Forbidden Wild Magic: The Crimson and Cinder Enemies-to-Lovers Collection

Ember's Awakening

The scent of pine needles and damp earth clung to my cloak, a familiar comfort. Late autumn in the Whisperwood always smelled like letting go. Leaves, lives, secrets… they all drifted down and settled into the soft loam, becoming part of something else. I liked that idea. Becoming something else. Right now, I was just Lyra Everly, witch of the Everly coven, and my biggest problem was a stubborn root that refused to yield to my coaxing.

Old Man Tiber, the oldest tree in our clearing, needed a new binding charm. His roots were starting to creep into the herb garden, and Nana Willow would have my hide if another patch of moonpetal was crushed. It wasn’t glamorous work, tending to ancient trees and fussy plants, but it was ours. It was safe. It was quiet. And after everything, safe and quiet felt like a miracle.

I focused, channeling a sliver of my magic, Cinder Magic, they called it, though most witches preferred to just call it trouble. It wasn't the gentle green growth magic most of us wielded. Mine was… different. Ash and ember, smoke and heat. Beautiful, but volatile. Untamed.

A tiny wisp of grey smoke curled from my fingertips, dancing around the root. It softened, yielded slightly. Good. Just a little more…

“Lyra?” Elowen’s voice, warm and laced with concern, cut through the quiet.

I sighed, releasing the spell. The root settled back into its stubborn position. “It’s being difficult, that’s all.”

Elowen, my best friend since we were children, strolled into the clearing, a basket of foraged mushrooms swinging from her arm. She was everything I wasn’t: calm, practical, and blessed with a soothing healing touch. “It always is with Tiber. He’s got a mind of his own, that tree. Though, honestly, you’ve been staring at that root for an hour. Maybe a different approach?”

I managed a weak smile. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just avoiding Nana Willow.”

Elowen laughed, a bright, melodic sound. “Always the way. Speaking of which, she asked me to find you. Council meeting tonight. Something about increased magical disturbances near the outer edges of the wood.”

My stomach tightened. Disturbances. That never meant anything good. Usually, it was just overzealous sprites or misdirected fae magic. But lately… lately, there was a heavier feeling in the air, a discordant hum that vibrated in my bones. A sense of something wrong.

“Do you think it’s serious?” I asked, helping Elowen sort through her mushrooms.

“Old Man Hemlock is fussing, and you know how he gets. He probably saw a particularly bright firefly and thinks the world is ending.” Elowen shrugged, but her eyes held a flicker of worry. “Still, it's best to be prepared.”

The Council Chamber was carved directly into the heart of a massive oak, its walls lined with glowing moss and intricate carvings depicting the history of our coven. Nana Willow, her face etched with years of wisdom and worry, sat at the head of the long, wooden table. Around her were the other Elder Witches, their expressions grim.

“The reports are consistent,” Nana Willow began, her voice resonating with authority. “Unusual magical signatures, escalating in intensity. Not natural. Not fae. Something… darker.”

“Could it be the Blood Court?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.

A collective shudder ran through the chamber. The Blood Court. The vampires. We’d maintained a fragile peace with them for centuries, governed by the Obsidian Concord. But peace with vampires was always tenuous, a delicate balancing act between respect and fear.

“It’s possible,” Elder Moira said, her voice raspy. “But their activity usually centers around Veridia. This is… deeper in the wood. Closer to our borders.”

“We’ve sent scouts,” Elder Rowan added. “They haven’t returned.”

My gut clenched. Scouts not returning was never a good sign.

“I want Lyra to investigate,” Nana Willow announced, her gaze fixing on me.

My breath caught ...