I glance up at him but don’t reply. I’m not sure if wolves can cry, but I’m on the verge of it anyway.
His green gaze doesn’t waver as he goes on. Secondly, even though his intention was to weaponize you or use you as some sort of tool in his master plan, you have complete control of your destiny. He’s gone where he can’t hurt you or control you anymore. You are in charge. Not Clint.
He rubs his cheek against mine as if to punctuate his statement.
I appreciate his belief in me, but I don’t have the same belief in myself. Even with Archer’s help, I’ve barely gotten a handle on my witch powers. The magic is like a living thing inside me, constantly moving through my limbs. I’m not certain it doesn’t have a mind of its own. During the three days I spent in the mating cabin transitioning into my magic, I was pretty out of it most of the time, lost in a sort of delirium. But I have a clear memory of fighting off an evil dark cloud that wanted me to kill the shifters.
Was it real? Or did I just dream it?
I don’t have the answer, but if it’s true that the witch part of me has a mind of her own, there’s no telling what she’s capable of.
You’re safe now, Archer goes on when I don’t speak.
Am I? I pull back so that I can meet his gaze. Do you remember what Clint said before he died? ‘You better hope she doesn’t find out about you.’ Who was he talking about? Who’s ‘she’?
Archer shrugs. I wish I knew. But if someone shows up, we’ll protect you. Dare, Ridge, Trystan, me—we’ve got your back. Always.
He leans in again and nuzzles my neck, pressing our bodies together in a semblance of a hug. My heart swells with his attention, even as I worry about this elusive “she” and what my uncle might have told her about his little experiment, if anything.
The past twenty-four hours have been full of ups and downs. I’m still carrying the terrifying weight of my uncle’s revelations about me, about him, and about my past. But despite all that, I finally solidified the bond between me and my mates. I can feel the difference between us and sense the way we’re connected irrevocably. Archer’s right, as usual—the four of them will be beside me, come what may.
We’ll help you. We’ll figure this out together, Archer says. He never stops trying to soothe my nerves, and I love that about him.
I brush my cheek against his, feeling a little awkward about trying the whole “nuzzling” thing out. I’m still learning how to be a wolf in a lot of ways. But the movement feels as natural as a hug or kiss, and I lean into him, relishing the softness of his fur against mine.
Ridge’s voice catches my attention, deep and rumbly even in my mind. We’re done. Bring the body.
Archer’s warmth disappears from my side, and the cool night rushes back in, bursting the small, safe bubble that built up between the two of us. He trots to Clint’s head, and his teeth latch on to the man’s flannel shirt, but before I can join him to help, Trystan appears. The large brown wolf snuffles my ear, which is strangely both soothing and erotic, then bypasses me to latch on to Clint’s other shoulder. The two wolves drag the body to the grave.
The heels of Clint’s heavy boots scrape over the ground, dislodging little pieces of dirt and carrying an inch of forest detritus with him. He’s as limp as a rag doll, his arms splayed at his sides and his head lolling toward Archer’s jaw. The wolves get him quickly to the edge of the long, narrow hole Dare and Ridge have dug and drop him onto the ground next to the opening with little ceremony. Then all four wolves give my uncle a nudge with their noses. He rolls into the grave and hits the fresh earth below with a solid thud.
I step up to the edge of the hole and gaze down into the darkness. My wolf sight has no problem making out my uncle’s placid face, a splash of pale, ghostly color against the dirt. He looks as if he could be sleeping, except for the blood that marks his face and stains his neck and shirt.
My four mates surround the hole and begin to kick soil back into the grave. I watch my uncle’s blood-streaked face until the dirt covers him completely, as if he were never there at all.
2
Sable
It’s well past midnight, probably close to one in the morning, when the five of us slow to a walk on the narrow street that runs through the main part of the North Pack village.
I’m exhausted from the journey—racing to my uncle’s house, finding him and fighting him, then sprinting back home. It’s a lot for one night. Not to mention, we did it all on the heels of Ridge’s fight with Lawson after his brother challenged him, followed by some seriously intense sex.
Honestly, it’s probably a miracle I can even stand on my own at this point. The thought of Ridge’s comfortable bed and fresh, clean sheets sounds better than heaven.
But even though my body is running on fumes and ready to collapse, my mind is wired. Maybe it’s because I have this strange agitation inside me—a niggling feeling that even though the rest of my life has just begun, there’s someone out there who might destroy it all.
You better hope she doesn’t find out about you.
I shudder, and my hackles rise instinctively.
The North Pack’s settlement is a hodgepodge of small metal shacks, log cabins, and gravel roads set well off the grid in the Montana wilderness. This late at night, the streets of the village are empty, though I can hear voices somewhere nearby, accompanied by the scent of cooking meat and the distant glow of a fire. Not everyone is asleep, which probably shouldn’t surprise me in a community full of shifters. Some are just out of sight.
I catch a glimpse of a curtain fluttering in the window of a small cabin as we pass, and a curious face peers out at us. Ridge leads us down the street with his nose in the air to sniff at the wind, a partial moon shining on his auburn fur. I’m sure his wolf is a familiar sight to everybody in his pack, including the man in the window. I wonder, though, how the pack feels about the rest of us. Three wolves from different packs, and one girl who shouldn’t be a wolf at all, striding through the darkened streets together.
Another curtain parts in the next house, and light spills onto the grass through the open window. There’s too much illumination behind the face for me to see the person’s expression, but some wolf sense inside me recognizes suspicion. It dances in the air between us, tickling my consciousness. I’m not naive enough to pretend the shifter’s suspicion isn’t firmly placed on me, the white-and-blonde dappled wolf who doesn’t belong.
The girl who carries a shifter and witch magic.
My shift into wolf form and Ridge’s proclamation that I’m his mate did smooth some things over on the heels of his duel, after everyone in his pack saw magic leak out of my fingertips. But Amora warned us that many people are still freaked out by me. That’s what sent the five of us to Clint’s house. We hoped that if we could find answers about who I am and why I’m both witch and wolf, maybe it would soothe some of the more worried pack members.
But I’m not sure if the answer we found is one that will soothe anybody. It definitely didn’t help me.
We shift back to our human forms on the lawn outside Ridge’s cabin, and as cool air rushes over my bare skin, I’m hit by a wave of lightheadedness that makes me reach for Dare’s arm. He grabs me, his fingers curling around my arms.