Chapter 3 — The Witch’s Arrival

Luciano

The storm prowled over the Mistclaw Highlands like a caged beast, its thunderous growls echoing against the jagged peaks and rolling through the valleys. Luciano stood at the northern battlements of the castle, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the horizon as the sky churned with ominous clouds. The wind cut through the air with a biting edge, whipping his dark hair and carrying the scent of damp earth and ozone. Rain had not yet fallen, but the weight of the storm pressed down on him, mirroring the tension coiled in his chest.

The Wolfsign Pendant rested heavily against his chest, radiating a subtle, persistent warmth that felt almost alive. He wrapped his fingers around it, the carved crescent moon cradling a wolf’s head biting into his palm. It was a cruel tether to what he’d lost—Meredith. His queen. His mate. His heart. The faint heat of the pendant offered a semblance of comfort, a whisper of her presence, yet it only deepened the ache of her absence.

Below, the wolves of the highlands stirred restlessly, their howls jagged and dissonant, fragmented like his kingdom. Even the ancient stones of the castle seemed to groan beneath the storm’s weight. The first drops of rain began to fall, darkening the gray surface beneath his hands. Luciano tilted his head back, his eyes closing briefly against the brooding sky. Each breath was heavy, thick with grief and the suffocating sense of helplessness that had haunted him since the day she was gone.

The faint sound of footsteps broke through the storm’s growl, sharp and deliberate. A sudden chill prickled down Luciano’s spine, a mingling of instinct and suspicion. He straightened, his hand falling from the pendant as he fixed his gaze on the archway behind him.

Annabeth emerged from the shadows, her dark robes shifting softly in the wind as she approached. Her sharp green eyes met his, unreadable, though they flickered briefly to the Wolfsign Pendant. Rain streaked her pale skin, and stray strands of her black hair clung to her temple, but her demeanor remained unnervingly calm, as though the howling storm did not exist.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Luciano said, his voice low, cold. He stepped forward, his broad shoulders blocking the wind from her approach. “The castle does not welcome witches lightly.”

Annabeth’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, though it carried no warmth. “And yet, here I am. You wouldn’t have allowed me this far if you weren’t desperate.”

“I didn’t allow anything,” Luciano growled, his tone sharpened by the weight of his authority. “My father informed me of your arrival. Unbidden, I might add.”

Annabeth’s gaze didn’t waver as she stopped a step closer, the rain dripping down the edges of her hood. “Your kingdom is bleeding,” she said bluntly, her words cutting through the storm’s noise like a blade. “The alphas are circling, your court is fracturing, and you—” her voice softened, though it lost none of its sharpness—“you are drowning in your grief. Whether or not you summoned me doesn’t matter. What matters is that I can help you.”

Luciano’s jaw tightened, every muscle in his body coiled with mistrust. “Help me?” he echoed, his voice quiet but laced with venom. “You’ve never sought to help anyone unless it served your own purpose, Annabeth.”

For a moment, her composure cracked—just slightly. The faintest flicker of something raw crossed her face before it settled into stone. “Believe what you will,” she said, her tone cooling. She reached into her robes and withdrew a small, leather-bound journal, its edges worn and stained with ink. Rain hissed against its surface as she held it out, the movement deliberate, almost reverent. “I didn’t come here to play games. I came because there is a way to bring her back.”

The journal might as well have been a dagger aimed at his chest. Luciano’s breath hitched, his heart pounding against his ribs even as he forced his expression to remain hard, unreadable. His blue eyes locked onto the journal, but he didn’t move to take it. He didn’t trust himself to.

“You lie.” The words escaped him in a low rasp, trembling beneath the weight of his grief. “Do not speak lies of hope to me.”

Annabeth’s green eyes flickered with something—resolve, perhaps, or pity. “She is not as gone as you think,” she said softly. “The Stone of Lycans ensured that.”

The pendant against Luciano’s chest pulsed faintly, its warmth intensifying like a heartbeat. His hand shot up, curling around it protectively, though he didn’t fully understand why. “The Stone…” he murmured, the name heavy on his tongue.

Annabeth stepped closer, her movements measured. “The artifact binds her to this world, even now. But its power is fragmented. If she has returned, she won’t be the Meredith you knew—not fully. Not yet.”

The thought struck him like a physical blow. Meredith, alive but not whole. Hope stirred uneasily within him, a fragile flame flickering beneath the weight of doubt. “And you would have me believe you can restore her?” Luciano demanded, his voice sharp but trembling beneath the surface. “That you, of all people, would risk your magic for my mate?”

Annabeth’s expression faltered again, a fleeting crack in her armor. “Do not mistake me for Cordelia,” she said, her tone cutting. “I owe Meredith far more than I could ever repay. Whatever you may think of me, I loved my sister.”

The words were a dagger, sharper than any Luciano expected. He searched her gaze, looking for any hint of deceit, but her green eyes held firm. And yet, trust did not come easily—especially not with Annabeth.

“What are you proposing?” he asked finally, his voice low and cautious.

Annabeth exhaled, a flicker of relief softening her features. “I know someone who can help,” she said. “A witch whose knowledge of the liminal realm and its power rivals even Cordelia’s. If anyone can restore Meredith’s humanity, it is her.”

Luciano’s suspicion flared like a spark catching kindling. He already knew who she meant before she even spoke the name.

“Cordelia,” she said, confirming his worst fear.

The name hung in the air like a curse. Luciano’s entire body stiffened, his blue eyes blazing with fury. “You would dare bring her name into my court?”

Annabeth didn’t flinch. “You think I don’t understand the risks?” she shot back, her frustration breaking through her calm facade. “I know what she is, and I know what she’s capable of. But so do you. If there is even a chance—”

“No.” Luciano’s voice was firm, final. “I will not deal with her.”

Annabeth stepped closer, her expression taut with tension. “You think I want this?” she demanded, her voice rising. “You think it doesn’t tear me apart to even consider going to her? But this isn’t about me, or you, or your pride. This is about Meredith.”

The storm roared in response, the wind tugging at Luciano’s cloak with almost sentient fury. He turned away, his hand gripping the pendant as though it might anchor him. The thought of Meredith—of failing her, of losing her completely—burned like fire in his chest.

“She would never forgive me,” he said quietly, his voice breaking on the words.

“And if you do nothing,” Annabeth countered, her voice soft but unflinching, “she may never have the chance to forgive you at all.”

Luciano’s shoulders trembled, the weight of her words pressing down on him like the storm clouds above. He hated that she was right. Hated that he even had to consider this.

Finally, he turned back to Annabeth, his expression cold, resolute. “You will tell me everything,” he said. “Every risk, every detail. If this is a trap—if you endanger my kingdom, my family, or what remains of her—I will end you myself.”

Annabeth nodded, her green eyes steady. “Then I suggest we don’t fail.”

Luciano exhaled sharply, his grip on the pendant loosening slightly. The storm raged on around them, but for the first time in weeks, he felt the faintest flicker of purpose.

“Prepare the horses,” he said at last. “We leave at dawn.”

Annabeth inclined her head and disappeared into the shadows of the castle. Luciano remained where he was, his eyes once again fixed on the horizon. The pendant against his chest pulsed faintly, a fragile warmth in the cold storm.

“Meredith,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I will find you. Whatever it takes.”

And as the storm howled around him, Luciano stood firm, his resolve hardening like steel against the anvil of grief.