by Callie Rose
Dare inhales sharply, his fingers digging into the couch cushions.
“You went hunting for food, or… what?” Archer asks, rolling a Q-tip over a cut in Dare’s forehead.
“Witches,” Dare repeats, his eyes scrunched shut. All three of the other shifters are pouring or rubbing alcohol into his wounds, so I imagine he feels like one big fireball of pain.
“You went hunting witches,” Archer repeats, his tone hard. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Are they coming onto our lands?” Ridge asks, intent on cleaning the debris away from Dare’s bone.
“No. I went looking for them outside our territory.” Dare’s voice is thick, his eyes still squinted shut and his face betraying his agony.
Archer rips open a new package of white gauze. “You left the protection of pack lands? Dare, why would you do that?”
Trystan scoffs. “Because he has a fucking death wish.”
Dare snarls at Trystan, one fist shooting out with deadly force. But Trystan just ducks the blow and rolls his eyes, shoving Dare back into the cushions with one hand.
“I was pissed, okay?” Dare snaps, closing his eyes as Archer uses an alcohol wipe to prod at a wound on his neck. “I went looking for witches to attack to let off some steam.”
I cringe, looking away so that no one will notice the hot tears gathering in my eyes. Dare’s hatred is like a living thing, sucking up all the air in the room. He didn’t even care who he hurt, as long as he could take his frustrations out on someone. And to think, he could just as easily have hurt me as any other witch.
“Well, we can see how well that all worked out for you,” Ridge says shortly, sounding more miffed than usual. “I can’t do much about this hole in your leg. You’re missing a half-acre of skin cells.”
“A lot of this isn’t going to be treatable with a basic first aid kit,” Archer adds. “We need help.”
“Can I help?” I lean over the couch, eyeing the wounds they’ve already cleaned. I don’t know what I’m offering—it’s not like I’m some kind of nurse or medical doctor. But I’ve done my fair share of wound patching thanks to Uncle Clint, despite the fact that we never had many medical supplies around either.
But Dare’s gaze snaps to me, and he bucks, dislodging all the gauze, tape, and bloody wipes lying on his body in his haste to get away from me. There’s chaos for a few moments as the other three men calm him and get him to lie back down.
With my heart nearly pounding out of my chest, I retreat to the kitchen, feeling as if he’s punched me in the gut.
I settle on the chair in front of my half-eaten plate of breakfast and reach for my orange juice. Only ten, maybe fifteen minutes have passed since I sat here eating with the three shifters. I’d just started to feel like we could get through this together when Dare came back and brought all my insecurities with him.
When he was less coherent in the yard, he let me touch him when we sank to the ground. I thought that meant he wasn’t afraid of me, not like I feared he would be. Instead, it seems like he’s just as disgusted by me as I dreaded. So much so that he doesn’t want me anywhere near him.
Dare may have physically returned to us, but I don’t have him back yet. Not truly.
Maybe I never will.
7
Sable
The clock on the wall audibly ticks away the minutes as I sit alone in the kitchen, agonizing over the way Dare looked at me.
My fork scrapes against the plate as I move the remaining eggs around, but I can’t bring myself to take another bite. The food I already ate before Dare came back to us has turned into a hurricane of nausea inside me, and if I eat anything else, I’m afraid I’ll throw up.
So I just finish my orange juice instead, thinking fondly of Trystan’s awkward shuffle back to the table with the glass. He was sweet then, reminding me that there’s a nice guy under all that macho bluster of his.
I may not understand what it’s like to be a shifter or to lead a pack, but I do think I’m starting to understand my companions. Trystan comes off like an asshole a lot of the time, but I feel like maybe he just overcompensates with his “alpha-ness” when he feels like things are spinning out of control. I can understand that motivation. I’m still trying to work on a coping mechanism myself—one that doesn’t end with me curled into a fetal position, unable to catch my breath.
