Page 1 of His Spellbound Mate

Chapter One

Neville

The Alaskan sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow-covered landscape. Though it was daytime, the light was soft and golden, bathing the world in a warm glow that contrasted sharply with the bitter cold of the air. Neville Lawless relished the feel of the sun on his fur as he raced through the forest, his powerful wolf form moving with effortless grace over the rugged terrain.

It had been far too long since he had taken a run like this, just for the sheer joy of it. There were no responsibilities here; no pack matters to attend to, no looming threats or worries about the curse that haunted his nights. Out here, in the wilds of Alaska, he could let go and simply be a wolf—a creature of instinct, of power, of freedom.

The forest was alive with the sounds of the day. Birds chirped from their perches in the trees, their songs clear and crisp in the cold air. The rustling of small animals echoed through the underbrush, hidden from view but not from Neville’s keen senses. He could smell the rich scent of pine and earth, mingling with the sharp, clean scent of snow. It was a heady combination, one that made him feel more alive than he had in weeks.

His paws barely made a sound as they touched the snow, each step light and sure. The snow was deep in places, but Neville navigated it with ease, his powerful legs propelling him forward in long, bounding strides. He ran for the sheer pleasure of it, feeling the stretch of his muscles, the rush of the cold air into his lungs, the steady thrum of his heartbeat in his chest. It was a reminder that, despite everything, he was still alive, still strong, still capable of finding moments of peace in the chaos of his life.

The forest gradually gave way to a wide, open meadow, its blanket of snow sparkling under the sunlight like a field of diamonds. Neville slowed his pace, taking in the beauty of the scene before him. The meadow stretched out as far as his eyes could see, a vast expanse of white framed by the dark green of the forest and the towering mountains in the distance. It was breathtaking in its stark simplicity, a reminder of the raw, untamed beauty of the land he called home.

He trotted to the center of the meadow, his breath visible in the crisp air, and paused to take it all in. In sharp contrast to the woods, the silence in the meadow was profound, broken only by the occasional creak of the trees as they swayed in the wind. For a moment, Neville simply stood there, allowing the serenity of the place to wash over him. There was something about the Alaskan wilderness that always managed to calm the storm inside him, to soothe the restless energy that constantly simmered beneath the surface.

As he stood in the meadow, Neville tilted his head up to the sky, letting the sun warm his face. He closed his eyes, focusing on the simple pleasures of the moment—the feel of the snow beneath his paws, the gentle caress of the wind, the comforting weight of his own body as it shifted slightly with each breath. It was these moments, these fleeting respites from the demands of his life, which kept him grounded and reminded him of who he was at his core.

He began to move again, more slowly this time, his pace relaxed and unhurried. He wove through the trees at the edge of the meadow, his senses attuned to the world around him. The sounds of the forest were different in the daylight, more vibrant, more alive. He could hear the distant trickle of a stream, the rustle of leaves as a small creature scurried away, the call of a raven high above. Everything was in harmony, a perfect balance of life and nature.

Neville allowed himself to enjoy the moment, to appreciate the rare sense of peace that came with it. He knew that it wouldn’t last forever, that soon enough, he would have to return to his duties, to the reality of his life as alpha and the curse that threatened to consume him. But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside. They didn’t belong here, not in this place, not in this moment.

He continued his run, moving at a steady, easy pace through the forest, savoring the freedom that came with it. He could run for hours like this, losing himself in the rhythm of his movements, the pulse of the earth beneath him, the dance of light and shadow through the trees. It was as if he was part of the forest itself, a living, breathing embodiment of the wilderness.

As he rounded a bend in the trail, the trees opened up to reveal a small hill that overlooked the valley below. Neville climbed to the top, his breath steady despite the exertion, and stood at the summit. The view was spectacular—a sweeping vista of snow-covered mountains, dense forests, and winding rivers, all bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun. It was a view that never failed to take his breath away, no matter how many times he had seen it.

Standing there, high above the world, Neville felt a deep sense of contentment settle over him. For a brief, precious moment, the worries and fears that usually plagued him were gone, replaced by a simple, unshakable connection to the land. This was his home, his refuge, the one place where he could be truly himself.

With a final glance at the stunning landscape, Neville turned and began to make his way back toward the pack’s territory. His pace was still leisurely, his movements fluid and relaxed. The run had done its job, easing the tension in his body, clearing the clutter from his mind. He knew that when he returned, he would be ready to face whatever challenges awaited him, but for now, he would savor the last moments of his run, letting the wilds of Alaska work their magic on him.

