Chapter 7: I'm Not Afraid of You

Roots of Desire

Chapter 7: I'm Not Afraid of You

The air thickened as Iveyna crossed the boundary into the ancient grove. Moonlight spilled through the canopy in silver shards, highlighting the monolithic stones rising from the earth like jagged teeth. The memory of this place gnawed at her; of the creature she had seen here. The thing she couldn’t forget.

Her fingers tightened around the leather strap of her satchel. Each step forward stirred the unease curling low in her stomach. She told herself it was foolish to return. That whatever she thought she had seen was nothing more than a shadow playing tricks. But the pull was undeniable.

Behind her, the forest held its breath.

Woodward moved unseen, his massive Treant form melding with the darkness. Roots slid noiselessly beneath the earth as he shadowed her every step. She was bold to return; reckless, even. And yet, he couldn’t turn away. Not from her.

When she passed the ring of stones, his magic shifted. The pulse of ancient power in her blood flared again, faint but undeniable. What are you? The question gnawed at him. No ordinary mortal should feel the forest's call; yet she did.

Iveyna knelt, running her fingers over the soil where her head had struck days before. The ground was undisturbed now, but she swore something had happened here. Someone had been here. Her pulse quickened as she stood and turned in a slow circle, eyes scanning the shadowed boughs.

"I know you're here," she said quietly, the words almost swallowed by the wind. "I saw you."

A tremor ran through Woodward’s frame. He should leave; let her curiosity die in the silence. The Druidic Council would call this meddling. Dangerous. Yet, as her voice trembled across the grove, something deeper stirred.

Iveyna stayed rooted in place, heart pounding as the massive oak shifted again. Limbs folded inward, bark groaning softly, and the creature emerged once more; his half-humanoid form stepping into the silver gleam of moonlight.

He was closer this time. Too close.

"You didn’t answer me," she said, her voice steady despite the way her pulse thundered in her ears. "Who are you, and why do you care if I’m here?"

Woodward tilted his head, the movement slow, deliberate; like he was studying prey that had wandered too deep. "Because you shouldn’t be," he rumbled. "And yet, you return. Knowing what waits in these woods; knowing I wait."

The words brushed against something raw inside her. "You don’t scare me."

"Don’t I?" His voice lowered, rough like wind scraping through hollowed wood. "A girl alone in the forest, speaking with something not quite man; not quite beast. If you had any sense, you’d be running."

"I’m not running," she said, lifting her chin. A low sound; almost a chuckle; rumbled from his chest. "No. You’re not."

His gaze swept over her, lingering a beat too long. She felt it like a touch, a warmth that slid beneath her skin and pooled low in her belly. She should be frightened. Any sensible woman would be. But something about the way he looked at her; like he was both curious and tempted; made her breath hitch. "You didn’t answer me either," she said, unwilling to let him steer the conversation. "Why are you watching me?"

Woodward took another step forward, the earth shifting beneath his feet as though the forest itself bent to his will. "You… are an anomaly," he admitted, though his voice softened at the edges. "Most mortals wouldn’t feel my presence; not under the veil of my magic. And yet…" His eyes; deep, mossy green; bored into her emerald eyes. "You did."

A shiver rolled down her spine, but she held his gaze. "And that bothers you?"

"It interests me." The words hung heavy between them, charged with something she couldn’t quite name. "You stir the magic beneath these roots; an old magic that should have remained dormant." His jaw clenched. "That makes you dangerous."

Iveyna let out a quiet scoff. "Dangerous? I gather wood and haul coal. What kind of threat could I possibly be?" His mouth curved; half amusement, half something darker. "A greater one than you realize." She should leave. She knew it. But instead, she stepped closer. "If I’m so dangerous, why not drive me away?"

Woodward was still, but tension thrummed through his form, like a bowstring pulled tight. "I considered it."

"And?"

His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest of moments before lifting again. "I couldn’t." The air between them grew heavy; thick enough to taste. The wind stirred, brushing stray strands of her hair against her cheek. When she didn’t speak, he continued, his voice lower now. "You don’t belong here. But you… fit."

Her throat tightened at the strange weight of his words. "That doesn’t make sense." "It doesn’t," he admitted, a flicker of something frustrated beneath his calm. "You unsettle the balance. But the forest doesn’t reject you; not entirely. And neither can I."

Iveyna swallowed hard. His words shouldn’t make her heart race. But they did. "Is that why you followed me?" Woodward’s mouth twitched; a hint of a smile that never fully formed. "Would you rather I let the Steward’s eyes follow you unchecked?"

Her breath caught. "You… you saw that?" "I see many things," he murmured, his tone darkening. "I feel the rot spreading from him; the way his greed poisons the land. And I feel the weight of his attention on you."

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A tremor crawled up her spine. "Why does it matter to you?" Woodward stepped closer; so close now that the scent of earth and moss enveloped her. "It shouldn’t," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it does."

Iveyna tried to cling to reason. To the fact that he was something other; something she should fear. But instead, her next words came softer, more vulnerable than she intended. "And if I come back?"

His hand twitched at his side; like he wanted to touch her but knew better. "I will find you," he said simply. A sharp heat bloomed low in her stomach at the promise tangled in those words. "And if I want answers?"

Woodward’s lips parted as if he meant to respond; but he hesitated. For all his power, there was something restrained beneath it, something that pulled tight when he was near her. Finally, he said, "Then you know where to find me."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. But there was no fear; only the pull, low and unrelenting. Iveyna’s heart thudded hard against her ribs. "I should go," she whispered, though she made no move to leave.

"You should," Woodward agreed, but his voice lacked conviction. The forest seemed to hold its breath as she finally stepped back, putting space between them. Yet the pull remained; a tether she couldn’t see but felt with every step. As she turned toward the path leading home, his voice cut through the stillness one last time.