But Dare…
God, I understand his pain. I understand how deeply that pain is rooted in his past and the way he lost his entire pack to the shifters’ mortal enemy. What I can’t fully comprehend is how quickly he could turn his back on me. How quickly he turned cold.
Ridge, Trystan, and Archer file into the kitchen about fifteen minutes later, all three of them looking exhausted. Their sudden presence startles me, and I sit up, swiping at the tears that have semi-dried on my cheeks. No use adding my private blubbering to an already messed up situation.
None of them are covered in blood, which I guess is a good sign that Dare hasn’t bled out on the couch while I’ve been sitting here staring at a plate of cold eggs.
“Anyone want coffee?” Archer asks, voice subdued. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he grabs the carafe and sets about brewing another pot. Good thing too, since nobody bothers to reply. There’s a strange air of shock hanging over the whole kitchen, as if none of us can fully believe what just happened.
What shifter leaves behind protected wolf pack lands and throws himself into a fight with a witch coven? Does Dare really have a death wish?
As Ridge begins gathering our dirty dishes from breakfast, Trystan sits down heavily next to me. His shoulder nudges mine as he looks down and gives me a once-over. “You okay?”
I shrug, deflecting his question with my own. “How’s Dare doing?”
Trystan’s jaw clenches, but he offers me a shrug. “Patched up as much as he can be. For now.”
“That leg needs real medical attention,” Ridge adds as he scrapes a plate off over the trash can. “More than we have here to give him, at any rate. The last thing we need is for infection to set in and make him lose a leg. He’d never forgive us.”
Trystan rolls his eyes. “Because it’s our fault he fucked off to the borders and picked a fight with witches?”
I narrow my eyes in his direction, irritation prickling my skin. Maybe it doesn’t say anything good about me that I still have an urge to protect Dare, even now. But I do. I care about him, no matter how he feels about me.
“He came back to us,” I point out. “He could have gone to any of the packs for assistance, but he didn’t. He came here. Because he trusts… you.” I almost say because he trusts us, but I stop myself.
It would be a lie.
Dare doesn’t trust me.
And maybe he’s the only logical shifter in this cabin right now. Maybe he’s the one who’s got it right. They’re all playing with fire by being around me, risking their lives on the hope that I won’t lose control of my magic.
Ridge picks up a couple more plates with a nod. “Right. It’s our duty to ensure he gets the proper care he needs. Anybody else on pack lands would do the same for any one of us if we showed up beaten and bloody.”
“Except me,” I mutter, laughing softly under my breath. There’s no humor in it though. It’s hard to imagine what kind of reception I’d get on pack lands if people knew I was a witch. Or maybe I just don’t want to imagine it.
I rest my chin on my hand and stare at the dregs of my orange juice, feeling adrift. Like I don’t fit inside my own skin anymore.
“Well, that’s not true. I did take care of you,” Ridge says, his voice teasing. He picks up my plate and empty glass. “I found you scratched up and bloody at the bottom of Devil’s Ditch and carried you home. Or did you forget?”
I flush. “Right. Thank you for that.”
“And that was before I knew you.” His amber eyes soften as he gazes down at me. “Now that I do, I’d do more than just take care of you. I’d move mountains to keep you safe
. You know that, right?”
My cheeks heat even more, emotion making my chest feel tight. I don’t trust my voice not to break if I answer, so I just nod.
“Good. Because we all would,” Ridge goes on as he walks to the sink, his tone allowing no argument. “Me. Archer. Trystan. Even Dare, once he comes to his senses.”
“And gets his head out of his ass,” Trystan grunts.
I cringe, shooting a glance toward the living room. “I don’t know about that. He seems pretty sure that he wants nothing to do with me. He has literal holes in his body and still tried to crawl across the couch to get away from me.”
“I don’t think he’s in his right mind right now,” Archer points out as he slides the basket of grounds into the coffee maker and hits the button to brew. “Give him time.”
