Witch and the hothead 23
Sam
Sitting on the back porch a few days after the pack meeting, when a sudden, searing pain rips through my head. I have to lock my jaw to keep from screaming. It's not just pain—it's laced with something else. Whispers. Hushed voices. Then, just as suddenly as it came, it stops.
I open my eyes and realize I've fallen from my chair, now on my knees. My nails are bleeding. I've dug my fingers into the wood so hard they've splintered. I suck in a shaky breath. Everything feels... different. Off. Like something has shifted—but I can't quite put my finger on it.
Or maybe I should say, I can't put my paw on it.
My wolf is agitated. Not from a nearby threat—no. He's furious. At me. I feel him clawing at the back of my mind, a shiver racing down my spine. I try to push him back, try to assert control, but he slams against my will—and I lose it.
I explode.
The shift comes fast, violent. I collapse as soon as I phase, my body unprepared for the sudden transformation. I haven't lost control like this since the first time I shifted—but even then, it was instinct, survival. This? This is something else entirely.
This is my wolf taking control.
For the first time, my human side wasn't strong enough to stop him.
I let out a low whine, curling on the ground. The voices return—louder now. Chanting. A mantra in Quileute, but I can't make out the words. They rise in intensity, buzzing like a earthquake inside my skull. I feel sick.
And then—darkness.
In the blackness, a small spot of light appears. I move toward it slowly, cautious. When I step into the light, I see him—my wolf. Strong, healthy, his coat so dark it gleams with a sheen of blue. He turns to face me, and when our eyes lock, I gasp.
No words are needed. I feel his disappointment, his dissatisfaction, and it strikes me like a blow to the chest.
Figures begin to take shape behind him. Ancestors, dressed in traditional Quileute clothing, their long hair caught in an unseen breeze. Their faces are solemn, serious. They stare at me in silence. Then, as I blink, their forms shift—becoming wolves. And beside them, their imprints appear. They don't look at me. Their eyes are on their mates, full of trust and devotion.
I can feel the energy between them—the power of mutual respect, of love shared in balance. It brings me to the edge of tears.
My wolf steps forward, slowly, purposefully, until he's inches from my face. I bow my head.
The resentment I've always carried for him—this beast inside me—and the frustration over my situation begin to melt away. In that moment, I understand: we are not enemies. We are one.
Ana warned me years ago that separating the man from the wolf would lead to trouble. And now, the cracks are showing. I saw it first in Jacob. I blamed his incomplete imprint bond, an easy excuse. But deep down, I knew it was more than that. It became clear that day when I met Hermione.
She walked up to my wolf like she had nothing to fear. Brave. Steady. Her eyes never wavered—not once. And in that moment, something in me shifted.
My wolf was drawn to her immediately. Not with hunger. Not with dominance. Just… curiosity. Respect. A quiet pull that felt almost reverent.
It was nothing like how he is with Emily.
And if I'm being honest, I didn't feel that way toward Emily in the beginning either. That urge—the need to control, to dominate—it crept in over time. Slow. Insidious. Wrapping itself around us until it became the default.
And with that realization, another truth hits me: she's changed.
Emily used to be fire. Bright. Fearless. I remember her eyes—how they burned with her spirit. Now, she's quiet. Careful. A ghost of the woman I imprinted on. Like a timid fawn, just trying to survive in a world I shaped around her.
Could it be that the war between my wolf and my human side created something toxic? That in trying to maintain control, my dominance grew unchecked—and she had to shrink just to stay by my side?
The shame is unbearable.
My wolf blinks, slowly. The disappointment begins to fade, replaced by something softer. The light dims. Before the darkness returns completely, I see the imprints once more. Their gazes land on me—not harsh, but hopeful.
Then everything goes black.
When I open my eyes again, I'm naked, back in human form, lying on the ground. The porch railing is splintered from the force of my sudden shift. I shift my gaze to the figure sitting on the steps up to my house, Ana.
Her gaze is steady, warm. That same kind smile she's always worn rests on her face as she pats the step beside her.
I sit up slowly, my body weaker than it's ever been, and let out a shaky breath. With unsteady legs and no thought to my nakedness, I rise and walk over to her. I sit down beside her, the cool wood grounding me. She doesn't say anything at first—just stares out into the trees in silence.
"I've waited for this day for a long time, Samuel," she says at last, her voice soft. "It's a shame it had to come to this, but it was necessary."
"I… I don't really understand what happened," I admit, my voice breaking.
She nods and pulls out her pipe, lighting it with practiced ease. She inhales, then exhales slowly, the smoke curling like a spirit between us.
"Tell me everything," she says gently. "I'll help you decipher the message. Our ancestors are always clear, if you just open up and let it sink in."
"My wolf…" I begin, my throat tight. "He was disappointed. Frustrated with the distance between us." I pause, searching for the right words. "He doesn't approve of how I've handled the pack. As a wolf, and as a man."
Ana hums in quiet agreement.
"It was just so much disappointment," I whisper. "The ancestors… it felt like I've let them all down. The whole tribe." My voice cracks. "And the imprints—God…"
A sob breaks free as I cover my face with my hands.
