The Wolf's Witch: The Witch's Pack, #1

By Rachel Medhurst

It's just a scratch – a scratch that transforms the witch forever.

 

Della

Already a witch at breaking point, I really can't be dealing with the latest scandal affecting my life. I'm busy selling spells when my brother accidently kills a werewolf, attracting the wrath of my enemy, the Brighton Pack alpha, Malone. His attack leaves me with a scratch that turns me into the first ever hybrid-witch and solidifies my expulsion from the coven, leaving me all alone. I'm not sure how much more I can take.

 

Malone

When I smell my toxins in Della, I vow to help her through the first shift. As alpha, my responsibility is to my pack and turning a witch is against sacred wolf laws. My pack will disown me if I don't get rid of her. I'm ready to rectify my wrong, threatening to end her life, until she shifts and the mating bond is evoked.

Can I reject the forbidden pull towards her in order to keep my pack? Or will she be able to escape before I claim her and jeopardise my position as alpha?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rachel Medhurst
• Release date: Sep 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215981498

Book preview

The Wolf’s Witch

The Witch’s Pack Book 1

By Rachel Medhurst

––––––––

Copyright 2021 © Rachel Medhurst

––––––––

Please note that the author is English so spelling is in British English.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Her Wolf’s Demands – Book 2

Copyright

Author

Chapter One

Why was it in the quietest of moments, my mind wandered back to the darkest of memories?

The cash register beeped, jolting me out of my daydream. Wait, scrap that. Day nightmare.

The shop was silent after a busy day of customers desperate for spells. Yeah, yeah, as a witch, it was against the rules to sell magical items or spells to humans. Screw that, I had rent to pay. Plus, the poor souls needed all the help they could get. I knew well enough how painful it was to live in this world, and I had magic to get me through.

A thump against the shop door made me jerk my head towards it. The shop was small, the square space kitted out with shelves and wooden Victorian sideboards housing a whole range of esoteric items. I had the largest collection of tarot cards in Brighton, England. And I was damn proud of it.

That wasn’t what drew the masses to the shop every other day, though. No, it was my spells.

The door banged again, sending my heart into a frantic beat as I stepped out from behind the payment desk, careful not to knock over the dreamcatcher stand. It had taken me hours to perfect the display, there was no way I would disturb it. Even if someone was trying to break into my shop.

Hello? I called when I reached the carved wooden door.

My shop was tucked away in The Lanes, almost hidden amongst the jewellers. The secrecy of the place was on purpose. My coven had only just agreed to let me have my little shop, as they called it. It wasn’t a little shop. It was my sanctuary, and the only way I could keep a roof over our head. I had to protect both myself and my brother.

No one answered as I moved closer, my hand shaking as I reached for the handle. My brother, Drake, had always played Knock Down Ginger when we were kids. I had never agreed with the game of knocking on someone’s door and running away, especially when he’d done it repeatedly to the same house, just to irritate them.

Would there be kids on the other side of the door, ready to run when I opened it?

The next thump made me jump back, my hand clasping my chest. I really had to get CCTV outside the shop. Not being able to see who was there was freaking me out for the first time ever.

It’s not funny now, I breathed as I wrenched open the door, expecting to see the retreating backs of schoolkids.

Instead, the smell of wet paint blasted in my face as I stepped outside. What the...?

Turning, I squinted at the wet paint that dripped across the façade of the shop. Even the blacked out windows had a generous helping of the liquid that spelled out SCUM.

Are you okay? the man from next door asked as he came out of his shop, I saw a tall man in a hoody running away.

My chest squeezed as he came over and read the offending word, his eyebrows pulling into a frown. Wow, I thought Brighton was the hub of diversity and acceptance.

Almost rolling my eyes at the stereotypical impression of my home town, I smiled kindly and shrugged. It was probably a teen, messing around.

Swallowing, I ducked back inside the shop, grabbed the water and bucket I kept beside the door and dragged it out. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to clean off some offending remark or another.

The man watched me as I set to work, violently scrubbing the paint before it could set. He cleared his throat when I swore loudly. I would help... He indicated his pristine suit. But...

A bark of laughter escaped me as I shook my head and waved a hand in dismissal. Seriously, it’s fine. I’m used to fending for myself and cleaning up after other people.

