Page 1 of Shared With The Pack

Chapter 1

Wren

They'll kill me for this. My hands tremble as I toss the drab woolen cloak over my shoulders, and I fumble with the front clasp before pulling the hood over my head. It doesn't match the rest of my outfit; I'm otherwise dressed in pure white. A pair of tailored silken trousers and a matching undershirt with a hand-beaded corset-vest tied so aggressively I can scarcely breathe.

But my clothes are the last thing on my mind.

My main concern is the looming storm over the rapidly setting sun. I look out the window at the dark, heavy clouds. I'll have to accept the risk of flying into a storm. This is my last chance. Grabbing my broom, I climb onto the balcony's ledge and step off.

I don't fall.

I fly.

Flinching against the first splatter of raindrops, I don't look back at my family's estate to say goodbye. I'm Wren Blackspell, the youngest witch in my family. And the only boy. A runaway groom, that's what they'll call me, but let's call me what I really was to them: a sacrifice.

I've done everything else my family and coven ever asked, but I can't do this. I won't be married off so they can secure an alliance with a vampire clan. My grandmother has always been ambitious, yet this is too much.

The sun sets, slipping beneath the horizon, and darkness falls while the storm rises. I flinch at the first lightning strike, curling tighter to the broom handle. Wind and rain lash at me from every direction. Yet I can't stop and there's no going back. Fear drives me forward, pushing me to guide my broom faster and faster as I speed into the night.

She'll hate me for this, my grandmother. Not that she doesn't already. The entire coven will. I can already hear her horrid shrieking, calling me an ungrateful, insolent child. I feel sick to my stomach and light-headed as I squint, the corners of my eyes burning with tears.

Lightning and thunder surround me. The storm is only getting worse, and I'm flying both blinded and deafened by it. I try to spot any sign of civilization. Dotted all along the Blue Ridge Mountains are small towns and tiny villages, both those made by humans and founded by witches. If I have any luck left, I'll find a human one. They'll be easier to hide amongst.

So long as I don't let them catch me riding my broomstick, I'll be fine.

There's finally a light ahead, but it's not the electric lighting of a human settlement or the soft glow of gas lamps from witches. It's only an isolated cabin. No matter how wet and cold I am, I'm not stopping there.

Except lightning strikes again. Flash after flash. Each one makes me jump, sending my broom swaying off its tentative course. One strike gets too close. Static tingles throughout my body. I don't just dip down, I plummet; my lapse in concentration is enough to make the enchantment on my broom fizzle.

Oh no.

I scream, pouring a fresh wave of magical intent into it, but it's too much and too late to correct my course. I clip the cabin, sending logs and stones flinging into the air, yet that isn't enough to stop me. Or even slow me down. My broomstick careens wildly, branches whipping at me from all sides, and then I lose control.

I fall into the pitch black maw of the woods and hit the ground. Slowly, I regain my senses. I'm lying on the ground, my face turned to the side so I don't drown in mud. Lightning and thunder continue to sing their terrible song.

I didn't make it. I've crash landed somewhere in the forest and lost my broom.

My whole body aches with pain, but my head hurts worst of all. Still, I force myself to move. I wiggle my toes and fingers. I try to pull myself up, but just end up face down in the mud again. For a terrifying moment, I'm not sure if it hurts too much to move...or if I literally can't.

Eventually, I crawl through the soaked earth and only stop when I can't go any further. A large pine tree with massive branches offers respite from the heavy rainfall. I press my back against the thick trunk.

This is it. That's as far as I can go.

I whimper while touching my tender ribs. Are they broken? I don't know. All I know is that I'm scared and all alone. Just like nobody else was going to save me from my forced wedding, no one is going to rescue me from the wilderness.

With teeth chattering, I huddle against the trunk, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. Even if I survive this dreadful night, I don't know how I'll make it down the mountain on my own. Without my broomstick, it will be slow going on foot. And while I love nature, my experience is limited to greenhouses.

I'm not like the rest of the Blackspells. I'm no great spellcaster. My specialty has always been in herbs and flowers. I've always been content playing hedge witch while the rest of my family wants to conquer death itself. I'm good at tending plants and brewing potions, but knowing the subtle distinctions between wild carrot and hemlock won't help me right now.

At least I'll die free, right?

With what little strength I have left, I let out a laugh. Yeah, I'll give myself that. I made my choice. Instead of spending the rest of my doomed life as a vampire's blood doll, I'll die with an unmarred neck.

Though not unadorned.

My fingers touch the heavy necklace clasped around my throat. The family jewels. An elaborate piece of silver inlaid with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and amethysts. Gemstones to represent each element we've mastered, my grandmother had crooned while she'd laid it against my skin.

I try to pry it off, but I'm too weak. My trembling fingers can't undo the clasp. For centuries, Blackspell mothers have handed this necklace down to their daughters through an unbroken chain of inheritance. Now, it'll be lost forever with their one and only son.