Stolen Mate

Morana's hut loomed ahead, bones clattering in the wind like a warning. Dawn painted the sky in grays and pinks, but the woods around her lair stayed stubbornly dark. Rylan walked beside me, his silence heavier than usual. The satchel of Kieran's blood bounced against my hip, a reminder of what we'd stolen—and what we still owed. 

The witch was waiting, her rune-scarred hands clasped around a jar of murky liquid. "Late," she crooned, though we'd come at first light. 

"We're here," I said, voice steadier than I felt. "Start the ritual." 

Her milky eyes gleamed. "Impatient little ghost." She snatched the satchel, uncorking a vial of Kieran's blood. It glinted black in the dim light as she poured it into a clay bowl. "The thief's essence," she muttered, adding Lila's blood next. The two liquids swirled, repelling each other like oil and water. 

Rylan crossed his arms. "Now what?" 

Morana ignored him, chanting in a guttural tongue. The air thickened, the bowl's contents hissing into smoke. The fumes coiled into shapes—a lavender bloom, a crescent moon, then a flower with petals like shards of ice. 

"The lunar flower," she said, the vision dissolving. "Plucked under the full moon. Only then can the stolen scent be bound anew." 

My chest tightened. *Nightshade's territory.* "Where?" 

"Where the shadows feast." She grinned. "The Blackvein Grove. Heart of Nightshade land." 

Rylan stiffened. "That's a death sentence." 

"Death," Morana agreed, "or destiny." She thrust a jagged knife at me. "Cut your palm. Blood seals the path." 

I hesitated, but Rylan's nod was slight. *Trust him.* The blade bit, my blood dripping into the bowl. The mixture ignited, flames licking blue. 

"Three nights," Morana hissed. "The moon waxes. Fail, and the flower dies. So do you." 

*** 

We left in silence, the weight of her words gnawing at me. The Blackvein Grove wasn't just dangerous—it was sacred to Nightshade, guarded by their fiercest warriors. And we had three days to breach it. 

Rylan stopped at the river, scrubbing soot from his hands. "We'll need a distraction." 

"They'll smell you," I said. "Even with juniper paste." 

"Not if they're chasing someone else." 

I glared. "You're not bait." 

He smirked. "Got a better plan?" 

*No.* I kicked a stone into the water. "Why are you doing this? You could've left after the blood was stolen." 

He stilled. "Told you. Hate owing debts." 

"Liar." 

The word hung between us. He crouched, tracing the scar on his forearm—a Nightshade brand, half-faded. "They took my sister in that grove. Cut her down for refusing a kill." His voice roughened. "Maybe it's time someone took something back." 

The confession hit like a punch. I knelt beside him. "We'll get the flower. And your justice." 

He met my gaze, amber eyes softening. "Justice is a fairy tale. But the flower? That's real." 

*** 

We planned through the night. Steal a Nightshade patrol uniform. Use the chaos of their moon feast. Rylan would draw guards east; I'd slip into the grove. Simple. Suicidal. 

At dusk, we reached the border. Nightshade's sigils—claw marks on birch trees—warned trespassers. Beyond them, the grove's trees twisted skyward, their canopies blotting out the sun. 

Rylan adjusted the stolen uniform, the fabric straining across his shoulders. "Stay low. Move fast." 

"You too." 

He paused, then gripped my wrist. "If this goes wrong—" 

"It won't." 

His thumb brushed my pulse point. "Stubborn." 

Then he was gone, a shadow in the shadows. 

Shouts erupted minutes later. Howls. I ran, the grove swallowing me whole. 

The lunar flower glowed ahead, petals shimmering like captured starlight. My breath caught. *Almost there.* 

A snarl ripped through the air. 

I turned. 

A Nightshade warrior loomed, fangs bared. "Little thief." 

Behind him, Rylan's roar echoed. *Alive.* 

I lunged for the flower.