by Callie Rose
He squeezes my fingers. “We’re going to help you. I’ll teach you everything I can and help you hone your powers, no matter how long it takes. What if we start working on your magic today? And go from there.”
My heart skips a beat. “Today?”
Am I ready to do this? I don’t really feel like I am, but I guess there’s no better time than the present.
Trystan stirs at my waist, lazily rubbing his face against me. “Mm. You smell amazing.”
“Laundry detergent,” I tell him, the heat returning full force to my cheeks. There’s no way he can still smell my momentary flash of desire.
“Yes,” he says, gazing up at me with amusement. “Laundry detergent.” He nips playfully at my side, which tickles so much I squirm and wake up the rest of the bed.
We have breakfast in Archer’s backyard, since the five of us don’t fit well in Archer’s tiny kitchen. It’s shaping up to be a beautiful day, the sun hot and bright and a cool breeze coming in from the mountains. Breakfast is a comfortable, leisurely affair, and it’s the only place I want to be for the next few hours.
Unfortunately, what I want isn’t exactly what I get.
After everyone’s had their fill of sausage and coffee, Archer starts to clear away plates while announcing, “Sable and I are going to go to the training barn today to work on her magic. Who’s coming with us?”
I sink in on myself like a turtle, avoiding looking at any of the shifters so I don’t have to see the disgust in their expressions. None of them are going to want to watch me fail at controlling my magic. Or succeed.
But Ridge says, “I’m in. I wouldn’t miss it.”
Trystan nods, his rich brown hair gleaming in the morning sunlight. “Same. We should all learn as much about Sable’s new powers as we can, honestly. We may not wield the magic ourselves, but if it affects her, it affects us.”
“Good.” Archer beams, looking pleased.
I appreciate their responses more than they’ll ever know, but there’s a notable absence of one voice.
Dare.
I chance a look at him, sitting across the picnic table and staring down at his empty plate. He had a great appetite that morning, and he’s not walking with a limp anymore. Some of his strength seems to have returned, which I’m grateful to Camilla for. But no amount of healing or time is going to change his mind about my witch powers.
“You guys don’t have to go,” I say, my voice barely loud enough to penetrate the sound of Trystan and Archer talking about strengthening the sigil boundaries.
Dare looks up and sees that my gaze is on him as I speak.
He shakes his head, drains the last of his coffee, and then says, “Let’s do it.”
I can’t stop the warmth that floods through me. Even if he’s doing it just to make me feel better, he’s still doing it for me. Maybe that means my bond with him isn’t a lost cause, after all.
The training barn is a large, red A-frame structure with white accents that sits a half-mile outside the village. I’m nervous about coming out here to practice. What if some other East Pack shifters show up wanting to spar or whatever they do in the training barn? But Archer assures me the barn is currently off limits, thanks to the heightened witch threat. His father instituted a ban on venturing outside the village’s limits except to hunt until the danger is over.
Archer unlocks the giant padlock on the sliding barn doors, and the five of us enter the dim, musty interior. He leaves the doors open and heads for the walls, where he cranks open the high windows up near the vaulted ceiling. The other men leap into action to help him until a row of open windows lets in light and a cross-breeze all the way around the building.
The floors are covered in soft, spongy black mats that bounce as I walk across them. Trystan, Dare, and Ridge head toward the side wall and sit on the floor. My heart thuds dully in my chest as I glance over at them. I lick my suddenly dry lips, trying to banish the sudden certainty that this is a horrible idea.
Archer circles me and plants his body firmly between me and the other shifters. “Don’t be nervous,” he murmurs, taking me by both arms as if to hold me on my feet.
“Too late.”
“Okay. Be nervous, but let me help ease your mind. How’s that?” He gives me a crooked smile.
I wrinkle my nose. “That seems impossible.”
“It’s not impossible,” Archer admonishes me gently. “Take a deep breath, then go sit in that chair.”
I follow his gesture to a single folding metal chair placed in the middle of the soft mats. I don’t know if Archer left it there specifically for me, or if it’s been placed in that spot for a while. The latter seems more likely, given the barest hint of dust along the back of it.
The chair is squarely in the view of the three other shifters, who are pretending to be deep in conversation in their seats by the wall—while also keeping their gazes and attention fully on us. I appreciate that they’re attempting to be discreet, but it’s clear they have no interest in whatever subject they’re chatting about. Every one of them is focused on me, which only magnifies my sense of unease.
What if something goes wrong?
Any of them could be hurt by being so close to me while my witch powers are zooming around the room. I suddenly wish none of them had decided to come with us today. It would be less risky with just me and Archer in the large room—fewer people to potentially injure.
But I know none of them will leave now. They’re committed to this. Committed to me.
So I remain silent and slide into my chair, hoping for the best.
While Archer grabs another dust-covered folding chair from the shadows in the corner, I take a few steadying breaths, listening to his voice coach me in my mind. My heart is a frightened hummingbird, and my skin is staticky with the need to run away, far and fast. But Archer seems totally calm as he brings his chair over to join me.
