Resisting The Heat

Ten years ago

The rusty iron gate was locked.

Just my luck.

I wrapped my fingers around the peeling bars, the cold metal biting into my palms, and looked into the alley wedged between two brick buildings. Late sunlight bled across the walls, turning the trash piles red and the puddles black. Most of the graffiti had faded into old stains, but a few symbols still clung stubbornly to the brick.

Sharp lines. Strange curves. No human had painted those.

That was the first sign I should walk away.

The marks pulsed once—a throb of violet light, like a heartbeat trapped under skin—then blurred and vanished with a soft poof.

Nope.

I leaped back so fast that my backpack slammed against my spine. If those symbols were supposed to scare people off, congratulations. Very effective.

Behind me, the city kept moving. People hurried past with coffees, phones, and tired, hollow faces, all of them pretending the alley didn’t exist. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe I had crossed into some cursed witch dimension because I was stupid enough to trust a wolf shifter with directions.

I pulled the crumpled paper from my pocket and checked the address again.

Same street. Same number.

So this was it.

Great.

I should have turned around, walked back to the train station, gone home, and pretended none of this had ever happened.

But then what?

Go back to the pack? Keep my head down and wait for my body to betray me?

No.

I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t.

If this place was real, maybe I could have a choice. Something my mother never got. Maybe I could decide what happened to me. What I wanted and what I didn’t.

And if it was a trap... well. Too late to start making smart choices now.

I stood there, staring at the locked gate, trying to decide how bad dying in that alley would be.

Bad, obviously.

Still better than going into heat.

I’d wasted two hours trying to find this place. This might be my only chance. And if I didn’t make it out, maybe that was for the best.

Maybe Mom would be better off without the weight of her half-breed daughter dragging her down. Maybe she could finally marry, have more kids, and be happy for once.

Would she miss me?

Maybe.

The pack wouldn’t.

Jace would.

What a stupid thought.

He was the reason I was standing here. He’d given me the address. A wolf shifter. The enemy. And yet, I still wanted to believe he hadn’t marched me straight into a trap.

Maybe he had. Maybe this entire summer had been a game to him. Wolves loved playing with their prey.

But then why offer to come with me?

I’d told him no. I had to.

Whatever happened, no one could know why I came here. Not the pack. Not my mom. And definitely not Jace.

The alley waited in silence, shadows stretching deeper as the last light slipped away.

Night was coming. I needed to move.

I glanced over my shoulder.

No one was paying attention to me. No familiar scents. Nothing that made the back of my neck prickle. To anyone passing by, I probably looked like just another teenage girl in jeans and a hoodie.

Still, anyone could have been a shifter. If the wolves caught me this far from home, in their territory, without permission, I was dead. And if they didn’t kill me, my own Alpha would finish the job.

A siren wailed down the street.

Perfect.

While everyone turned toward the flashing lights, I grabbed the top of the gate, swung my legs over, and dropped to the other side. My sneakers hit the cobblestones with a heavy thud.

I blinked until the alley sharpened around me. Brick walls. Uneven stones. Puddles dark with old rain. Moss crawling up the sides. Rats rustling through the trash.

I took one step forward.

Something crunched under my shoe, and the stench hit me.

Ugh.

Rotting food. Dirty water. Rat piss. Perks of having shifter senses.

I gagged once, hard enough that my eyes watered, then forced my foot forward, half expecting a monster or a killer clown to jump out from the shadows.

The walls pressed in on both sides. I was a mouse trapped in a maze. A gust of garbage-scented wind swept through the alley and shoved the stink straight up my nose.

No one in their right mind would choose to live here. Except maybe a raccoon shifter.

Or a witch who wanted to hide.

I stopped at the dead end. A high brick wall topped with barbed wire blocked the way. One way in, one way out.

Then I saw it. On the left, a rusted iron door with paint peeling off in strips. Sharp claw marks scratched around the edges told me others had tried to pry it open. Unsuccessfully. There was no sign. No symbol. Nothing to prove this was anything but a bad idea.

No one found this place by accident. You either knew where to look, or you walked past it forever.

My eyes locked onto the handle. Polished brass, gleaming against the rot. It was out of place. Weirdly inviting.