Archer turns his back on the percolating coffee pot, leans a hip on the counter, and looks at me pointedly. “Dare has his issues, Sable, but he’ll come around. In the meantime, you aren’t alone, and we will care for you to the best of our ability. Technically, we’ve already taken care of you a few times. Beyond the night Ridge pulled you out of the ravine.”
“Like when Archer talked you into staying,” Ridge adds.
“And when we saved you from your uncle,” Trystan says. “All of us together.”
My cheeks burn. Hearing them list all the ways in which I’ve been in danger makes me feel like a weak little kid who shouldn’t be allowed to do anything without supervision.
From his place near the coffee maker, Archer goes on, switching gears. “Obviously, Dare’s leg is a situation that needs addressing,” he says, crossing his arms. “But we also need to address that there’s a very real chance Dare has witches on his trail now.”
Ridge scrubs a hand down his face. “Dammit. I didn’t even consider that.”
I sit up straighter, a pang of fear rolling over me as I process what Archer’s implying. “You mean witches might be following Dare here?”
“I’m not saying it’s a definite,” he assures me, “but it’s a possibility. He specifically sought them out to fight them. To kill them, not to make negotiations. They aren’t going to just sit back and accept that level of threat. He’s put himself, and all of us, in serious danger.”
“Please.” Trystan scoffs. “The witches won’t be able to step foot on pack land. They’ve been trying for months and can’t breach our boundaries.”
“That’s true,” Ridge acknowledges. “But it was true prior to Dare mowing them down like a paid assassin. We have no idea how many witches he managed to kill while he was there. Archer’s right—they aren’t going to just lick their wounds and forget about this. They’ve been close to breaching our borders for months. This incident could be the final push they need.”
“Revenge is a great motivator.” There’s a note in Archer’s voice that makes me think he knows exactly how true that is. I wonder how many times he’s dreamed about getting revenge on the witches for what they did to him.
“Even three healthy alphas can’t stand up against a coven of witches looking for vengeance,” Ridge says, taking a chair at the table across from me. “We can’t risk putting Sable in danger.”
“So we need more backup?” Trystan asks. “We can put out a call. Dozens of wolves from my pack would come help.”
Archer chuckles and turns back to the coffee pot. “This cabin is too small for dozens more wolf shifters.”
“You got a better idea?” Trystan shoots back irritably.
Archer grabs several freshly washed mugs from beside the sink, glancing over his shoulder at us. “I do. We can return to my pack.”
Trystan’s brows furrow skeptically. “What can the East Pack do for us?”
“If you’ve forgotten, my father’s dying,” Archer replies, an uncharacteristic note of irritation in his tone.
It’s a tone I understand when dealing with Trystan, who sometimes has a cocky, holier-than-thou attitude that makes him a bit abrasive. I remind myself of him smiling and carefully setting my orange juice before me. I wish that version of Trystan had the floor more often.
Archer pulls the full carafe from the brewer and begins filling each of the four mugs. “The East Pack is well-stocked with medical supplies because of the intense level of care my father needs. We also boast some of the most excellent healers in the area. We’re set up for major injuries.”
“Not to mention, the East Pack lands are the closest,” Ridge says, nodding his agreement. “I highly doubt Dare can be on foot for long. If at all.”
Trystan accepts a full mug of coffee from Archer, his gaze sliding to me before bouncing between the two other men. “Ridge took a lot of shit for bringing Sable into the North Pack. Bringing an outsider into shifter territory is against our laws—and that’s ignoring the fact that she’s also a witch. What makes you think we won’t get the same treatment if we take her to the East Pack?”
In the beat of silence after his declaration, Archer sets a mug in front of me. I thought I was too sick to my stomach over current events to want it, but the moment the heady aroma teases my nose, my mouth waters a little. I upend the sugar jar over my cup.
“I don’t want to cause any problems for the packs.” I keep my gaze on the thin line of white crystals pouring into my coffee as I speak. “You’ve all done so much for me. I’d never forgive myself if I put any of your people at risk.”