It squeaks as he unfolds it and then sits across from me, the two of us nearly knee to knee. Something about his presence soothes me, and I take a moment to breathe deeply like he’s taught me. I focus on the warmth drifting off his legs, on the way his lips quirk up carefully as if he’s making sure I know it’s a smile and not a threat. I appreciate that. I especially appreciate just how much he knows me.
“Witch magic is sigil-based,” Archer begins, his voice low and even. “To do magic, they must etch sigils. Whether it’s on the air, on a tree’s bark, in the ground, whatever. The act of performing magic begins with a sigil.”
“Okay. But what’s a sigil?” I ask. I recognize the word; I’ve read it in books before. But I want to be sure I understand exactly what Archer is getting at. After everything that’s happened, it feels foolish to assume I know anything.
He smiles, all white teeth on golden skin like a god incarnate, and some of the tension in my shoulders melts away. “A sigil is a magical symbol. It’s a symbol that holds power. We use sigils to reinforce our borders and keep the witches at bay, because even though wolves don’t possess the same kind of magic witches do, the symbols themselves have magic. Anyone can access that sort of magic.”
I nod, trying very hard to act like what he’s saying makes sense.
Archer grimaces. “Well, as far as my understanding goes, anyway. Everything I can teach you about magic will be from the outside looking in. I can only tell you what I’ve observed. I can’t tell you how it feels from the inside; only another witch could do that.”
“That’s okay,” I say quickly. “I’d rather learn from you.”
Even if we could find a witch who would be willing to teach me, I’d be too terrified of them to learn much. Besides, it would be dangerously stupid to let any of the witches out there know that one of their own is living among wolves.
“When I was being held by the coven who abducted me, I saw them use sigils often. The more powerful among them didn’t have to do anything more than trace the sigil in the air, while the weaker ones often drew a physical symbol.”
“What kinds of things can sigils do?” I ask, curious in spite of my fear.
“Many things. They can be used to conjure things, to fortify locks or barriers, and to manipulate the elements. The witches used sigils to torture me,” he adds quietly.
My heart forgets to beat for a second as my stomach sours. “They did?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat, and I can tell he’s trying to keep his voice light and even. But I can see shadows in his eyes as he meets my gaze. “There are sigils that can be used to inflict pain without causing any bodily injury. It might seem more humane, even kind of them not to draw blood. But the only reason they used those sigils was so they could hurt me endlessly without risk of killing me.”
It’s easy to forget what he went through, so the stark reminder makes me feel like a terrible friend. I lean over and place my hand on his knee. “Archer, I-I’m so sorry about what happened to you.”
He covers my hand with his own, a sad smile playing across his face. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago, and I learned how to deal.” He shakes his head, as if banishing the painful memories. His eyes clear a little as he draws in a breath. “Now, my only goal is to help you learn how to deal too. Are you with me?”
“Till the end,” I promise.
“Beyond sigil magic,” Archer says, his tone becoming businesslike again, “as a witch, you’re capable of raw power that will manifest from your body as black smoke.”
“As it already has,” I mutter, tracing my finger over the scars on the back of one hand as I remember the way they turn black under violent emotions. On the heels of that thought, I remember the heavy, burdensome cloud of viscous black, hovering over me, urging me to kill the shifters...
“It has,” Archer agrees quietly. “But it’s not the end of the world, okay? This magic is a part of you, and we’re going to figure out how to make it obey you. To be ruled by you instead of the other way around. You just have to trust me.”
“I trust you.” And I do. There’s no question that I’d lay my life in his hands and have faith that he could lead me out to the other side of a terrible situation.
But it’s hard being in possession of such great power without really understanding why.
Along the wall, Trystan, Ridge, and Dare are no longer pretending to be lost in their own little conversation. All three gazes are firmly rooted on me and Archer where we sit, and I can tell they’ve heard every word. Trystan seems intrigued, though not really bothered by the situation. Ridge is his usual stoic self, well aware of the moment my gaze shifts to him and giving me an encouraging nod.
But Dare…
It doesn’t take a genius to read his darkly handsome face. He’s not happy with watching me learn witch magic.
He’s probably wishing he was anywhere else but here.
16
Dare
I am not okay. Not even a fucking little bit. My emotions are the mental equivalent of a tornado that’s decimated a small town.
When I crawled back to the North Pack’s mating cabin, I did it on autopilot. For several years, I took care of myself without reaching out for any help, and I was comfortable with that lifestyle. But the witches fucked me up. I knew when I managed to get away for the second time that I was a hell of a lot more injured than I could deal with on my own.
My first thought was to go to Sable and the other pack alphas, because who the hell else would help me? I’m a lone wolf without a single pack mate to give two shits what happens to me. But Sable… she does. She cares what happens to me, and I think it’s because of her that Trystan, Ridge, and Archer do too.
But fuck. When Sable went into her transformation and we all got a good fucking look at what was coming, it messed with my head. When I found her by the side of the stream that first night, looking like moonlight come to life, I was so damn certain she was a shifter. My wolf recognized her immediately and claimed her within moments of seeing her face and feeling her energy.
