by Rose, Callie
Ridge and the other two men attempting to “claim” me face off against one another. Their faces grow thunderous as they stare one another down, and I know without a doubt they’re ready to fight at any moment, if it comes down to it.
Because of me.
I’m the touchstone, the pivot point between them, and dammit, I just want to run far away from this madness.
Another figure steps forward from the circle, and my breath chokes in my throat. Jesus, am I about to be claimed by yet another wolf?
But this is an older man with thick gray hair and an even grayer beard, the lines by his eyes thick and deep. He claps his hands and the murmuring falls silent.
“It is not possible for a mate to be claimed by three different wolves,” he says in a deep, scratchy voice. “The bond is formed between one male wolf and one female wolf, as it has been since time immemorial.”
“Then how do you explain this, Elder Barton?” the turquoise-eyed shifter asks haughtily, motioning to Ridge and the golden-haired man.
“Two of you are mistaken, Trystan,” the elder intones, then his gaze shifts to Ridge. “Or lying.”
“No one is lying,” Ridge says through gritted teeth. “Despite our somewhat colorful pasts, I know neither of these men are liars. And I’m certainly not either.”
The man named Trystan huffs but gives a sharp nod. “I’m not accusing anyone of lying. Although those two could be mistaken,” he adds pointedly, jerking his chin toward Ridge and the blond man.
There’s another small burst of muttering among the crowd, but the elder holds up his hand again, effectively silencing them all. He crosses his arms over his flannel shirt and levels his calculating gaze on Ridge.
“You are sure your wolf has claimed this woman?”
Ridge looks at me, his gaze fierce and protective. It’s like his amber eyes are made of fire, sparks dancing in their depths. “As sure as I am of my own name.”
Warmth blooms inside me as his words settle over me, and against my better judgment, I take a single step toward him. When he sees me move his way, his face softens, shifting his expression back to the man who held me beneath the shower last night as I pieced my mind back together.
“Trystan?” the elder says, turning to the blue-eyed man.
The shifter with chocolate brown hair and confident demeanor nods. “She is mine.”
Mine…
Even as I’m straining to fight the urge to reach Ridge, I sway toward this other man, this Trystan. I’m floored by the sudden and immediate response in my body at the sound of his voice.
Ridge growls under his breath, and there’s an echoing growl from the golden-haired man behind me.
Oh, fuck. If all three of them are so certain their wolves have claimed me, are they going to have to do something crazy like fight over me? Just the idea sends terror piercing through my heart. I reevaluate the open door, my gaze darting in that direction as I try to decide whether or not I should run.
The elder gives both men a stern glare, but then nods at the blond man and asks, “Archer? Are you positive?”
“Yes, Elder. My wolf is certain this woman is mine.”
Mine…
As if in a daze, I swivel on my heel to look at Archer, drawn to meet his eyes. While Ridge and Trystan are both darkly handsome in their own separate ways, Archer is a boy-next-door type, with shimmering blond hair and moss-green eyes. When our gazes meet, he gives me a soft smile that sends a little thrill through me, and I whip around, latching back on to Ridge’s gaze as if I’ve done something wrong.
Through the niggle of panic that’s still trying to burst free, I recognize that I’m reacting unconsciously to each man. None of them are willing to back down. They’re all certain I’m their “mate,” whatever that means. And weirdly enough, I’m drawn to all three of them too.
I can’t even pretend to know what’s going on here. Obviously, I know the textbook definition of a mate, and I know that for most animals, basic biology drives them to find a good match and propagate their species. I was kept away from the world, but not kept from books. Uncle Clint taught me to read before his treatment of me devolved into nothing but cruelty and neglect, and books became my lifeline in the midst of despair. I even watched some movies on the old TV he kept in the basement until it broke, so I’m not totally ignorant of the world.
But what does it mean for a shifter to mate?
I refuse to let myself explore that thought too deeply. So much has been thrown at me in the past two days that I’m confused and in borderline panic mode as it is. The last thing I need to do is add strong emotions to this circus.
