The Lycan's Little Witch

Emily

“I, Zeke Quill, warrior of East Moon pack, reject you, Emily Davis, as my mate.”

Wait, what? Rejected? Me? Rejected? What?

“I—Why?” I squeaked.

“Because you’re a hexer,” he shrugged.

I cringed. What did he call me? Hexer? No one’s been called that since…it’s an insult.

“A-alright, I-I accept your rejection,” I stuttered, trying not to cry.

Giving me a quick nod, he left. I watched as he walked away, leaving in the middle of the courtyard, eyes welling with tears.

Zeke was a warrior with the East Moon pack. I was surprised to feel the pull of the mate bond with him. It’s not as dramatically strong on us ‘non-werewolves,’ but we still feel something. I guess I was looking forward to having a mate. I always thought it was pretty cool that everyone had a soulmate. It meant that there was someone for everyone. I guess those dreams were fake, after all.

After all, he just rejected me because of what I was. I wasn’t a Hexer. I was a witch! There’s a difference! He didn’t even look ashamed. Maybe it’s a good thing he rejected me. I could find someone better.

I hope.

***

I spent the rest of the afternoon at home. My bed was my best friend. The blankets hugged me with their softness as I cried into my pillow. I knew he didn’t deserve my tears, but I wanted to get it all out. I wanted to get better. Right now, I was just in pain. I knew it hurt to be rejected, but this is painful. It may be a good thing I wasn’t a werewolf. The pain would have been much worse.

My mom and Ian were on a trip for a few days, so they wouldn’t return until tomorrow. Thank goodness. I didn’t want them to see me like this. I, at least, enjoyed some time to get myself together. The last thing I wanted was for Mom and Ian to walk in on me like this.

After spending too much time in my mind, I decided to do something productive. I leaned over the side and reached for the black book underneath the bed. I was not too fond of the word Hexer. It was a horrid term used to describe witches and warlocks back in the day. To think he would call me that.

Gazing at the book, I laid it next to me and propped my head on my fist. Turning the pages one at a time, I looked back at everything I’d learned. My mother had a one-night stand when she was in college. She didn’t want to abort the baby because she wanted to take responsibility. Luckily, Grandma and Grandpa were willing to help. While mom went to school, my grandparents watched me. They were retired with nothing better to do, so they always fussed over me. Mom said she came home one day after classes and couldn’t find anyone. Grandma and Grandpa didn’t have cell phones, so my mom freaked out.

She called the police and dubbed it a silver and amber alert. Of course, while my mom waited at home with a detective, another showed up with me and my grandparents. They said they took a day trip to New York with me and forgot to tell Mom. To speak furiously was an understatement. She was livid. After that, my grandparents got cell phones and always told Mom when they left the house with or without me.

I chuckled.

Then the day came when I was five, and I got my powers. You were considered a late bloomer if you got your powers at eight, but thankfully, I got mine early. Mom and my grandparents helped me master my powers. The spell book was a gift from them on my tenth birthday. It’s a rite of passage when a new witch or warlock gets their spell book. Evidently, on that day, my mom met Ian. Ian was a retired werewolf with the Hunters Association, a corporation dedicated to keeping the balance between the supernatural/mythical world and protecting humans from those who wish harm.

He was sitting in the park on a bench when they met. Ian didn’t have a mate. He thought he would never get one because he couldn’t have children. However, all that changed when he met Mom. My mom was his mate. He immediately fell in love with her, but winning her heart took him a while. When he did, they married, and the three of us moved to Ian’s old pack, the East Moon.

I can’t call Ian my father.

The reason?

Simple.

My birth father did a one-and-done with my mom, while Ian was the opposite. He’s always been there for Mom and me, especially Mom. That’s why I’ll never call him Dad. He’s too important. Plus, I don’t want to inflate his ego.

Before I knew it, my memory lane trip was out for the night. Apart from me, I dread what will happen when Ian and Mom get home.