As he reentered the forest, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow. The day was beginning to wane, but Neville didn’t mind. He was at peace, if only for a little while longer, and that, for now, was enough.

Later, as he stood on the cliff overlooking the compound of the Silver Ridge Pack, the wind howled around him, ruffling his shaggy dark hair, and the distant sound of the ocean crashing against the rocky shore echoed in his ears. The Alaska Peninsula had always been a place of wild beauty and untamed danger, much like the man who now stood as the alpha of the Silver Ridge Pack. But his path to this moment had been anything but straightforward.

He had not been born into the role of alpha. Neville had earned it, fought for it with every ounce of strength he possessed. The previous alpha, a grizzled veteran named Tobias, had served the pack well for decades. But time had caught up with Tobias, and he knew that the day was coming when he would have to step down. With no capable sons to inherit the title, the old ways dictated that the strongest, most skilled and accomplished wolf would take his place. It wasn’t a position that was simply handed over; it had to be won in blood and sweat.

When Tobias announced his intention to step down, the pack had erupted into a flurry of activity. The contenders were many—young, strong wolves with keen instincts and a desire to lead. Neville had been among them but had never been the obvious choice. He was strong, yes, but there were others who were stronger, faster, more experienced. Still, he had something that set him apart: a cunning that others often overlooked and a burning drive that refused to be quenched.

The day of the challenge had been brutal. The pack had gathered in a wide clearing, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. The rules were simple: the last wolf standing would become the new alpha; no weapons, no mercy, only raw strength, and determination. Neville had steeled himself for the fight, knowing that this was his one chance to claim what he believed was his destiny.

The fight had been a blur of fur and fangs, growls and snarls. Neville had faced off against wolves he had known for years, some of whom had once been his friends. But in that moment, there were no friendships, no loyalties—only the primal need to survive and win. He had taken down one challenger after another, his body a whirlwind of motion, his mind focused on the goal. Blood had stained the earth beneath their feet, and the air had been filled with the scent of sweat and fear.

In the end, it had come down to Neville and one other—a massive wolf named Garrett. Garrett had always been a fierce competitor, and many had expected him to become the next alpha. But Neville had fought with a desperation that surprised even himself. He had dodged Garrett’s powerful blows, striking back with precision and speed. It had been a grueling battle, but finally, Neville had managed to bring Garrett down, his teeth sinking into the other wolf’s neck in a display of dominance. The clearing had gone silent as Neville stood over his fallen opponent, his chest heaving with exertion.

When Tobias had stepped forward to acknowledge Neville as the new alpha, there had been a mix of emotions in the eyes of the pack—respect, fear, and a grudging acceptance. Neville had felt a surge of pride but also a heavy weight settling on his shoulders. The title of alpha was not just an honor; it was a responsibility, one that he would have to bear every day for the rest of his life or until he, too, chose to step down and let another wolf lead.

In the weeks that followed, Neville had settled into his new role. He had learned to lead, to make decisions that would affect the lives of every member of his pack. It had been a challenging adjustment, but Neville had embraced it. He was determined to be a strong leader; to protect his pack and ensure their survival in the harsh wilderness they called home. But just as he began to feel confident in his new position, fate threw him a curveball that would change everything.

It had started on a night when the moon hung full and bright in the sky, casting a silver glow over the landscape. Neville had been patrolling the outskirts of the territory as was his custom, when he had felt an odd sensation—a prickling at the back of his neck, a sense of being watched. He had stopped, his keen senses alert, and that’s when he had seen her.

She had appeared out of the shadows like a wraith, her form barely more than a whisper in the night. A woman, but not quite human—her eyes glowed with an eerie light, and her presence radiated an otherworldly power. Neville had thought to shift to his wolf form but decided it was best to remain as a human. His wolf prowled the corners of his mind, ready to spring forward if needed. But the woman had not attacked. Instead, she had spoken in a voice that seemed to echo from the depths of the earth itself.

“Neville of the Silver Ridge Pack,” she had said, her tone soft yet laced with a menace that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “You have risen to power through strength and cunning, but you are not without your flaws.”

Neville had growled in response, his golden eyes locked on the stranger. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The woman had smiled, a chilling sight that sent a shiver down his spine. “I am known by many names, but that is not important. What matters is that you and the pack you lead have disturbed the spirits of those who came before you and occupied this land.”

Her words had stung, but Neville had refused to show weakness. “I have done nothing wrong, nor has my pack. What others did before me is not of my concern. I do what is necessary to lead.”