."

I nodded, watching her hurry away, across the street and behind Luna's Tea Room, following the side streets down toward campus.

I gave myself a push and climbed the steps of my aunt's shop. It was one of the businesses on the north side of Main Street, which all backed to the steep rise of the mountain. The old Victorian style house—painted a bright pink—held the bookstore on the first floor and our apartment on the second. Beneath, in the mountain itself, Rose had crafted a magically made cave storage for the most dangerous treasures.

I hesitated at the door, fingers tracing the protection runes carved into its surface, then glanced back up Main Street. Through my witch sight, the town still shimmered with its dual layers of reality—one mundane, one magical. A human couple walked past, oblivious to the true nature of the storefronts they passed.

I took a breath and turned the key in the lock. It clicked open. I stepped inside and gasped.

Books lay scattered across the hardwood floor like fallen soldiers, their spines cracked open at random pages. Dust motes floated lazily in the hazy evening light filtering through the window. The display cases near the entrance were toppled, shelves shoved askew as if someone had searched in afrenzy. Protective charms that Rose had always tucked carefully between the books lay shattered in pieces.

The store window showed no signs of a break-in, no smashed glass or splintered locks, and the front door had opened easily for me. But inside was chaos.

My aunt would never have allowed this. Rose ran her store with militant precision, each book categorized by both mundane and magical systems. This wreckage didn't just defy that order—it desecrated it.

I followed the trail of damage deeper into the store, moving slowly, my footsteps echoing off the hardwood. The bookshelves loomed like silent witnesses, their contents jumbled and violated. I laid my hand on the register counter, and the protective wards etched into its surface flickered faintly. They still recognized me, but the glow was weak..

Dark drops of blood near the base of the counter stained the wood flooring. I crouched, my breath catching in my throat.

The destruction of the store was recent, they’d been looking for something today or yesterday. But was the blood from one of the intruders? Or was it older from Rose? My pulse quickened.

I tried an identification spell, murmuring the words as I lay my fingers on the blood, but it fizzled almost immediately. My magic sparked erratically, sputtering out like a candle in the wind. "Come on," I whispered frantically, trying again. "Work, damn it." Frustration burned in my chest—the same old problem. When it mattered most, my power fluctuated between too much and too little, never the steady control Rose had mastered.

Under an overturned box of protective charms, one paper caught my eye: a note, half-finished and smeared as though Rose had been interrupted mid-sentence.

Deliberate interference in supernatural relations... It's spreading beyond the town borders. If something isn't done soon—

The words stopped there, unfinished.

My heart raced as I reached for my phone. I needed to document everything. Pictures of the notes, the blood trail, the broken charms. I had to find her. No matter what the sheriff said, Rose was in danger. I could feel it.

A low growl froze me in place.

Slowly, I turned toward the sound. In the shadows near the cave storage entrance crouched the largest wolf I'd ever seen. Silver-grey fur bristled along massive shoulders, and eyes that held far too much intelligence fixed on me with predatory intensity.

I should have been terrified. Should have run screaming. Instead, my breath caught as his scent hit me—forest after rain, leather, and something wild that made my magic surge unexpectedly. It flooded my system, a crackling current of power that made my fingertips tingle and the air around me shimmer with violet light.

But weeks of helplessness and frustration tangled with this new, bewildering awareness, and I lashed out.

"Really?" I demanded, adjusting my glasses as power crackled around me. "You're going to pull this alpha wolf intimidation act now? In my aunt's store? When she's missing and I'm trying to find her?"

The wolf's ears flattened in what looked suspiciously like surprise. Clearly he wasn't used to people talking back. But Rose had taught me that most supernatural posturing was exactly that—posturing.

"I don't care if you're the big bad wolf himself. Get out!" I grabbed the nearest object—a weighty tome on medieval healing practices. "I have enough to deal with without some overgrown furball making more mess!"

The wolf's form blurred and shifted, magic rippling through the air as he took human shape. The transformation wassmooth, controlled—marking him as powerful even among werewolves. When the shimmer faded, a man stood before me, wearing a worn leather jacket and jeans, his chest bare and muscled beneath the open jacket.

"Overgrown furball?" His voice was rough velvet, one eyebrow arching as he crossed his arms over his scarred skin. "That's a new one."

I swallowed hard, willing myself not to stare at the defined muscles or the intriguing scars that mapped stories across his skin. The man was infuriatingly handsome, with dark hair streaked with silver at the temples and amber eyes that still held a lupine glow. Something hot and impossible flickered in my stomach—absolutely not the time.

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