Should I open it? Or run while I still could?

It was a big gamble. But the prize was freedom. A life where my DNA didn’t decide everything.

I reached out and grabbed the handle. It was shockingly cold, cutting into my skin like a blade.

“Ouch!”

I jerked my hand back. A small puncture opened in my palm, welling with blood. That stupid door had just bitten me.

That’s it. I was done. I wasn’t touching that handle again.

But now what? Go back to the coyote pack? Back to where everyone saw me as an outsider. The freak. I was just like my mother. Caught between two worlds, wanted by neither. No coyote would ever mate with a half-breed like me. And with my luck, if I got pregnant, he’d bail just like my dad did.

I spun around to leave, but the heavy iron door groaned open behind me.

A woman stepped out. She wore black from throat to ankle with a high collar and long sleeves. The fabric seemed expensive. Her salt-and-pepper hair was coiled into a neat bun. Heavy rouge stood out against her pale cheeks.

She looked like she was off to a fancy costume party. Or a funeral.

The dim light behind her turned her into something from an old black-and-white movie. Her watery blue eyes flickered, soft one moment and narrow the next. Probing me. Not creepy at all.

I’d known better than to trust a wolf shifter, yet here I was. Definitely a terrible idea.

“Bonjour, petite fille.”

Her French accent thickened every word. She gestured for me to enter, her half-lidded eyes boring straight into me.

Every instinct told me to run. Angry-bear-shifter danger kind of run.

Trust Jace. Don’t panic. Stay calm.

I forced a smile, trying to look like I wasn’t seconds from bolting.

“Hi… I’m Samantha.”

Oh, great. Smooth move. Now a total stranger knew my real name.

“Oui, c’est vrai. Your friend told me you were coming,” she said with a soft smile.

Friend.

Not the word I would’ve used.

Jace was just some wolf shifter I’d met over the summer. And I had personal experience with wolves not being reliable.

Her smile remained soft. Practiced. Fake.

This was a mistake.

“It’s late,” I said, trying to sound casual, even though sweat was already forming on my forehead. “I should get home for dinner. My parents are expecting me.”

“I’ll make it quick,” she replied.

Her expression didn’t change. She studied me like an insect under a microscope, deciding whether to crush me or preserve me for later. Or maybe that was just my overactive imagination kicking in.

Sylvie stepped closer, almost closing the gap between us.

“Trust me, I’m not here to hurt you, fille.”

Her voice softened the words, warm and smooth. For one stupid second, my shoulders wanted to relax.

No. Stay alert.

That had to be magic. Or she was just very good at sounding harmless—which was basically the same thing.

“Oh, no?” I said, holding up my hand. Blood smeared across my palm, though the puncture had already healed. “Your door disagrees.”

“Ah.” She leaned in like we were sharing a secret. “That is only my doorbell.”

I stared at her. “Your doorbell bites people?”

“It warns me when someone is at the door,” she said. “And checks their blood for black magic, compulsion, and bad intentions.”

“I don’t understand.”

Sylvie straightened her skirt, her gaze flicking once toward the shadows behind me.

“Some might call it overkill,” she said. “I call it staying alive. In my line of work, I cannot afford to let the wrong person walk through my door.”

That made an annoying amount of sense.

“So... can you help me?”

I swallowed, trying not to let the hope show on my face. Hope made people stupid. I was already doing a great job of that on my own.

Sylvie tilted her head, studying me again. “Of course I can help you. Believe it or not, helping people is what I do every day.”

Then she turned toward the door. “Follow me.”

Sylvie disappeared into the shadows, leaving the door open behind her. This felt exactly like the scene in a horror movie where the entire audience is yelling at the screen, begging the main character not to step inside.

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my ears.

I thought back to this morning, reminding myself why I’d dragged my ass all the way here.

Waking up earlier than usual, I found my mom passed out on the sofa. Her bloodshot eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, one hand resting loose on her chest. The living room reeked of smoke and stale beer. Pill bottles littered the floor beside an empty fifth of whiskey.

There was no way I was getting close to her in that state. She would have lost it if I woke her, and I wasn’t in the mood to become the reason for another meltdown.