"Iveyna."

She froze, glancing back over her shoulder. "Be careful who you trust in that town," he warned, something rough and possessive threading through his tone. "Not everyone has your best interests in mind." Her chest tightened, but she nodded. "I’ll be back," she said quietly. And as she disappeared into the moonlit shadows, Woodward remained; rooted, watching, waiting. And for the first time in centuries, he wasn’t certain whether he hoped she would return… or feared it.

Woodward lingered long after she disappeared into the night. The forest settled around him again; familiar, ancient, yet… changed. Her presence still clung to the air, stirring something restless beneath his skin. No matter how far she walked, the pulse of her footsteps echoed through the roots, tugging at his senses like an itch he couldn’t ignore.

I’ll be back.

Her words haunted him, each syllable curling through his mind like a creeping vine. She shouldn’t return. He should make sure of it. And yet; he hadn’t stopped her. Wouldn’t.

With a slow exhale, Woodward closed his eyes and sank deeper into the earth’s embrace. His Treant form eased back, branches curling inward, bark shifting as his limbs grew more sinew than wood. He remained in his half-humanoid form; a compromise between the two sides of himself that never quite settled.

The forest breathed with him. He stretched his senses outward, feeling the delicate hum of life beneath the soil. Roots tangled with his awareness, and his magic unfurled; an extension of himself as he reached beyond the clearing.

Focus.

It was a command he’d given himself more times than he could count. The girl was a distraction. An anomaly. He needed to understand why the forest reacted to her; why he reacted to her. Woodward’s magic brushed against the remnants of her presence; a warmth still imprinted on the forest floor where she had stood. And beneath that warmth, something deeper stirred. Something old.

What are you?

The wind shifted, carrying the distant sound of the village; the faint clang of metal from the smithy, the murmur of voices settling for the night. Among them, he felt the foul undercurrent of him.

The Steward.

Woodward’s jaw tightened. His magic recoiled from the place where the Steward’s home cut into the land; a wound festering with greed. His roots stretched toward it, and the earth trembled at his touch. He should pull back. He should let it be. But something dark curled in his chest, a gnawing need to know. To see.

Exhaling slowly, he cast his senses deeper; pushing beyond the outer walls of the house. His magic crept through the foundation, curling like roots through cracks in the stone. What he found there made his core twist. The air inside was thick; cloying with the stench of sweat and wine. Beneath that lay something sour. Fear. It pulsed weakly, like a trapped animal struggling against a snare.

His awareness slipped into the chamber beyond. Moonlight spilled through narrow windows, illuminating the large bed and a young woman. Strands of dark hair clung to her damp brow, her breath shallow and ragged.

And beside her; the Steward.

He lounged against the pillows, half-clothed and sated. A smirk tugged at the edges of his mouth as his fingers traced idle patterns.

Woodward felt the tremor run through her body as the Steward’s hand lingered too long. She didn’t move; not now. Perhaps she’d learned the cost of fighting.

Bastard.

A raw, violent heat clawed at his chest. He had known the Steward was rotten; anyone with a shred of sense could feel it. But this… this was not mere greed. It was rot. Something foul eating through the bones of the village while no one dared speak of it.

And still, his thoughts circled back to her. If the Steward ever turned his gaze to Iveyna; if he ever dared to touch her; Woodward’s grip on restraint would snap. He knew it. And he didn’t care.

A growl stirred in his throat, low and dangerous. He curled his fingers tighter against the bark of the tree, forcing himself to stay grounded. If he gave in to the urge to strike now, it would expose everything; his presence, his powers, his disobedience to the Druidic Circle.

And yet, if the Steward had done this once, he would do it again. Woodward’s magic surged through the roots, deeper and hungrier. He touched the foundations of the house and willed the wood to twist. Slowly, the support beams groaned; a subtle, warning sound. Not enough to be noticed. Not yet. But if the Steward thought himself untouchable, he was wrong.

You are being reckless, a voice in his head warned. He didn’t care. Not when the stink of the Steward’s desires fouled the land beneath his feet. With a final pulse of magic, Woodward withdrew his senses. But the bitter taste of what he had seen lingered.

If the Steward ever touched Iveyna, there would be no magic; no law; that could keep Woodward from ripping him apart.

A low growl rumbled through his chest.

He should remain detached. It was the first law of the Druids; to protect, not to interfere. And yet, the memory of the Steward’s gaze on Iveyna gnawed at the edges of his restraint.

The others would call this weakness. And they wouldn’t be wrong.

Woodward’s fingers curled into fists, bark cracking along his knuckles. He had already crossed too many lines; lingering near the town, following her, allowing her to see him. If the Circle knew, they would summon him back. They would bind him to the heart of the forest, stripping him of the autonomy he had fought so bitterly to keep.

But the Circle did not feel what he felt. They did not sense the ripple she caused every time she stepped into the woods. A ripple that called to him.

Woodward exhaled sharply and pressed his hand against the trunk of the nearest tree. The bark softened beneath his touch, bending to his will. Through the connection, his power flowed; a deep pulse that rippled through the roots and veins of the forest.

He murmured an incantation in the old tongue, letting his magic weave through the earth. A protective ward; subtle but effective. It would warn him if the Steward; or anyone else; stepped too close to the forest’s edge. Especially near the path Iveyna had taken.

It was a reckless thing to do. And it meant he had already chosen.

Chosen to watch. To follow. To guard what did not belong to him. The realization settled heavy in his wooden core. She was drawing him in; and he was letting her.

His hand lingered against the tree a moment longer, feeling the hum of his magic settle deep. It would hold. For now. And when she returned, as she promised, he would be waiting.