"Emily. God, I've let her down so much. I've killed her spirit. I saw it—I felt it. I made her into a woman so subdued, so small… all because of my own failure as her mate."
I'm sobbing now, fully unravelling. Ana's hand rests gently on my shoulder, and I let myself fall apart under her touch.
"Listen to me, Samuel Uley," she says, firm yet kind. "This isn't all your fault. We—the council, we've failed you. We're meant to guide, to support. But instead, we stood by, clinging to old beliefs and traditions. The same traditions that made the old pack fall apart."
Her voice thickens with emotion as she continues.
"And now, we've made the same mistake again—by letting you carry all this alone. You're a young man, not even thirty, but you act and look like you've lived a hundred years. That's what happens when you're forced to carry a weight meant for many, all on your own. And for that, I am truly sorry."
She pauses, letting her words settle.
"The vision you saw—it came to me yesterday, I felt the disappointment you described, the message from the imprints. But now, you've been given a second chance because of two events that has taken place over these past days and it has given you a chance to rebuild the pack into something strong, something unbreakable. But—" she adds, her tone sharper, "you'll need all your wolves. You can't exclude anyone. And you must open your heart to change."
The warning in her voice is clear. If I keep walking the same path, the pack will suffer—and if the pack suffers, the land will suffer.
My thoughts drift to Paul, and the shame rushes back. He's been the one with both eyes open. He's seen what the pack has become, and he's spoken the truth. Instead of hearing him, I pushed him away.
"I have to talk to Paul," I mumble, rubbing my swollen eyes with the back of my hand.
But Ana's hand stops me as I start to rise.
"Let it rest a few days. Let this sink in. And begin with your imprint. You'll need her now more than ever."
She grips her cane and rises, walking a few steps down the path. Then she turns, eyes glinting in that way only Ana's ever could.
"You have a bright future now—if you let your wolf, your imprint, and the ancestors guide you."
With that, she turns and disappears down the path, leaving me in the silence of the evening.
I don't know how long I sit there, lost in thought, before a voice as soft as an angel's calls out behind me.
"Sam? I made dinner."
I close my eyes, letting her voice wash over me. It sends shivers across my skin and warmth into my chest. I smile, turning around and opening my arms.
"Come here, my love. Sit with me."
Her eyes light up, and she skips over to me. I let out a laugh as she shrieks and giggles when I pull her down into my lap, her arms wrapping around my neck. I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in, holding her close.
And I thank Taha Aki for this second chance.
Jacob
I wake with a gasp, my whole body drenched in sweat as the dream slowly fades. But it didn't feel like just a dream. It felt heavier—like a warning. A message.
I've dreamt of our ancestors before. I've had visions at the bonfires. But this was different. Urgent. My wolf's eyes—my eyes—reflecting disappointment and unease. Not the usual kind of worry that constantly lingers in my mind over Bella, but a deeper fear. A fear for the pack. For our survival as a tribe.
In the dream, I saw myself, Sam, and Jared's wolves standing apart, alone in the distance, while the rest of the pack turned and walked the other way. I could feel their happiness—so stark against the despair that clung to us like a storm cloud. For a brief moment, resentment flared in me. But my wolf snarled, urging me to follow the others. When I did, the happiness came. The light. It was easier to breathe again.
What does it mean?
I glance at the clock—4:50 a.m.
I hear my dad stirring in his room, getting ready to start the day. I pull on a pair of sweatpants and head to his door. I knock, and a muffled "Come in" follows.
The lingering disappointment from the dream hits harder when I step inside and see the state of his room. Clothes piled up everywhere. Dust hangs in the air like a fog. I lower my eyes, unable to meet his.
"What's the matter, Jake?" he asks gently.
I rub the back of my neck. "I had a dream… well, I think it was a dream," I begin, and he hums softly in response.
"Help me into my chair so we can talk," he says.
I cross the room and lift him with ease. His once-strong frame now so small and fragile. I swallow hard, pushing down the lump in my throat.
He wheels past me toward the kitchen, and I follow. I start the coffee maker and lean against the counter, his eyes already on me.
"Tell me about this dream," he says.
I glance up. His eyes are open, steady, without judgment. I sigh and begin to talk, letting the words come. He doesn't interrupt. Just nods, listening, his presence grounding me. I pause only to pour him a cup of coffee before sitting across from him at the tiny kitchen table.
"I think you've interpreted the dream correctly," he says, his voice thick with pride. "That's not a small feat for someone as young as you, Jake."
The pride in his voice makes me squirm. I look down at the table.
"It just feels like I've failed," I murmur. "The pack. The tribe. You."
He watches me, but says nothing yet, so I keep going.
"I've been so lost in my own head since the imprint. So caught up in her… I've completely neglected my duty as a pack member. And as your son."
My voice wavers, the sting of tears building behind my eyes. I close them and tilt my head back, trying to hold on to my composure.
"And I have failed you," he says quietly, "as your tribal leader… and as your father."
I snap my eyes open, surprised. He's staring at his coffee, his voice low.
