by Callie Rose
Despite some tension between us, we worked together to get to know her, to give her wolf time to decide who was her true mate. It hasn’t been all bad. I’ve actually started to get along pretty well with the other alphas, something I never expected to happen.
And when her uncle took her right out from under our noses, we were all ready to rip every last inch of him to pieces to get her back. A little bit of luck—and the way Sable had opened up to us about her past—allowed us to find her and save her. And then after we got back to the cabin, when we thought she was going into heat…
Fuck, I’ll never forget a second of that night for as long as I live.
But as if it wasn’t strange enough that four men feel a mate bond pull toward the same woman, now we know Sable isn’t even a fucking wolf.
She’s a witch.
Our sworn enemy.
Dammit. I don’t know what to do with this overwhelming information. I’m on a runaway train without brakes, and nothing inside me believes this is going to end well.
Even so, I’m still here. Scraping eggs over a cast iron skillet, wearing a fucking oven mitt that has little cartoon wolves on it. Only thing I’m missing is a frilly pink apron to really solidify the image of domestic bliss.
I stayed, unlike Dare, the fucking coward, who ran at the first sign of magic. It’s easy to hate him for cutting out like a little bitch.
It’s harder to admit to myself that I understand why he did.
The hair on the back of my neck prickles, and I sense Sable’s presence before she walks into the kitchen. A moment later, her delicious scent permeates the room, fresh out of a shower and more tempting than anything we have cooking. I whip around, still holding the spatula in one hand.
Archer is guiding her, his fingers wrapped carefully around her arm as if she’s an invalid. She’s walking slowly, but she seems pretty steady on her feet, and a lot more put together than she looked in that bed when she first woke up. She’s wearing a sweatshirt, one of Ridge’s that got packed before our hasty trip to the cabin. It’s big and baggy on her and swallows her petite curves.
She looks innocent.
Vulnerable.
So beautiful it fucking hurts, with her wet hair tied up in a messy bun and her skin still glowing pink from the heat of the shower.
My wolf sits up immediately, tugging me toward her with that same metaphysical need that’s been there since the moment I claimed her in the North Pack’s barn. My impulse to protect her and be near her is as strong as ever. I’ve seen her covered in black witch markings, with that viscous, horrifying smoky magic curling around her body, and my wolf doesn’t care.
None of my feelings toward her have changed. I still want her. Need her.
Before I can stop myself, I drop the spatula and the oven mitt on the counter and stride across the linoleum to draw up before her. Some distant part of me recognizes that I’ve just walked away from a skillet full of eggs, and they’re going to burn if Ridge doesn’t step in, but I don’t care. Let the smoke detector get a workout. I’m overwhelmed by the need to touch her, to breathe in her fresh, sweet scent.
She flinches before I reach her, reminding me that I moved too fast, but still not as badly as she did when Archer and I ran into her room after she woke up. She’s skittish, which isn’t out of the norm for Sable. After everything she’s been through, it’s a miracle she isn’t even more anxious or frightened of the smallest shadows.
But there’s something new there now. Fear in her eyes and devastation in the frown on her face. I can’t tell if she’s afraid of me… or herself.
Both options make me ache for her.
I reach for her hands—very slowly and deliberately, trying to project that I mean her no harm, but also, strangely, trying to let her know I’m not afraid of her either. It feels like an impossible mixture to balance. Our fingers intertwine like they’re made for each other, and I give her a tentative squeeze. Some of her anxiety falls away, and a little more of the curious, wide-eyed beauty shines through. I kiss away the rest of her frown until she’s smiling up at me.
God help me, I’m fucking lost in her. And this is entirely new territory for me.
Archer relinquishes her arm so that I can take over, then he heads toward the coffee maker. None of us have slept well these past few days while we waited out Sable’s transition. Archer’s slumped shoulders are proof that even the first pot of coffee earlier today wasn’t enough to chase away the exhaustion of sleepless worry.
