by Callie Rose
Adult Cleo is on the ground at my feet, still grasping at my clothes. Her shrieks have petered off into sobs now, and she’s very obviously avoiding looking at her father’s face. Her nails dig into my wrist and magic floods into me as she tries to take control.
Nope. Sorry, psycho. We aren’t done.
Summoning all my strength, I rip her from this memory and into another.
We’re in the woods. Cleo’s father is leading her into the darkness by the tail end of a rope that’s wrapped around her hands. She’s dressed in tattered clothes and gagged, and tears have left tracks on her cheeks. She stumbles over a fallen tree and goes down hard on her bound hands, but her father just leaves her there.
“You should have considered the consequences of your actions,” he says coldly, then drops the rope next to her, turns around, and walks away.
Adult Cleo is openly crying now, as if everything inside her is shattering to pieces.
Suddenly, from the shadows, a shifter emerges. In the darkness of the woods, teenage Cleo can’t see him, but she hears his approach and scrambles to her knees, her voice shaking as she calls, “Wh-who’s there?”
He’s a massive creature, even bigger than any of my mates. His fur is raggedy and missing patches where obvious scar tissue is visible from old wounds. He looks like a brawler—like he’s made his life all about battle and pain. A lone wolf, probably. What Dare might’ve become if he hadn’t found his way back to a pack. Vicious and brutal.
He growls, then leaps on the helpless girl.
Cleo may not have been her sister’s equal in magic, but she’s still strong. The shifter slams into her, his teeth ripping through her shoulder. She screams in pain and fear, but immediately counterattacks, even with her hands bound. She throws the wolf off her with a shield sigil and scrambles away, working with magic at the knots securing her hands. She gets free of the rope before the shifter is able to shake off the blast, and then she rips off her gag as he attacks again.
It’s a short, vicious battle. The shifter fights without mercy, attacking over and over even as she lashes his skin and gouges his fur with spells. His eyes have the same eerie blankness I saw in Cleo’s earlier.
No guilt. No remorse. Not even any anger.
He’s not doing this because he hates her. He’s doing it because…
Oh, God.
It strikes me in a wave of horror that this shifter attack wasn’t an accident. Her father carted her into the woods for her to be killed. He was too much of a coward to deal with it himself, so he hired a shifter to do his dirty work.
The clearing is bathed in blood by the time the fight is over, but in the end Cleo wins. Barely. And not without sustaining vicious wounds.
My strength is lagging, my mind reeling from the effort of maintaining control over her magic. But I can’t stop now. With a desperate yank, I pull Cleo back through the connection and into another memory.
We’re back at the Victorian house, and the scene is just as gruesome. Only this time, it isn’t her twin sister dead on the floor.
It’s her parents.
This is a few years later than the previous memory, I think. Cleo’s older, taller, appearing more like the woman I know now. And she didn’t use a gun this time either, by the looks of it. She used magic to make a point.
So her father would die knowing she was stronger than him.
I glance down at Cleo where she’s sprawled in a heap on the ground beside me. She seems to have lost all will to move, to fight back. Even her magic has stopped struggling against my hold. Maybe she’s as fucking exhausted as I am. She just cries silent tears from closed eyes so she doesn’t have to see the destruction she’s wrought on her own life. So she doesn’t have to face the truth of what she did.
But no… I can’t even completely blame Cleo. Her father made her this way. He beat the psychopath into her and paved the way for her to become this… this monster. Of course, I also realize now why she hates shifters so much. Her hatred is a bit misplaced, considering the fact her father was the one who hired the wolf to kill her.
She looks so pathetic right now. A broken madwoman.
I feel almost sorry for her.
Maybe that’s my mistake. Because as soon as my mind softens toward her, I lose the iron grip I’ve kept on her power. Her eyes flare wide open, and she lets out a hellish scream as she launches herself to her feet. With her power back under her control, she holds out her hands, black smoke pouring from her fingertips.
I react instantaneously. There’s no time to worry or question whether I can do what I need to—I just do it.
I pull my men from the astral cave right into the living room of Cleo’s childhood home.
They leap for her, growling and snarling, and I deflect her spell with one of my own just as she goes down beneath them.
This time, they don’t hesitate. They don’t give her a chance to threaten me or our unborn child.
They go for the kill immediately.
I turn away, unable to watch no matter how much I feel like I should. I hear the snap of her neck, and the harsh tang of blood fills the air. The memory washes away around us—Cleo’s dead parents vanish and the house melts away into history until we’re back in the cave.
And now the only dead body on the ground is Cleo’s.
29
Ridge
Cleo’s blood pulses from her body against my tongue, and it’s a strange sensation. This place is real, but not real, and her blood is an illusion. I know that. But I can taste it, coppery and bitter. I can feel it slippery on my tongue, leaking down my chin as her heartbeats slow. Underneath that, I sense the life leaving her. And it’s all as real as if we were back in the real world.
In my peripheral vision, the unfamiliar house fades away, replaced by the dark cave where we were waiting when Sable and Cleo disappeared. Then, with a strange rush, something shatters and power floods the cave. The energy flashes and then peters out, and I realize it’s the connection between Cleo and Sable breaking.
