He had to find him.

He had to save him.

He had to get to safety.

And so, he ran.

He had no clear destination in sight as the Woodlands was foreign territory he had never explored before. So, as much as the light casted down from the full moon tried to navigate him through the snowy lands, the darkness of the night was so great that even if he found the correct path that would lead him out—lead him back home—he would not have recognized it.

Even in wolf form he feared his speed would not be enough to outrun them. But he could not afford to be caught.

He did not know how long he had been running, but he did not dare stop. Adrenaline kept him from slowing his pace, and fear kept him from looking behind to see if he was still being chased.

Just as he jumped over a fallen tree, a dark cloaked figure suddenly appeared in front of him. With no opportunity to avoid the collision, he braced himself for the impact. But the figure took a single step forward and lunged at him.

He cried out when he felt a sharp pain in his stomach, and his body hit the cold ground hard. He tried to move, to get up, but the pain was so great it had completely incapacitated him.

He had been caught.

And as he listened to the crunch of snow beneath the feet of the approaching cloaked figure, he knew his pain would soon come to an end.

He had failed to protect him. To save him.

He fought to keep his eyes open, but only managed to see a flash of red before darkness grabbed hold of him and pulled him under.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the bright full moon hanging above him in the dark starry sky. It took a second for him to remember he was in the Woodlands, but failed to remember how he ended up passed out and laying in the snow.

He made a move to get up when pain erupted from his stomach and made it impossible. He looked down to find an open wound and his blood staining the snow beneath him.

Panic struck him hard, and was quickly followed by fear.

He was dying. He was dying and he did not know why or how.

Had it been them? Was this his punishment? There was a nagging feeling—perhaps even an answer or thought—at the back of his mind, but he could not coax it into coming to the forefront.

Instead, he thought of his mother and hoped his death would not break her. Next, his father, and hoped, well, for nothing as he knew he would not shed a tear for him. Lastly, he thought of his brother, and hoped he would not blame himself.

Apart from his shallow breaths, the Woodlands was eerily quiet. Peaceful. Even though he was far from the comforts and familiarity of his home, and an intruder in a foreign land, he thought it might not be the worst place to die.

As he laid in the snow, the pain in his stomach slowly started to subside, and a coldness he had never felt before began to spread throughout every part of his body. Soon, it became a struggle to keep his eyes opened as he felt himself getting weaker by the second.

It would not be long.

All he could do was look up at the moon through blurred vision and let out a whimper. For help? Hope? He was not entirely sure. He had no strength to howl, so perhaps it had been his way of saying goodbye.

And then, he heard it. Footsteps.

His heart began to race as he wondered if it was his attacker.

He was able to turn his head slightly. Not much but enough to at least not be at such a disadvantage.

He could not see it clearly, but he could smell it. A sweet smell he had never come across before, but one that made him impossibly certain that it was a fairy. It had to have been as he was on their lands.

He should have been afraid, but fear was the last thing he felt as the fairy continued to venture closer to him. Instead, he hoped not for it to not to be afraid, only that it would not be afraid of him.

Before he knew it, the fairy was crouched down beside him. He could not clearly make out its face, only the red cloak it was wearing.

And then it spoke.

Michael woke up, gasping for air and clutching at his stomach. Seeing nothing but darkness and moonlight let him know it was still night.

He had never had that dream before and did not know what to make of it.

Dying in the Woodlands? A fairy? Had he spent too much time in there, and, perhaps, had one too many thoughts about the abandoned fairy, and that was the reason for its sudden occurrence?

It had to be.

He turned his head towards his bedside table to check upon the bird, worried he might have woken it. It was still fast asleep, completely unaware of what was going on with him.

Must be nice.

He moved to sit up, and when he saw a shadow on top of his white sheets, he realized he was not alone. He slowly turned his head to find Zanna sitting on the edge of his bed, her dark brown eyes staring intensely at him.

The moonlight not only illuminated her light brown skin, but also made the worry on her face hard to miss. She pulled the hood of her black cloak down, revealing her ebony hair tied back with only a few tendrils of curls left out to frame her oval face on either side.

Honestly, he did not know if he was happy or sad to see her. There was no shock when he should have been shocked at her sudden appearance. No confusion when he should have been confused over seeing her in his chambers in the middle of the night.

But what he could not deny feeling was relief.

Michael propelled himself forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her. A second was all it took before she did the same, her hold just as tight. Just as secure. Just as needed.

"Michael," she whispered, her voice full of worry.

"You came. Thank you for coming, Zanna."

She had come. Regardless of what had transpired between them, regardless of her being a witch and he, a wolf, he had called out to her and she had come.

And he would not let her visit be in vain.

* * *

Standing next to his window, Michael watched Zanna. She stood in front of his bedside table, staring at the sleeping bird. As if it sensed her gaze, the bird opened its eyes and stared back, and even went so far as to tilt its head to the side, inspecting her as she inspected it.

No more than ten minutes had passed since he woke up and found her in his chambers. It was enough time for the relief of her arrival to wear off and for him to remember why he had called out to her in the first place—to ask for her help.

But he found himself hesitating.

Because although she had unbuttoned her cloak, she had not taken it off, which could have only meant she had no intention of staying long.

So much time had passed since they last spoke, and he worried he had not only lost any right to ask anything of her but also any right to her time.

He turned to face the window and stared out at the Woodlands. The night was enduring yet another snowfall, making the sea of trees that made up the northern territory look wickedly enticing.