Then, the night of her transformation… in the dimness of the mating cabin, her skin began to race with black magic, and I realized maybe my wolf was wrong. Sable wasn’t my mate; she was my enemy.
So I raced away from the cabin as if flames licked my heels. My only goal was to find as many fucking witches as possible and annihilate them. Some reckless part of me even hoped to die in the attempt, as if Sable’s true nature was the final nail in my coffin.
The loveliest thing I’d ever known had been destroyed, joined together with magic, the very thing I despise. So it only stood to reason that I should be destroyed too.
After I returned, I realized pretty damn quick that Sable isn’t destroyed. Despite how rough her life has been, and how hard she’s had to fight to maintain any semblance of self, Sable has remained perfectly whole through this.
But it’s hard to see it, and even harder to believe it.
Every day, I wake up beside her with another wolf between us. I’m not strong enough to fall asleep with her in my arms. I’m not strong enough to touch her. But it seems like enough right now to share her bed and fall asleep listening to her breathe. Every morning we wake up, and the five of us have breakfast together. Trystan is funny, and Ridge is smart as hell. Archer has the emotional strength of ten men, and Sable… Sable is everything good in the world.
Even when my mind tries to convince me otherwise.
Several days pass as she keeps working at learning to control her magic. Archer is fucking incredible, the way he can read her feelings and help her bypass the sadness or the lack of self-worth that gets her down. He’s patient and kind as he attempts to help her figure out what her magic is and how it works. He can lift her spirits with a single pinky finger, and I’m fucking envious. With empathy and aplomb, he can make all of her worries just vanish. Meanwhile, I’m a fucked up asshole who isn’t even sure which way is up or down.
We’ve been in Archer’s pack’s territory for nearly a week when Sable conquers one of the basic sigils.
She’s on her hands and knees with a pencil and a pad of paper. It’s such a fucking mundane situation that I don’t even realize at first that the sigil has worked. Black smoke billows around Sable, and then a gust of wind bursts up in the middle of the room, stirring the dust that’s settled on several stacked folding chairs that lean against one wall.
Ridge, Trystan, and I all sit up straighter.
My heart thuds in my chest, every instinct in me howling that there’s a threat. That this shouldn’t be happening. The two shifters beside me are tense too, although they both seem to be keeping their shit together better than I am.
Archer is the only one who doesn’t seem afraid, even though he’s got more reason than any of us to run in terror from witch magic. He gives Sable a small smile, reaching across the space between them to take her hands. I hate him in that moment—being the strong, stoic partner she needs, while I cower against the wall and stare at the remnants of black, magical smoke evaporating on the air.
“That’s it,” he tells her, still gripping her hands. I can tell from here that she’s shaking a little, probably as startled as any of us that the magic actually worked this time. “It’s okay. You did it. How did it feel?”
“Strange.” She bites her lip, her wide-eyed gaze finding his. “I could feel when my magic filled the sigil. It was like a little piece of me poured out through my fingertips. It was… weird.”
“It was good,” he insists firmly. “Your magic did what you wanted it to, and that means it’s responding to your commands better. It’s not just stirring up based on your emotions, but reacting to conscious thought.” He beams. “That’s excellent.”
I want to be excited for her just like he is. But all I can see is the black smoke. The witch’s magic that she just used. My stomach twists, and I swallow back a wave of nausea.
Fucking hell. This isn’t what I signed up for.
Before Trystan or Ridge can acknowledge what’s happening, I get to my feet and stride out of the barn. I hit the door with a l
ittle more force than necessary and walk into the brilliant sunshine, closing my eyes briefly against the light. It steadies me just a little, though I can still feel the heaviness of Sable’s magic drifting after me on the breeze.
I stalk into the forest at the edge of the settlement, needing a little space between me and civilization. All those years I spent roaming by myself haven’t helped my people skills, and it’s only made me want to be alone even more.
A breeze blows in off the mountains. I stand facing the trees, my nose lifted to the smell of snow and pine coming from the peaks. When I was younger, I used to venture up the mountains, where the atmosphere grows cold and thin. My parents hated it—they were worried I’d find myself on the wrong side of a bear and not be able to defend myself.
If only they could see me now.
A stick cracks behind me, and my eyes fly open. Most shifters move like liquid. Any number of the people here in this village could have snuck up on me like they didn’t even exist.
That’s how I know it’s Sable behind me. I don’t know how good witches are at stealth, but she’s about as subtle as a grenade.
“Couldn’t help but notice the way you banged out of the barn like the devil was at your heels,” she remarks when I don’t turn around.
“I needed some air.”
“Yeah. Sure.” There’s a hint of sarcasm to her voice, and it puts up my hackles.
I whirl on her, ready to give her a piece of my mind. I didn’t come out here to be bothered. I came out here to get some air and try to wipe all traces of her magic from my memory.
But when my eyes land on her… I’m doomed. She looks so small and innocent, on top of being the most beautiful ray of sunshine I’ve ever seen in my entire life. My breath catches in my throat. None of the shitty things I’m thinking come out. The only sound I’m capable of making is a small grunt of acknowledgment.