The bitter bite to my tone didn’t go unnoticed. In fact, the nice man slung off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the other cloth.

Oh, I said, my cheeks heating, I didn’t mean for you to... you don’t have to...

It’s fine. He winked as he smiled at me. Although, I think these rags have had it.

He was right. The material I’d set aside for my once a week attack was threadbare and covered in dried paint. They were literally smearing the paint around. At least the word SCUM was erased, even if it meant my shop front had a new bright white façade.

Shall I go and grab some paint stripper?

Warmth engulfed my chest, squeezing hard enough to cut off my oxygen supply. No one ever offered to help me. Like, ever. Why was the man from next door being so nice?

No, it’s okay, I said, smiling when his gaze dropped.

His hopes of coming to my rescue had been dashed in seconds. Wait, what would he want from me in exchange?

My hands clenched into fists as I shook the thought away. My brother had berated me for always expecting the worst. Not that he could talk, considering it was his fault I had the word SCUM painted across my shop in the first place.

I mean... I started, extending my hand as the man went to step back. ... I have some inside.

His gaze skipped down my frame, his eyes becoming hooded as his throat bobbed. Did he just check me out? Great, and there I was, believing, for a split fucking second, that he was there to help me out from the kindness of his heart.

Sis!

The shout startled the man, and he dropped his gaze, mumbling a quick goodbye before shooting away, without even a backward glance.

Drake approached, his wide eyes darting before he studied the man’s back as he disappeared around the corner and into the next lane.

The cobbled walkway was dark, the sun hidden behind the buildings. Brighton had a mishmash of lanes that connected together. The walkways, too small for cars, allowed people to get lost in amongst the shops.

Tell me, I barked, throwing the cloth back in the bucket, do I look like a porn star?

Growling when the white water splashed on the cobbles, I brought my leg back, ready to kick the bastard bucket.

Drake’s sudden tight grip on my elbow snapped me out of it. N-no, he stuttered, looking over his shoulder, although, the tight tank top barely contains your buzombas.

My stomach dropped as I glanced up at my brother, the churn setting in when he squinted at me before looking down the lane. He was distracted, his eyes wide and glazed. His hands shook as he tucked them in and out of his pockets.

Drake. My tone was low, calm. Is everything good?

Without looking at me, he slowly shook his head, his eyes staring off into the distance. For a moment, his shoulders relaxed, the tension draining out of him. I knew it wouldn’t last.

Fuck.

Stepping over the bucket, I pushed open the shop door so it was nice and wide. My heart thundered when I waved him over, giving him a thumbs up to let him know it was safe.

My brother had mental health issues. His sharp brain sometimes produced too many chemicals, resulting in episodes of paranoia.

Shall we go inside? I offered.

His quick nod of the head was followed by a sharp intake of breath as we entered the shop, and I closed the door quietly. The shop was one of his safe spaces. He knew that I had placed a protection spell over it so no one could enter without my permission. There was an exception for my customers when the door was unlocked. However, Drake didn’t need to know that.

Locking the door to ensure that we were safe, I turned to face him. He had dug his phone out of his pocket and was intent on the screen.

I watched him, staying silent. The glaze over his eyes took me back fifteen years. We had been playing in the garden, two months after our mother had died, when he’d run to the high wooden fence that separated our property from an alley.

Standing with his shoulders hunched in, the eight year old had stared and stared. It had been the moment my brother’s delusions started.

What’s going on, bro? I asked, causally leaning against the cash desk.

He thrust his phone back into his pocket and came to me. His light blue eyes came to life as he pulled up his broad shoulders. He was only an inch taller than me and had always hated the fact. I, on the other hand, loved it. It had given me a helping hand when we’d wrestled each other as children. At least he hadn’t had height on his side. Although, he had squashed me with his thick chest, laughing when I’d called surrender. Those were the days.

I’m being followed by werewolves. At first... He paused as he checked over both shoulders. ... I thought I was having an illusion. But, then, I spotted one on the way over here.

Sadness pulsed over me, and I shrunk in on myself. It had been only two months since Drake had shown any signs of an episode.

His diagnosis had come when he was eight. After a rough seven years of being dragged up by our father and multiple hospital visits with an amazing doctor, something had clicked for him. He always worked hard to commit to his wellbeing and had a fantastic job, painting glorious watercolour paintings and selling them online.