The elder catches Ridge’s eye, drawing his attention away from me. “I think, Alpha, that in light of recent events, it would be best for us to postpone the rest of this meeting. Do you agree?”
Ridge shakes his head as if to clear it. As if he’s reminding himself who he is and where he is. He looks a little dazed, and I’m comforted a bit by the thought that I’m not the only one who’s been thrown by this new development.
“Yes.” The rugged man makes a circle where he stands, addressing the crowd. “You are all dismissed. Keep lines of communication open and stay vigilant against the witch threat. We will reconvene this summit soon.”
Though there’s a general air of agreement among the few dozen gathered shifters, I can tell many people aren’t amused by the turn. Lawson in particular stands beside me looking as if he’s about to make the terrifying transformation into a wolf so he can go for someone’s jugular.
“So we’re going to ignore the fact that Ridge brought a stranger into our midst?” he snaps at the elder.
The elder looks down his patrician nose at Lawson. “Calm down, cub. This is none of your concern. The mate bond is a sacred thing, and if that is truly what this is, it overrides our other laws and customs. Even the treaty.”
“And the next time you burst into a council meeting where you are not invited, brother, I won’t be lenient.”
Ridge’s words are full of so much controlled fury and power that nearly every shifter in the building backs up a half-step, as if Ridge is the epicenter of a bomb and they’ve all been hit by the blast.
Lawson growls, but he stalks away without a backward glance, shoving past the people gathered near the door before disappearing from the barn. Only after he’s gone do I realize how much his chaotic, aggressive presence was affecting me. My knees go a little weak as a rush of relief floods my body.
I barely move, but Ridge notices the change in me anyway. His gaze snaps back to mine, and he strides toward me, one strong hand wrapping around my good elbow.
“Are you all right?” he asks gently, his strangely-hued eyes searching me as if checking for visible injuries—or new ones, anyway.
His gaze lingers on the arm Lawson nearly yanked from its socket, and a little of the pure fury from earlier ignites in his eyes again. I know he saw how roughly the other man treated me, and I get the feeling it’s a testament to Ridge’s self-control that Lawson is still alive.
I nod, too exhausted and strung out to catalogue all of my injuries. But my knees still feel wobbly. I’m coming down from the adrenaline rush.
“What’s going on?” I ask him, my voice barely a whisper. “What are you all talking about? I’m… I’m not a wolf.”
12
Sable
Ridge glances at Trystan and Archer, who are both watching us with intense expressions.
“I honestly don’t know,” he murmurs, squeezing my hand as he turns back to me. “But there’s something in you that speaks to my wolf. And theirs as well, I guess. We need to find out why.”
The elder finishes ushering everyone out and returns to us, his gaze sweeping over me for what seems like the first time. He purses his lips, pity filling his face as he takes in my bedraggled appearance. But I notice a careful sort of distance in his expression too, and I wonder if part of him believes what Lawson said. Does he think I’m a witch?
�
�I think it’s best if we go see Elder Jihoon,” he says finally. “Perhaps he can help.”
I look to Ridge for an explanation, but he’s exchanging glances with Trystan and Archer. Something unspoken passes between all of them, and I bite down hard on my bottom lip as I attempt to decipher some shred of its meaning.
Dammit. I hate this feeling of being outside my depth, or not knowing what the hell is happening.
The panic still simmering beneath my skin wants me to scream and shout and demand answers, but I know, logically, that doing so will just make even more of a case against Ridge for bringing a crazy person into their village. I’ve been trouble enough for him since the moment he brought me home. I don’t want to make his life any harder.
We leave the barn, Ridge still gripping my elbow lightly as if he’s laying physical claim to me, and silently head through the village. The barn was already on the outskirts, far from Ridge’s little cabin, but we walk farther into the wilderness instead of heading back into the village proper. We pass a few final houses, stretched farther apart than the rest, before the elder veers off from the dirt road and up a weed-covered path to a tiny, corrugated metal cabin that looks as if a stiff wind might knock it over.