“Dare’s more of a risk than you are right now,” Archer says with a shrug, setting a third coffee mug in front of Ridge. “Nobody even knows you’re a witch except the four men in this cabin.”
Ridge wraps his large hands around the steaming cup. “Your circumstances are extenuating. We all know that. You had no idea witches even existed before I dragged you into this world. So nobody lives under any assumption you knew about the witch inside you. You aren’t the enemy, Sable.”
Archer nods vehemently as he takes his place beside me, sandwiching me between himself and Trystan. All three men are looking at me with such kind faces that tears sting my eyes.
“None of you asked for this.” The words come out thick, and I bite my lip.
“No, maybe not. But we’re all in this together.” Archer’s gaze catches mine, his expression serious.
“And I’m not willing to leave you behind,” Ridge adds, looking at the other two shifters pointedly. “I’m damn sure these assholes don’t want to either. You’re a part of us now.”
Despite my reservations, I let myself feel the tiniest glow of happiness. I may not have grown up in a family of protective wolf shifters, but I somehow found one of my own anyway. For all I know, this is the universe’s reward for that fact that I had to live through eighteen years of hell.
Look at me now, Uncle Clint. I survived, and I found this, no thanks to you.
Ridge gives a sharp nod, as if he considers the decision made. “Okay, so we head to the East Pack. While there, we conceal the fact that Sable is a witch and get Dare fixed up. Then we’ll figure out where to go from there. What to do next.”
“I really don’t like the idea of hiding the witch,” I admit with a grimace. “You guys shouldn’t have to lie to your packs for me.”
“Honestly, Sable, we have no choice.” Archer shakes his head, reaching over to place his warm hand over mine. “And the truth is, we trust you.”
“Yes, absolutely,” Ridge adds. “We know now that you’re a witch. And we’ll have to deal with that—figure out what it means. But we also know our mate bonds with you haven’t changed. Right?” He looks around at Archer and Trystan for confirmation.
Trystan sighs. “Yeah. My wolf is still sure Sable belongs to him.”
“Same. My wolf is more convinced than ever that we’re meant to be together. Because you haven’t changed.” Archer smiles at me and squeezes my hand. “Not in any way that matters to us. Just because you’ve got a different kind of magic in your blood than we thought, that doesn’t change who you are.”
I flush and avoid catching a
ny of their gazes by taking a long drink of my coffee. They’ve already done so much for me, and I feel like all I’ve done is bring turmoil to their lives.
“We’ll let Dare rest for a little while.” Ridge leans back in his chair a little, craning his neck to look toward the living room. “Maybe thirty minutes? Long enough for the painkillers to set in. The rest of us can pack up the cabin in the meantime. Sable, do you feel strong enough to pack up in the bedroom?”
I nod vehemently. “Of course. Absolutely.” At least if I join in the packing, I won’t feel like a useless lump. Just one more thing they have to worry about.
But as the men take their mugs and move off into the house, the three of them still discussing our plans in low voices, I remain hunched over my coffee for a few more moments, considering what Archer said about me.
There’s a part of me that doesn’t believe his words.
Just because you’re a witch, that doesn’t change who you are.
What if it does? What if coming into my witch power has somehow changed me?
The men keep insisting that they trust me, and I want them to. But I wish I was sure I deserved that trust.
I could be the enemy, and none of us would even know it.
8
Archer
I’ve always been well-organized and clean, maybe even to the point of mild OCD. So living with four other people for the last few weeks has been an interesting experiment and a definite test of my patience. The differences between me and my cabin-mates is more apparent than ever right now as we try to track down our belongings in the madness and chaos of the small dwelling.
I’m folding a handful of Ridge’s shirts into a bag when Trystan strides into the living room, looking frustrated.
“Where’s my shirt?” he demands.
I pause in my folding and exchange irritated glances with Ridge, who’s on the other side of the couch shoving supplies into another bag. Between us, Dare is sound asleep, seemingly unbothered by all the commotion. Or too drugged up on painkillers to even notice.