He was technically a famous artist, and I couldn’t be more proud. Bastard was revered for his art in the coven, unlike me. Even though I had a fully functioning shop. Still, I wasn’t jealous. Much.

When on his medication, Drake went years without being paranoid. Now, he was struggling.

What do you think they want? I asked.

Even after all these years, it was hard to know how to react. He was smart, but often, his kind heart was forefront of his decisions, sometimes getting him into scrapes that caused trouble.

Helping a drug dealer deliver a package was the most recent. He hadn’t even known what was inside it, or that the man was the biggest dealer in Brighton.

Drake had been let off lightly, considering. However, when the locals had caught wind of it, I’d had a target on my back. Hence the nasty words painted on the outside of my shop.  

I think they want to take my magic and use it.

It was plausible. There was bad feeling between the witches and werewolves. I was too lowly to be in the know but rumours were rife that a war was brewing. Apparently, the Brighton Coven had upset the leader of the Brighton Pack when they’d claimed a stone circle on their land.

Have you spoken to any of them?

Shaking his head, he flicked his floppy mousey hair out of his eyes. No, of course not. You know they’re in league with the government. If I stay here long, they’ll catch up and report my whereabouts. We need to go home. It’s safe there.

That didn’t sound as plausible. My sensitive brother was having an episode and it was down to me to help him.

Smiling, I remained calm, even though my heart was breaking. Either his medication wasn’t working or he had forgotten to take it. Or... there was some truth to his claim. I never ruled it out, it wouldn’t be fair to him.

Let’s get going, then, I said, grabbing my three quarter length sleeved denim jacket.

The dark blue complimented my grey jeans – double denim was back baby – and the black tank top. My white pumps were practical, the thick sole perfect for comfort when I was on my feet all day.

Scratching the stubble on his jaw, Drake nodded and went to the door, opening it a fraction to peek outside. No one is out there. We can go now. Quickly. He waved a hand, gesturing for me to follow.

I went with him, locking up the shop and following him down the narrow lane. There was a chill in the air, whipping around me as I tucked my lengthy auburn hair behind my ear. My gaze darted behind us as we emerged into a small courtyard. Not because I believed my brother, but because I had to make sure there was no one who looked-

Shit.

See! Drake snapped, taking my elbow gently and moving me behind him. There’s a werewolf.

The middle-aged man wore a suit and headphones. He walked across the yard, heading in the direction we had just come. It just so happened, we could smell his wolf scent. Oh, boy.

He’s just going about his day. Putting my hand on his arm, I tried to guide him away, my blood rushing in my ears.

What would he do? I loved my brother with every fibre of my being, and yet, his unpredictability made it impossible for me to know how he would act next.

Relaxing his shoulders, he put an arm around me and laughed. Yeah, of course.

Good, he was trusting me. That was always the first sign that he was coming out of his grip of paranoia. If we managed to get home without a problem, I could help him get some sleep. That always calmed him and helped relieve his symptoms.

Hey, Della! an old friend bellowed across the yard as she came out of the milkshake shop.

Waving a quick greeting, I almost dragged Drake away before she could detain me. I didn’t much like her anyway, considering she had stolen my last boyfriend away. Well, he hadn’t technically been a boyfriend. We hadn’t actually been together, since I was too busy opening my shop. But, we had promised to go for a few drinks once it was done. When I’d asked him, he had apologised, claiming that my old friend had approached him at a local bar and stolen his heart. Bitch.

There. Drake pointed at another werewolf. He just looked at you.

Glaring in the man’s direction, just in case, I pushed Drake towards a side lane and swallowed down my rising panic.

Oi!

Turning, I frowned when the werewolf ran after us, his shoulders hunched up and his pale face twisted in a snarl. For fuck’s sake. Did the guy not get the hint?

Della. Drake’s voice was tight as we hurried our pace. I don’t like it. I told you.

It’s fine.

Why would the man choose to give chase? Had Drake been right? Wolves often kept to themselves, clearly distinguishing themselves as separate from normal society. They stuck to their pack, which was why I was about to punch the one approaching us clean in the face.

You! Wait! The man was gaining on us as our feet pounded the pavement.

Trying to look over my shoulder, I cursed when