"The pack's duty is to protect our land, our people," he says. "But the council's duty is to guide, to support—and we haven't. I haven't. I saw the destructive pattern in the pack, Jake, and I said nothing. I gave no counsel, no support. I should've stepped in a long time ago. But I've been just as lost as you."
I feel his regret settle into the room like a thick fog.
"But what's changed?" I ask, confused. "Why now? Why did I wake up today with such… clarity?"
He falls quiet, lost in thought. Then he speaks.
"I think something in the pack or maybe in the land itself has shifted. Something significant enough to make the ancestors willing to speak again. Up until now, it's been small glimpses. Whispers. But after hearing your dream, or vision, it feels like they're closer. Like there's hope again."
He smiles, faint but real. We sit in silence, sipping our coffee, each lost in thought. I stare out the kitchen window over the sink, watching the bare trees sway in the wind. I can feel it in the air—snow's coming. I need to fix the truck. Another thing I've neglected.
But first, I need to help Dad clean his room.
I can't even remember the last time I did that. The guilt hits hard, a heavy weight in my chest. If there were an award for Worst Son of the Year, I would've won it years ago.
I gather our empty mugs and take them to the sink.
"I'm gonna clean up in here," I say. "Do you want me to drop you off somewhere, or would you rather watch something while I work?"
Dad grins. "I'm going to call Charlie. There's a game tonight, and that old bastard still owes me some vitamin R."
He wheels himself over to the phone. I chuckle and head for my room.
I yank the sheets off my bed and toss them into the laundry bag. I do the same in Dad's room, collecting the scattered clothes that have been piling up. Then I crack open a window, letting the cool air sweep through, flushing out the heavy, stale air.
It feels like the house breathes again.
Sometime later, Dad calls out that Charlie's here and he'll give me a call when he needs a ride back. I shout a quick "Okay!" and get back to work.
But then a voice snakes into my mind:
"No wonder Bella didn't want you. You can't even take care of your own father, let alone keep a house clean."
I drop onto the couch, burying my face in my hands, groaning.
It's true. Every time Bella was here, she was the one cleaning, helping Dad with the dishes and the laundry. And I just… took it for granted. Why would she want to stay here, in this rundown house, when she has a perfect boyfriend who can give her anything she wants?
The lightness I felt earlier fades, replaced by a slow, sinking despair.
Do I even have the right to fight for her anymore?
My wolf whines, loud in my head, clearly hating where my thoughts are going.
No. Maybe before I didn't. But now? Now that the wool's been pulled from my eyes? Maybe I can become worthy of her. Worthy of the blessing that is the imprint.
I shake the thoughts away and focus on the tasks at hand.
Soon, the whole house is spotless. The bedrooms are tidy, beds freshly made, clean sheets tucked in tight. I glance into Dad's cramped room and frown. More space would make things easier for him. I wonder if Hermione might be able to help with that. I've seen what she did with Ana's old place—it wouldn't hurt to ask.
And I haven't seen her since the council meeting.
It's just past noon so there's still plenty of time before Dad calls. I throw on a pair of cutoffs and grab my phone, heading outside to the truck.
I pause on the porch and groan.
Right—the tires.
Can't go anywhere until I get those changed.
Luckily, I've done this a million times. With my strength and skills, it doesn't take long. That's part of the reason my mechanic business is so successful—I can finish twice the number of orders in a day compared to anyone else around here.
About forty minutes later, I'm done. I wipe my oily hands on a rag, toss it onto the passenger seat, and slide into the truck. The engine rumbles to life, and I head toward Hermione's place. I can't stop wondering what she thought of the council meeting. She and her grumpy friend left not long after the bonfire, and I didn't get the chance to talk to them.
I turn off the main road and onto the narrow one that winds up to her house, humming along with the song on the radio. The pine trees blur past in streaks of green and brown, and for a moment, just a moment—everything feels calm.
Then my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I slow down and fish it out, not thinking much of it, until I glance at the screen.
Bells
Hi Jake
My foot slips, and the truck jerks slightly off the road before I recover, slamming on the brakes. My heart pounds in my chest.
I stare at the text.
My brain disconnects from my body, frozen. I can't move. Can't breathe. My fingers hover uselessly over the screen, as I just sit there, staring at her name.
Bells.
The sound of my heartbeat roars in my ears, drowning everything else out. My hands tremble as my mind finally catches up, dragging me back into my skin.
I swallow hard and, with more hesitation than I've ever felt before, I manage to type just one word.
Bells?
.
.
.
.
Hello everyone!
Sorry for the long absence again. I see your comments, and I've been thinking about you all—hoping not to let you down. But now… I'm back!
Can you feel it? The wind of change? The wonder that imprints can bring and the light they shine upon the tribe and the pack?
Imprints have a deeper impact than just on the wolf. And maybe—just maybe—these new imprints carry even more weight, considering they involve our favourite witch and her wonderfully grumpy wizard?
...And yes—Bella has reached out!
Let me know what you think about the chapter!
Thank you, as always, for your comments, follows, and likes. You truly make my day, and your support makes me even more excited to keep this story going.