The elder’s knock makes the whole structure shiver, and we wait in skin-crawling silence for an answer. A cool breeze shifts my hair around my face, and I shudder, pressing tighter to Ridge’s side. On my right, Trystan’s gaze shifts to us; he presses his lips together, looking angry.
I don’t know if he’s mad at Ridge or me or this entire situation, but what am I supposed to do? Does he want me to be leaning against him like this? I don’t know Trystan at all. Or Archer, for that matter. It’s weird enough to feel like Ridge is my ally and friend, when all I’ve done is get his clothes wet in the midst of a panic attack and sleep in his bed.
The door swings open with an audible screech that echoes off the mountains behind the structure. A little old man peers out at us from dark, almond-shaped eyes that I doubt miss anything at all. He’s small and wizened with long gray hair bound in a loose bun at the back of his head.
He lifts one graying brow, taking us all in with a sweep of his gaze. “Yes?” His focus lands on me last, and his eyes narrow. “Who is this?”
“This is Sable, Elder Jihoon. Sable…” Ridge turns to me, trailing off with a question in his gaze.
“Sable Maddock,” I supply. I can’t see any benefit to trying to keep my identity a secret from these people. The situation has spiraled so far out of my control that questions of whether they’ll call the cops or alert my uncle seem almost like the least of my worries now.
“We need your help determining whether Sable is a shifter,” Ridge continues. “We believe she is, but it would be helpful to know for certain.”
“Well, nothing in life is ever certain, Alpha.” The little man chuckles. “You know that. But I’ll do what I can. Come in, come in.”
By the time we’ve gained entrance to Elder Jihoon’s hut and are scattered around the living room, the first elder—Elder Barton, I deduce from conversation—has caught the older man up on the high drama we seem to have built on the council floor.
Elder Jihoon stares at me for a very long, very uncomfortable moment, his fingers stroking his short, scruffy beard.
“Quite interesting. You know nothing of any of this?” He directs the question at me, leaning forward as if he wants to hear me better.
I jolt, unprepared to be put on the spot like this. Then I swallow and shrug helplessly. “No, sir. I grew up in a small town. I’m not a shifter or a witch. There’s nothing special about me.”
“I’d hardly say that,” Ridge offers with a little smile.
Elder Jihoon stares at me for a long moment, barely seeming to notice that Ridge has spoken. Finally, he gets to his feet and shuffles away, disappearing through the only other open door in the shack. He reappears a moment later carrying two metal rods.
“Stand, please,” he says, motioning at me with one of the rods.
I do as he asks, though I’m wary of the tools in his hands. Elder Jihoon is so calm and unassuming, just being in his presence has calmed me after the spectacle in the barn. His peaceful demeanor doesn’t exactly make me amenable to being within reach of those metal rods though. I stiffen and keep my hands loose, ready to bat the things away if they get too close.
Both metal rods are thin and taper to sharp points. Elder Jihoon holds them by wooden handles that are separate from that actual metal and curve downward at a ninety-degree angle. When I glance at Ridge, he just gives me an encouraging nod that isn’t really helpful against the terror I’m struggling to hold back.
Elder Jihoon walks around me with the rods pointing straight at my body. He moves slowly, gently lowering and raising the rods from my head to my abdomen as he walks. I watch with a sense of odd detachment as the rods dangle and shift seemingly on their own.
How the hell did I come to be here? Standing in this musty shed, smothered by the scent of a strong, heady incense as a strange old man waves sticks at me and three wolf shifters declare I belong to each of them.
How is this even real life?
But if I’m truly honest with myself, I’d rather be here amidst this chaos and insanity than back at Uncle Clint’s house worried about whether I’d end the day in blood and pain. This isn’t at all what I expected when I threw myself out of his car that night—hell, I’m not sure I expected anything; I certainly had no solid plan—but at least I’m still alive.