I was so sick of the bottles. Sick of the promises that she’d quit. Sick of watching her disappear a little more every year.

But I loved her too much to just walk away.

If I didn’t follow through with this... I could become her.

So here goes nothing.

Slowly, I stepped into the dark room.

The heavy door slammed shut behind me.

Argh. I was so dead.

My heart leaped into my throat. I tried to breathe, but the air felt too thin and old. In the pitch black, only candle flames were visible, flickering like living things, stretching out from the shadows.

I listened, straining my ears. The silence was heavy, broken only by the faint crackling of wax. Every tiny noise felt amplified. My mind was already playing tricks on me.

As my eyes adjusted, I began to make out vague shapes—furniture, maybe. My fingers brushed against a cold, smooth surface. A wall. Using it as a guide, I inched forward, one cautious step at a time.

One after another, more candles flared to life, their warm glow illuminating the room.

The space was larger than I’d thought. Stone walls. No windows. Heavy shelves ran along all four walls, stretching all the way to the ceiling. They were packed with hundreds of jars, bottles, and boxes of all shapes and sizes, each labeled in curling handwriting.

Where was the witch?

My eyes darted around the room. I spotted a small wooden counter near the back. Behind it, a curtain made of woven feathers hid the entrance to whatever lay beyond.

The earthy scent of soil filled my lungs as I moved closer. Like walking through a forest after a rainstorm.

Just as I neared the curtain, it shifted. Sylvie reappeared, her pearly teeth gleaming in the candlelight.

“My shop is charming, no?”

Not really.

I nodded and forced a smile, pretending to agree. She smiled back warmly, almost making me believe she was genuinely friendly. Almost.

Sylvie’s gaze wandered over the shelves. “A place of my own making,” she murmured, her eyes dark in the low light. “I’m quite attached to it.” Her focus snapped back to me, her eyes narrowing. “So, tell me, fille, what is it you want badly enough to come here?”

“I’m a…” My voice trailed off.

Revealing my identity felt like a betrayal. Especially to a witch. No matter how badly my pack treated me, I didn’t want to risk putting them in danger.

Sylvie’s smile sharpened.

“I know you’re a mixed-breed shifter,” she said, like she’d plucked the thought straight from my head.

My chest tightened. That was impossible. How did she know? Not even Jace knew I was half wolf.

“How…”

“Your blood,” Sylvie interrupted. “I tested it, remember? Now, ma chérie, what do you need?”

I took a deep breath, my cheeks burning as I avoided her gaze. “I need something to stop me from going into heat.”

Heat wasn’t some romantic shifter fairy tale. It was your body taking the wheel and leaving you trapped in the back seat. Heat made you desperate and stupid. Willing to mate with whoever your Alpha chose for you.

I refused to let that happen to me.

Sylvie narrowed her eyes, a crooked smile forming on her lips. “Oui. I can make something,” she said, then disappeared behind the feather curtain.

I lingered near the counter, the aroma of crushed herbs wafting from the back. Sylvie’s high-pitched chanting echoed throughout the room. The strange words grew louder, harmonizing into a chaotic rhythm that caused the candle flames to flicker wildly, casting twisted shadows against the stone.

Then the chanting abruptly stopped, leaving the room too quiet.

Footsteps echoed softly as Sylvie reappeared. Her face was pale, beads of sweat dotting her upper lip. She held a tiny vial filled with a clear liquid, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“Seven drops daily, and it’ll work like a charm.”

For the first time in years, the possibility of a cure finally felt real.

I’d been working all summer, saving everything I could. But would it be enough?

With shaky hands, I reached into my backpack and pulled out a crumpled stack of bills held together by a worn rubber band.

“It’s all I have,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Oh, ma fille,” Sylvie said. Her tone turned icy. “Do you really think money can buy my potions?”

Her piercing gaze drilled straight through me.

“But… I have nothing else to give you,” I whispered. A knot of dread tightened in my chest.

She let out a soft chuckle. “You’re wrong.”

Sylvie pressed the vial into my hand, her voice carrying a confidence that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “All I want from you is something you already have.” Her eyes flashed with an eerie light. “Today, the potion is a gift. But next time, you’ll pay.”

My grip tightened around the glass.

I needed to get out. Now.