The sensation of Cleo’s warm, bloodied skin between my teeth vanishes, and I hurtle through the dark, cold ether with no control over my limbs. It’s so sudden it knocks the wind out of me, like I’m plummeting off a skyscraper on a collision course for the asphalt, but I can’t even scream.
I slam back into my body and open my eyes to fiery purple twilight and the ongoing sounds of battle from below. I have no idea how long we were gone, and no way to know if time moves the same in the astral realm as it does in the physical realm. As my companions return to their own bodies, I rush forward to look out over the edge of the plateau and take stock of what’s happening in the battle.
I see more witches sprawled lifeless on the ground than I do wolves, but the fight’s still going strong, which means they don’t know about their leader yet. It’s only a matter of time though. Chances are good she has witches guarding her hiding place. At some point, they’ll figure out she’s dead.
And now that she’s no longer a threat… it’s time for us to join the fight.
We’re needed below, I say through mind speak as the others join me on the edge of the overlook.
Trystan huffs in agreement. Sable stays here.
We all look at her, and I know every one of us is stuck on one piece of information—the woman we love is carrying a child. Our child. There’s not a chance in hell we’re letting her go down there to fight.
She frowns at us. “I can help.”
You can stay here, I say firmly.
Her glare hardens. The fact that we can now communicate through the bond when we’re in wolf form and she’s in human form is helpful, but it doesn’t change her stubborn nature.
Archer leans against her side, nuzzling her hand as he says, Use your powers from above and keep us safe.
She sighs. “Fine. But I don’t like it.”
You don’t have to like it. Trystan grins. You just have to let us take care of you sometimes.
My gaze drops to her stomach
, a torrent of emotions lashing through my chest. He’s fucking right about that. I know Sable can handle herself in a fight—she just weakened the leader of a powerful coven, breaking down her defenses until we could go in for the kill. But knowing she’s carrying a baby, the beginning of our little family?
Fuck. I can’t let her risk herself anymore today. I just can’t.
I step toward her and nuzzle her stomach, wanting so much more but knowing there’s no time. She runs her fingers through my fur as she catches my gaze, her blue eyes glittering like stars. Then she nods.
Let’s go, I say to the others, and we leap into action.
We race down the steep slope past the witches’ flat-fronted stronghold. The building is the same color as the mountain’s dirt, which explains why it’s so well camouflaged. The doors are hanging wide open, and if there were witches defending the fortress before, they aren’t there now.
But the battle hasn’t gotten too close to the stronghold. Witches and shifters clash violently in the open clearing, where blood already paints the ground and black smoke hangs like a dense fog over the chaos. Adrenaline pumps through my body at light speed, and I pick up the pace, drawing ahead of the other alphas and baring my teeth.
I barrel into the fray at full speed, my gaze darting around for my first mark. Nearby, two witches stand with their backs to me, flinging magic at a group of shifters who are attempting to dart in and stop them. I shift course and run for them, then leap at the witches’ backs, taking them both down with a well-placed paw between their shoulder blades.
They hit the dirt face first, and then the group of shifters they were attacking turn the tables on them.
For several moments, I ravage my way through the melee, knocking down witches with vicious speed and snuffing out lives with a cold, hard detachment that doesn’t even feel like me. But it’s because I only care about one life, a new life. My mind is on Sable and the baby, and how I’ll protect them both at all costs.
Even if it means annihilating every last member of this coven.
A blast of energy races past my face, so close that I feel the wind of it. I dart away, but the magical assault wasn’t meant for me. I whirl around to see a witch behind me falling to the ground, clutching his chest like a man in the throes of a heart attack, and I glance up at Sable.
She’s a small form on the ridge, watching grimly as black smoke billows from her hands. Protecting us from above, like Archer told her to do.
My beautiful, brave, determined mate.
Turning back to the fight, I launch myself at another witch and fall back into battle with single-minded determination. The tides have turned so that we’re coming out on top, which gives me another burst of energy that spells death for several of the enemy.
I don’t know how long we fight for. It feels like fucking forever, and the sun drops below the horizon as we battle. But then I hear a loud cry go up, echoing from inside the bunker.
All of the remaining witches on the battlefield freeze for a fraction of a second, shock passing over their faces.
And then they’re running.
A mass exodus of the last surviving witches flees the plain, jumping over their own dead in their haste to get away. Stumbling, shouting, grabbing at each other as they sprint down the mountain and away from the battle. Some shifters make a half-hearted attempt to stop them, but most of us just watch the coven go because we recognize what it means.
That cry was a signal. They know now that Cleo’s dead.
It’s been pretty obvious that the coven leader’s own hatred and the force of her will were what made these people hunt us and fight us. With her gone, the drive to kill shifters can’t outweigh the will to live. From what Gwen said, plenty of the coven members just went along with Cleo’s machinations out of fear of what would happen if they didn’t.
That makes them spineless cowards in my book, but it means they’re no longer a threat without her to spur them on.
