Aurora didn't sleep.
She tried — goddess knows she tried — but every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. That stranger in the forest. His glowing eyes. The blood. The heat of his skin when he grabbed her wrist.
Witch.
That word had been soaked in something darker than fear. It was curiosity. Recognition. Possession.
She paced the creaky floors of her small apothecary, fingers trailing across jars of dried herbs and spell-dampened runes. The shop was quiet — too quiet. Her wind chime hadn't sung once all morning, even with the breeze outside.
Something was coming.
The bell above the door rang.
She nearly jumped out of her skin.
Aurora spun on her heel, heart thumping. "We're closed!" she called instinctively, grabbing a charm from the counter just in case.
The door opened anyway. Smooth. Silent.
And then he stepped in.
Damien Blackwood.
Alive. Awake. Impossibly clean in a fitted charcoal suit, not a drop of blood on him. His presence hit the room like a thunderclap — sharp, commanding, and electric.
Aurora took one step back.
He smirked like he noticed.
"Didn't expect to see me again, did you?" His voice was smoother than she remembered, like black velvet dipped in danger.
"I expected you to be dead," she said flatly, crossing her arms.
"And yet, here I am."
His eyes roamed the shop — glass vials, protection sigils etched on the walls, a raven skull perched beside a love potion. His gaze returned to her, slower this time.
"You live among humans," he said. "Hide among them."
"I'm not hiding," she lied. "This is just my life."
"No," he said, stepping closer. "You're running. From someone. Or something."
Aurora clenched her jaw. "Why are you here?"
Damien reached into his coat and pulled out a small, folded contract. "Because I don't like owing people."
She didn't touch it. "I didn't heal you for a reward."
"Good," he said. "Because I'm not offering one. I'm offering a deal."
That word slithered into the air like a threat.
Aurora narrowed her eyes. "What kind of deal?"
He leaned in just a little too close — enough for her to smell his cologne, cedar and storm. Her pulse fluttered, and she hated it.
"I need a temporary wife," he said casually, as if he were ordering coffee. "Just for appearances. A business alliance. Politics. Safety. Call it what you want."
Aurora blinked. "Are you drunk?"
"No. I'm deadly serious."
She laughed — short, sharp, disbelieving. "And you came all the way here because you thought I'd say yes?"
"I came here," Damien said, his tone shifting low, "because I know you're not just a witch. You're powerful. And your magic saved my life when nothing else could."
Aurora's smile vanished.
He continued, voice velvet-dark. "And because someone is hunting witches again. Two were taken last week. Burned. Slowly."
Her heart skipped.
"I can protect you," he said. "But I need you beside me. For one year. Publicly. In my world."
"You're insane."
"Maybe. But I'm still the only one offering you a deal that keeps both of us alive."
A gust of wind slammed the shop's back door open. The wind chime didn't move.
Aurora felt it now — the shift in the air. Something was watching her.
She swallowed. "And if I say no?"
Damien's eyes darkened. "Then you'll be alone. And whoever's out there — the ones who can sniff out magic like blood — they'll find you. And this time, I won't be there to bleed in your place."
Her stomach turned.
He watched her quietly, the alpha gone silent.
Finally, she whispered, "And what do you get out of this?"
His answer came in a half-smile, wicked and unreadable. "A Luna who can set people on fire with her hands? That's good business."
She hated that part of her was tempted.
She hated even more that part of her was curious.
But most of all… she hated that part of her wanted to see him shift. Again.
Aurora stared at the contract.
And the bell above the shop door rang again — but no one was there.
Just the wind.
Or something worse.