Noting that Ridge has taken up my abandoned spatula, I lead Sable to the table, where I pull out her chair and help her ease into it. She moves like every muscle in her body hurts, which isn’t outside the realm of possibility. I sat by the bedside for many hours of her transition, and nothing about it looked easy. Her body may not have been transforming into a wolf, but something abnormal and painful happened anyway.
“Coffee?” I ask after she’s settled.
“I don’t think…” She furrows her brow, then gives me another wan smile. “Maybe just orange juice?”
“Yeah. You got it.”
While Ridge and Archer carry food and dishes to the table, I find a short glass in the cabinet and pour her a cup from the carton in the fridge. I don’t want to overwhelm her with too much to drink after three days without. We managed to get little more than a sip in her here and there during her more lucid moments, so her body is likely in starvation mode. But I don’t want her to not have enough to drink either.
My indecision ends up with me pouring way too much in the small cup. I pick up the overflowing glass as carefully as I can, but I still splash orange juice on the floor multiple times before I set it before her, a little lighter than it started out.
“Thank you,” she says, giving me a smile that makes it all worth it. She makes no comment on how full it is as she lifts the glass to her lips.
Ridge throws a dish towel on the orange juice puddles. I should thank him, but I’m too busy staring at her.
I take a seat across the table as Ridge brings over the finished eggs and Archer sets down the coffee carafe. For a while, there’s only silence as we fill our plates. Sable starts eating immediately, taking small, slow bites and chewing each for a long time, as if she’s getting used to the motions again. I keep my gaze riveted to her, ready to jump up for her every need. On either side of me, Ridge and Archer are poised to do the same. We watch, ignoring our own plates, as she gains momentum. The more food she puts away, the more clearly she’s regaining strength.
She looks around the table at one point, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
The three of us react immediately. I reach for a piece of toast and shove it into my mouth while Archer slams his fork into a huge chunk of scrambled eggs and eats it in one go. Ridge looks away and takes a long gulp of his coffee, even though I can tell from over here that it’s gone lukewarm. None of us fool her.
Sable lays her fork down on her plate and sighs, her blue-gray eyes worried as she looks at each of us individually. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I stop chewing and exchange glances with Ridge. There are a lot of emotions working through me; so many that I don’t even know where to begin. I lead my pack by action and quick thinking—not by any special talent for speaking my feelings and emotions.
Ridge, luckily, seems to have his head on straighter than I do. “Nothing is wrong, Sable. Nothing we can’t all face together anyway. We need you to know we won’t leave you. We won’t abandon you.”
I nod my agreement, my head bobbing like one of those big-headed dashboard dolls. He took the words right out of my thoughts, even though I had no clue how to reassure her the same way. I’ve never had to talk about this shit. Keeping emotions at bay, shoving them down deep, is something I’m good at. It’s why I’m a good alpha.
Not so good at being a possible mate, however. Can’t even pour a proper glass of orange juice. The dish towel is still on the floor making that point.
But even t
he inkling that I might not be a good mate to this woman bothers me. If Ridge and Archer can be sensitive and compassionate, then I fucking can too. Even if it means stepping outside my comfort zone.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. I mean for the words to come out kindly, but I’m in such a hurry to speak, to add my voice to the conversation, that I basically fumble over the statement and scream it at her.
Smooth. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why does she affect me like this?
But Sable just smiles weakly and rubs her chest with two slender fingers. “I can feel the magic inside me. It’s like… a rolling, throbbing sensation. A bit like having a stomach ache without the pain.” She sighs and picks at the eggs on her plate. “How could I have been a witch my whole life and not known? Was my uncle a witch? Or my parents? I just don’t understand.”
I school my face into something I hope looks like sympathy. She’s asking all the right questions—all the questions I have myself. But none of us have the answers. When it comes to witches, the only thing shifters know for certain is that they’re the enemy.
Even so, I’m also damn sure Sable isn’t my enemy at all.