Howls and yips erupt from all around the plain, and several wolves chase the last of the witches, nipping at their heels until they reach the tree line and vanish into the woods.
Amora appears in the midst of the celebrations and plops down on her haunches next to me. I can smell blood on her fur—her blood. But she’s clearly not dying, so I don’t mention it. I learned early in our friendship not to mention any weaknesses she might have, unless I wanted to get kicked in the nuts.
Sable safe? she asks, even her mind speak tone worried.
Sable is safe, I assure her. We left her on the ridge, but she’s coming down right now.
I can sense my mate traversing the steep slope, taking her time with every step so she won’t go tumbling down the mountainside. Archer’s already halfway there to help her, or else I wouldn’t still be sitting on my ass, watching the pack celebrate their victory.
Fewer of us dead this time, Amora observes.
Thankfully.
She shakes out her fur, sending little droplets of blood flying, before shooting a glance back at the stronghold. I’ll handle organizing the cleanup if the alphas want to storm the fortress.
Great plan.
She sets off, letting out a sharp, piercing howl to get the pack’s attention. I remain sitting where I am until Sable arrives, flanked by Archer, Trystan, and Dare.
I lost track of the other three alphas in the thick of the battle. I hoped like hell they were okay, trusting their skills and their intelligence to get them through this alive. But seeing them all intact and moving on their own with nothing but minor injuries sends a wave of relief surging through me.
Sable drops to her knees when she reaches me, wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her face in my fur. I can smell the witch magic she’s been using to assist us in the fight, along with the sweet scent that’s just her. I nuzzle her back, whuffing softly into her hair.
“I want to find Cleo,” she murmurs quietly. “I have to see her. I have to be sure.”
Nodding, I stand and say, Then let’s go inside.
We gather a team to go with us, then the other alphas and I walk inside first, with Sable a few steps behind us. The front doors are open, but the entryway is empty. Not even a body on the ground to indicate fighting occurred here.
The interior of the building is as silent as a tomb, but I can smell witches. Can smell their fear.
We root them out one by one as we work our way through the building. Older women and children, mostly, the same as those we left protected back home. All of them flee without a fight, and we let them go. Justice isn’t given by hurting people who don’t deserve it.
None of us expected anything different, but we find Cleo’s body in what appears to be her living quarters. Like we thought when we were making plans, she was hiding out, not even willing to fight alongside her people in the war she was responsible for.
She’s sprawled on a woven rug beside a bed, her eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling and a thin trickle of blood drying down the side of her face from her lips.
“I’ll admit,” Sable says softly, staring down at the dead witch, “I was worried that she might not actually die if we killed her in the astral realm.”
Archer’s blond wolf speaks up. The mind and body can’t exist separately. Cleo died in her mind, which translates to true death of her body as well.
Sable nods, but she doesn’t look away from Cleo’s still, slack face. A touch of sadness pinches around her eyes.
What’s wrong? I ask. We won. She won’t hurt anymore wolves.
Or anymore witches, Archer adds.
Sable shrugs and finally tears her gaze away from the dead witch to look at me. “I just… I don’t know, I guess I feel bad for her. She had such shitty parents. They made her into a psychopath, pitted her against her sister until she killed her own twin, and then they tried to kill her for being a monster. It’s just so unfair.”
A few different emotions rise up inside me all at once. Love, for Sable’s goodness and her ability to find g
race in everyone and everything. Disgust, because Sable is right, in a way—Cleo was a product of her upbringing, sure, and it wasn’t fair. But then fury, because she’s absolutely fucking wrong.
I shift back to human form and cross to her, taking her elbows in both my hands so that she’s facing me and can’t pull away or deny what I’m about to tell her.
“Your fake uncle was a monster,” I remind her, rage boiling inside me at the thought of the old fucker. “He treated you in an ‘unfair’ way. He abused you, lied to you, and hurt you in more ways than I can stand to think about. Yet you didn’t let him turn you into a psychopath.”
Sable stares at me wide-eyed, her lips parted, but she doesn’t speak.
“You were dealt just as shitty a hand as Cleo,” I go on, gaining steam. “Worse, even. But you came out of the ordeal with your soul intact. You didn’t let it change who you are. You’re a good person. The best I know.”
Pink creeps up Sable’s cheeks, and she blinks those long, dark lashes, making my heart thud hard against my ribs.
I slide my fingers into her hair on both sides of her face, anchoring her in place as we look into each other’s eyes. “Don’t feel sorry for Cleo,” I say softly. “She made her choices. Just like you. But she chose the wrong path.”
Sable doesn’t say anything for several long moments, though her blue eyes glitter with unshed tears. But finally, she nods. “You’re right. She didn’t deserve what happened to her, but neither did the innocent people she’s hurt since then.”
I kiss her, soft and slow, as if we have all the time in the world to stand here and be together. As I take my time with the kiss, one by one, the other alphas shift back to human form and come to gather around us. They embrace us and add their love to the mix while I drop to my knees, wrap my arms around Sable’s waist, and press my forehead to her belly.
Her skin is soft beneath my fingertips, and I breathe in her scent as her fingers delve into my hair.