He had always had a perfect view of the Woodlands but had never taken the time to appreciate it. Now, it seemed he could not help but look at it every chance he got. Not because of its beauty, but because of what it hid inside.

"I never took you for the type to raise a pet."

Although he was relieved Zanna broke the silence first, it had not pulled his attention from the Woodlands.

"'Tis not a pet, but a temporary freeloader."

"Temporary or not, birds are meant to be free, not caged, Michael."

The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for the tiny creature, but finding it at Gabriel's grave made him believe he was meant to save it.

"If I were to have left it out there, the only freedom it would have found was death. It has a broken wing."

"Are you certain a broken wing is the only thing wrong with it? It has not chirped once."

A smirk spread across his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned around to look at her. "Perhaps it just does not like you."

Her response to his remark was to stand up straight and turn away from the bird to face him. Her expression was serious but her eyes could not hide her sadness.

"Is the bird and its broken wing the reason you called out to me after all this time?"

Just like that, he knew he could no longer hesitate. It was now or never.

He dropped his arms to his side and stood up straight. "No."

"No? Then what, Michael? You seemed desperate, which is why I came, but I cannot stay long. Tell me why you called."

"You helped the Fae once. Would you be willing to help again?"

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

If her initial intention was to deny her or her coven's involvement in the Fae's escape, she must have realized he would not have said what he said if he had not been absolutely certain. The moment his mother told him to reach out to her, he knew it had to have been her coven.

"Again?"

"There is a fairy in the Woodlands. I do not know why she is there, but she is. And if she is discovered and captured, I am positive it will not bode well for those we want to protect most."

If it came to light her mother, Moreena, and their coven helped the Fae escape the war, they would not only become an enemy to the Wolves, but deemed traitors by the other covens.

"I promised to reunite her with her people. My mother told me you could help."

She shook her head. "Our business with the Fae is over."

"Clearly it is not. Your business was to help them flee to a new realm. If you do not care about one of them being left behind, then why did you help them a year ago?"

"We had our reasons."

"What reasons?"

"The same reasons that compelled your mother to want to help them, as well."

The only thing his mother consistently reiterated whenever he asked for answers was her belief in the Fae's innocence concerning Gabriel's abduction and death.

Had Zanna's coven believed it, too? If so, why were they the only ones out of all the covens to help? The Witches had confirmed Gabriel's story of being kidnapped by the Fae to be true. If it had not been true, then why did they lie?

He took a step forward. "You believe they were innocent?"

"The real question is why are you concerned about a single fairy? And are you certain you want to get involved?"

"I do not want to. I have to."

"And I do not want to, nor have to. I understand you want to protect Reina, but we have a fight of our own, Michael. I do not know if we can help."

A fight? Had things really gotten so bad amongst the Witches in the last year?

He knew there was a rift between his kind and hers since the almost war, but had not been aware of any problems amongst the Witches. How could he when he had cut Zanna off? He had been so focused on his own feelings and drowning in his own misery, he could not see there were others drowning around him.

He crossed over to where Zanna stood. She looked away when he stared down at her, even made a move to walk away, but he grabbed hold of her arm to keep her in place.

"Explain."

She pulled her arm out of his grip, but did not make another attempt to get away. "The covens are all at odds with each other, and there is no sign of peace anywhere in the distance."

This time he really took a good look at her—the tiredness on her face, the sadness in her eyes that may not have been for or because of him, after all.

She had a lot going on, and it did not bother him that he was completely unaware, but that he had not been someone she could come to and share her troubles with.

Not anymore.

Yet, there he was asking for help from someone who needed help of her own, and putting his needs and problems above all else.

"I know I am asking a lot from you, and that I have no right to ask at all. But I would not be asking if there was any other way to protect my mother."

"No other way?"

She walked over to the window and, just as he had done, stared out at the Woodlands.

"You say your mother is at risk, but there is a simple solution, Michael."

He wanted to be appalled at what Zanna was suggesting, but then he would have to act like the same thought—solution—had not crossed his mind when he first discovered the fairy.

"I will not harm her."

She turned and looked at him. "Will not, or cannot?"

"Is there a difference?"

"One that is as hushed as a secret, yet as loud as a revelation."

Witches and their riddles.

"Well, I will say it loud and clear so there is no confusion. I will not harm her."

Nor would he let anybody else harm her.

He took it the message had been received just as loud and clear when Zanna nodded.

"Understood. I will speak with my mother and the coven and get back to you. That is all I can promise you right now."

He walked over and stood next to her, reached out and began to button up her cloak. When he was done, he slid the hood onto her head.

He had no choice but to accept that Zanna and her coven were not definite allies just yet, but it was a start. She had not denied him, which meant he would hold on to hope they would come through and offer their help.

"Thank you, Zanna."

"I make no promises, and perhaps you should not, either."

She was right. If the Witches refused to help, the promises he made could no longer be kept. But he had already made them—a promise to protect his mother and her secret, and a promise to protect the fairy, whose existence ran the risk of that secret coming to light.

And he was determined to keep them both.

"Before I go, do you want me to fix the bird's wing?"

Michael turned his head and looked over at the bird. When he noticed it trying to climb over the tunic to get to the bread roll next to it, he began to walk over. "Thank you, but no. I wish to see to its healing to the end."

"Is that not just prolonging its suffering?"

He was prepared to defend his choice until he wondered if it was solely the bird she was talking about. But when he turned around to ask, she was already gone.

A/N: Zanna & her coven helped the Fae once. Do you think they'll help again? Thank you for reading! :)