I’m hoping Ridge or Archer knows the right thing to say, and I look to them to take the lead on this one. But before either man can speak, the sound of rustling drifts in from outside the open window.
Somebody’s out back.
6
Sable
My entire body stiffens, mirroring the postures of the three men around me. My fingers are still pressed to my chest where I can sense the magic inside me. Before the noise came from outside, my magic was light and fluttery, as if it were a butterfly in my chest. Now, as adrenaline rockets through me, the fluttery feeling has turned to a thick, rolling turmoil. I’m surprised the black marks aren’t visible on my skin, though I’m thankful they haven’t appeared since I don’t seem to have any control over them.
I freeze as more rustling from the backyard filters into the cabin, followed by a small whine.
All three men are on high alert, like wolves with their hackles raised as they stare at the open window over the kitchen sink. They’re so stone-faced and still that they look like statues, and I wonder if they’re even going to move at all. Trystan is the first to stand, his face hard as he stalks quietly to the front door.
Archer and Ridge stand to join him, so I do too. But Ridge holds out an arm across my chest and shakes his head, indicating silently for me to sit back down.
Yeah, right.
The last time I let him go check out a noise alone, he got shot with a tranquilizer dart and I got kidnapped by my sociopathic uncle. I won’t let anything like that happen again. I’m going into this with my eyes wide open, thank you very much.
I follow close on Ridge’s heels as the three men cross to the door and open it. Trystan and Archer step outside to investigate while Ridge stands in the doorway, forming a barrier between me and the threat outside. I tiptoe forward to peer over his shoulder and search the clearing in front of the small cabin.
A black wolf is limping out of the woods with blood dripping from a wound in his side and his back leg dragging across the ground unnaturally. Fear and shock renders me mute as I recognize the shifter.
Dare.
My heart nearly stops. I shove past Ridge with more strength than I knew I had in me and hurtle out the door. All I can think is to reach the injured wolf, to be at his side. All the anger and hurt I’ve been harboring because he left can’t measure up to the horror I feel at seeing him in such rough shape, wounded and weak. What if he’s dying? What if his injuries are too great for his shifter magic to heal him?
If Dare dies, I feel like a part of me will die too.
I sprint across the clearing in my bare feet, ignoring the dry, rough grass and hard ground scratching my skin. Dare shimmers with magic, still moving toward the cabin with that horrible, aching limp. The change steals over him and turns his dark, shaggy form into a mirage of colors and light until he’s human again. His naked body is covered in blood. Too much blood.
I skid to a stop before him and reach out to catch his arms as he stumbles. He’s too weak to find his own balance, and I’m not strong enough to hold him up, so I do my best to keep him from falling face-first into the ground as we both sink to our knees. Archer, Trystan, and Ridge gather around us, all of them wearing looks of concern.
“What happened?” I ask as I rake my gaze over Dare’s body. Deep lacerations decorate his skin, as well as strange, painful looking burn marks. A chunk of flesh is missing from his ankle, and I try not to gag when I realize I can see bone.
“Witches,” he snarls, his brown, gold-flecked eyes wild and unfocused. He jerks his arms away from me.
I gape at him as he lands heavily on his butt, putting distance between us. He’s mildly incoherent, and he still hasn’t looked me directly in the eye. I’m not sure if he’s just acting strange because he’s in shock… or if he doesn’t want me to touch him.
As Dare rolls to his knees to stand, fresh blood flows from his wounds.
“Hey, buddy. Let’s not do that,” Archer says quietly, reaching down to take the bigger man by the elbows. “You’re already weak. No sense in losing more blood with all of these sudden movements. You’re safe now. Let’s go inside and clean you up.”
As Archer helps Dare stand, Trystan steps in to balance the wounded man from the other side. His lips are turned down in a scowl, and he’s none-too-gentle as he manhandles Dare into position beside him. “Fucking idiot and your stupid suicide vendettas.”
