Page 19 of Alpha Charmed

“Wait.” Caius goes still beside the largest bookshelf. His head tilts—a predator’s gesture, listening for prey. “Do you smell that?”

“I smell roses and old paper.”

“Underneath. There’s…” He presses his palm flat against the bookshelf, eyes closing. “Preservation magic. Old. Layered. Hidden beneath standard wards.”

I move closer, reaching out with my own senses. He’s right—there’s a second layer of protection woven into the wood itself, so faint I’d missed it entirely. Human senses wouldn’t catch it at all.

Wolf senses, apparently, are more discerning.

“How did you⁠—”

“Wolves track by scent.” His eyes open, meeting mine. This close, I can see the faint laugh lines at the corners that deepen when he’s amused. “Magic has a smell. Old magic has a very particular smell.”

“You never mentioned that.”

“You never asked.”

The words land with more weight than they should. Years of distance, and I’ve never thought to ask how his senses work. Never thought to learn anything about him that wasn’t directly relevant to council business.

Never allowed myself to be curious.

He holds my gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then turns back to the bookshelf. “There’s a compartment behind this. The preservation magic is concentrated here, near the floor.”

We remove books in careful stacks, piling them on the already-crowded desk. The work brings us into close proximity—shoulders brushing, hands nearly colliding as we reach for the same volume. Each accidental touch sends warmth crackling through my skin, makes my magic stir in ways I can’t quite manage.

The hidden compartment reveals itself once the bottom shelf is clear—a section of paneling that’s slightly darker than the rest, worn smooth from years of secret access. Caius presses his palm against it, and the wood slides aside with a soft click.

Inside: journals. A dozen at least, bound in leather and protected by preservation spells so old they feel like breathing. The covers are scorched at the edges, blackened by fire that didn’t quite destroy them.

Someone tried to burn these. Someone failed.

Not entirely, though. Flipping through the nearest volume reveals scorched pages, missing entries, whole sections reduced to ash. These are fragments—rescued but incomplete.

“Mathilda.” My voice comes out rough. “She must have rescued them before⁠—”

Before they could be completely destroyed. Before whoever wanted them gone could finish the job.

Before she died trying to protect them.

I pull out another journal with careful hands. The leather is warm against my fingers, the preservation magic humming with recognition. It knows me—knows my magic, my authority, my right to read what’s inside.

Mathilda keyed these protections to the coven leader. She wanted me to find them.

She just didn’t live long enough to tell me they existed.

The handwriting is shaky. Urgent. Nothing like Mathilda’s usual precise script.

We sit side by side on the study floor, backs against the desk, journals spread between us. The position is undignified for a coven leader, but there’s no room for formality when facing revelations that could shake the foundations of everything we know.

“The dreams are clearer now.” I read aloud, my voice steady despite the trembling of the pages. “I remember… before. We were different. Witches and shifters, not enemies. Not separate. Partners. The magic was… complete.”

Caius is silent beside me. His thigh presses against mine—unavoidable in this cramped space, or so I tell myself. His warmth is distracting. Grounding. Both at once.

I turn the page.

“The Severing was a ritual. I don’t know who performed it. But it tore a fundamental truth apart. We’ve been broken ever since.”

“The Severing.” Caius’s voice is low, thoughtful. “Valesh mentioned that word before she was captured. So did Iskra.”