Page 174 of Shifting Hearts 1
But I saw her kill me.
And that… that changed things.
I’ve hunted witches before. Fey too, when they wandered too far into Wyrd lands, thought the trees wouldn’t whisper about it. But her? She’s not a trespasser. She was a riddle tied to my marrow. And when I slept, I dreamt of bone dust and her voice calling me to die.
So, I tracked her.
Not because of the bond. That thing was a curse, a cruel trick of fate. No, I tracked her because I knew what she was. I knew what she was going to do — or already had done, in another future, another thread. I wouldn’t let it come to pass. I couldn’t.
The Wyrd sang louder the closer I got. Her scent — blood and burnt herbs, old soil, and wet stone — lingered like a bruise on the air. She's warded, clever. But not clever enough.
I found her kneeling by the river, slicing a strip from her own palm. The blood dripped onto something pale and small in her cupped hand — a milk tooth. Warded in sigils I didn’t recognise.
My breath caught. She’s making something. Not a weapon. A protection spell.
Against me?
Good.
Let her try.
I stepped from the trees without a sound, and still, she stiffened. Turned her head slowly, like she already knew I was there. Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. The wind rushed between us like a third presence — thick with rain, heavy with dread.
I drew closer, teeth bared in something that isn't quite a smile. “You’re not very good at hiding.”
She closed her hand around the tooth. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“Then you’re even worse at surviving than I gave you credit for.”
A bitter laugh, spilled past her lips. “Are you here to kill me?”
“I should. You saw what I saw.” I close the distance, towering over her. “You. Me. My death. Your hands.”
“Dreams lie.”
“Not when it comes to the Wyrd.”
She flinched.
But then something shifted, and the sky above cracked open, thunder rolling like a warning bell. Rain comes down, cold, and insistent. Eris stood, and her hand brushed mine by accident or fate — it’s hard to tell — but we both recoiled.
The tooth. Whatever spell she wove around it —burned— like iron on raw skin.
I cursed. She hissed. And the tooth clattered to the ground between us, steaming in the dirt.
“What the fuck did you do?” I snarl.
Her voice trembled. “I bound it.”
Lightning forked across the sky. In the flash, her eyes looked too old. Like they remember the shape of my bones before I was born. I shuddered, because maybe she did.
“We need shelter,” she muttered, as she drew her cloak tighter. “There’s an old ruin near the ridge.”
I spat into the dirt. “I don’t shelter with witches.”
Her mouth curved up into a humourless smile. “You’ll want to tonight.”
I should let her go. Turn away. Let the storm tear her to pieces, but the Wyrd is tightening around us like a noose. It's almost as if somethingwantedus there, at the ruins... itcalled.
