With heart pounding, lungs burning, and magic pulsing, Goldie Abbott ran for her life.
This was new for her. Goldie did not run. She did not invest in overly expensive shoes to go jogging for “fitness,” nor did she run from any challenge. Usually, she started the fight in the first place just to get it out of the way.
She was running now.
Because what was chasing her broke every rule she had. The wolf was huge and not really a wolf. He’d been a man walking through her family’s woods until he caught sight of her, declared he had to have her, and shifted into this abomination of a wildlife documentary.
The low growl behind her set every hair on her body on end. She tried to weave magic into words to throw behind her, but as always, they slipped and slithered away. Her half-formed spell blasted an innocent sycamore into smithereens.
She had cousins who could aim magic wherever they wanted, but Goldie was a scribe. Her magic flowed through the written word. Even out here fighting for her life, she still had to imagine writing to get her spells to work. It was an—inefficient way to fight.
She leaped from boulder to boulder, forcing her limbs faster because she could not force her magic.
She was one of the stronger witches in her coven, but out here she had no way to even bop the damn shifter on the nose. Magic that required written words was super fun for a witch with dyslexia.
She heard a growl from in front of her and slammed to a stop, arms outstretched, frantically writing a defense on the tablet in her mind.
Another one stood in her path. There was no time.
“My coven will hunt you to the ends of the earth if you do this,“ she said, wincing when the wheezy words came out between panted breaths.
Another growl sounded from above her, and she looked up at the white wolf smiling down at her, exposing gleaming, poisonous fangs.
“Did you hear me? The ends of the earth.”
Something heavy slammed into her head, and she knew no more.