I stand stock still for so long in the drifting incense smoke that I lose all track of time or self. Is this really happening? Or is it happening to someone else and I’m already dead? Maybe I died at the bottom of the ravine and everything else has been some weird fever dream in the afterlife.
Finally, the old man steps away and lowers his metal sticks.
“The dowsing rods do not lie,” he intones. “Though we cannot be sure until she manifests, I do believe there is a wolf inside this woman.”
13
Sable
The elder’s words send a rush of surprise through me, and I blink away some of the daze.
There’s a wolf in me?
Looking around at the men who are watching me, I try to work through the detachment I feel. Ridge, Trystan, Archer, even the two elders, these men are all wolves.
Wolf shifters, specifically.
Part man, part animal.
I was able to work through the initial shock when Ridge revealed the truth to me while we sat on his bed this morning. It still sounded bat shit crazy, but I saw that man in his living room shift into a wolf. Seeing is believing, right?
But… me? I can’t even process the possibility. I’m just a girl. A girl with an uncle who’s been vicious, cruel… and inhuman.
The thought jogs my brain and shakes away the last of the cobwebs. Could Clint be a shifter, too? Were my parents? They must’ve been, if I am.
“How?” The word comes out choked and almost too low to be decipherable. “Wouldn’t I know? I’ve… I’ve never shifted in my life.”
Elder Jihoon places his metal rods on the table and sits on the couch with the stiff movements of a man with aching joints. He taps his chest with a single arthritic finger. “That’s not surprising. Your wolf lives inside you. If a shifter is not raised to embrace the wolf from the beginning, the beast will wait until you are ready before emerging.”
Maybe his words are meant to be reassuring, but if they are, they miss the mark. Then again, I’m not sure there’s much that could reassure me right now.
I sink down to the scratchy couch cushions beside the elder, my head feeling light and airy.
“Why wouldn’t my uncle have told me?” I ask, horrified to find my voice still isn’t cooperating. The detachment is trying to creep back in, and I’m fighting the urge to rip Elder Jihoon’s incense burner off the wall and chuck it out the window. I’m suffocating under the thick smoke as yet another panic attack tries to manifest inside me.
But Ridge is apparently getting a handle on the “Sable is on the verge of disintegrating” mumble. He puts a soft hand on my shoulder, letting its weight rest there without holding on to me. His expression softens as he murmurs, “It’s not outside the realm of possibility that your uncle has no pack. Even your parents might not have had a pack.”
Archer, who’s leaning against the arm of the couch, nods his agreement. “With the way packs have splintered in recent years, we’ve seen an uptick in lone wolves. Shifters who think they’ll be safer alone. So there are plenty of solitary wolves out there.”
Trystan scoffs and rolls his eyes. He’s the farthest from the couch, standing near the wall by the front door as if he’s wary about stepping farther into the elder’s house. Despite his obvious disregard for what Archer said, he doesn’t elaborate on his disagreement. Whatever history the two have, and whatever the backstory there is to the “lone wolves” they’re talking about, I honestly can’t fathom adding either to my current list of things to deal with.
“So where do we go from here?” Elder Barton asks, his brow wrinkling. “The girl is a shifter, so obviously she’s welcome on our lands. But the mating situation is… problematic.”
“Perhaps two of you are mistaken?” Elder Jihoon asks, squinting at the three men.
Too late, he realizes what a Pandora’s box he’s opened. Arguments and insistences start flying at a volume level way too high for such a small house. I collapse back against the couch cushions and do my best to shut out the sound, closing my eyes. I don’t want to sit here and listen to them argue yet again, no matter how “strongly” they “feel the bond.” I don’t want to watch them hurl insults at one another because they don’t believe they can all be mated to one woman.
I didn’t ask for any of this. All I wanted to do was find a way to be free of Uncle Clint. Somehow, I managed to get myself caught up in a different kind of prison.