I realize with a shock that Trystan is probably right. Dare must have left the cabin and immediately gone back to his old habits of patrolling the boundaries of pack land. But this time, he obviously found actual witches rather than just hints of their presence.
With Dare supported between them, Archer and Trystan begin a halting march back toward the cabin. Ridge turns to follow them, but I remain on my knees in the grass, still devastated by the way Dare tore his arms from my grasp.
As if he couldn’t stand to be touched by me.
I hope like hell I’m wrong, but my stomach twists at the memory of the look on his face. Something tells me that whatever existed between me and Dare before the night my witch emerged, we’ll never get it back. Things will never be the same between us. We’ve both been too hurt, too damaged.
Ridge offers me a hand. “He’s in a bad place. He’s not thinking straight.”
I stare at his palm. Ridge has the most capable hands I’ve ever seen, with a strong, square palm and long fingers covered in calluses. I accept his help, and he pulls me to my feet. But instead of letting me stand on my own, he tugs me into his embrace, dropping his head to press his cheek to the top of my head.
“We’re all in new territory,” he murmurs, his breath stirring my hair. “Give it time.”
His hard torso anchors me to the present. I lean against him and bury my face against his t-shirt, taking a couple deep breaths until the lump in my throat fades and the tumult of magic inside me calms. Ridge’s scent surrounds me—woodsy and spicy and uniquely him.
It’s one of my favorite smells in the world, and it was even before the man himself came to mean so much to me. Now, I think I’d bathe in his scent if I could.
Finally, he pulls back enough to give me a sweet kiss with just enough heat behind it to make me forget how awful I feel. “Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s go help Dare.”
Inside the cabin, Trystan and Archer have already stretched the injured shifter out on the couch and are back in the kitchen, digging around for supplies. Archer’s filling up a bowl with hot water and soap, while Trystan’s rifling around in the pantry.
“Doesn’t this stupid cabin have a first aid kit?” he gripes over his shoulder as we appear in the doorway.
“Yeah, it’s in the bathroom,” Ridge replies, ignoring Trystan’s attitude. “I’ll get it.”
I peek in on my wounded mate to find him staring at the ceiling, h
is entire body shivering. Coming down off his adrenaline dump, most likely. My heart beats hard in my chest as I hurry to the bedroom and grab a clean blanket from the closet. If his body temperature takes a big drop, he’ll have an even harder time trying to heal the wounds.
His dark gaze is unfocused when I return to the living room and step up to the edge of the couch. He’s staring at the ceiling, sucking air into his lungs in deep, gulping breaths. I can only imagine the pain he’s feeling right now. He doesn’t even look at me as I drape the quilt over him.
I want to speak, but I don’t know what to say. And if I do speak and he keeps ignoring me, I think it might break my heart. So I just stand watch over him in silence until the other men return with their arms loaded down with supplies.
Ridge pulls the coffee table closer to the couch and sits down on it to inspect the massive wound on Dare’s ankle. As he begins to minister to the wound, he glances up at Dare’s face. “Want to tell us what happened?”
Dare grunts, finally showing a sign of consciousness as he tries to focus on Ridge. “I went hunting.”
“Figures.” Trystan’s voice is harsh as he takes a seat beside Ridge. He yanks back the blanket, exposing all the lacerations in Dare’s side, before he jams a rag into the soapy water. “You just can’t fucking help yourself.” He presses the rag to Dare’s rib cage, swiping it over the wounds.
Dare groans, closing his eyes as if fighting off the sudden rush of pain.
“A little more gently, maybe?” Archer suggests, glaring at Trystan. He stares pointedly until Trystan pulls back on the strength of his movements, and then he leans over Dare’s head and peers into his eyes. “Pupils look okay. No concussion, thankfully.”
Ridge has bypassed using a rag on Dare’s mangled ankle, likely because any touch on all that raw, open muscle and nerve-endings would be incredibly painful. He has a towel tucked beneath Dare’s leg as he upends the alcohol bottle, dousing the area.
