by Rose, Callie
“I hope you’ll come with us,” he says. “Let us help you.”
There’s nothing in his tone to indicate I’ve irritated him with my inattention, which is a relief. I don’t know him, and I know that means I obviously shouldn’t care what he thinks, but I still don’t want to hurt his feelings. I didn’t ignore what he was saying on purpose.
My mind just hasn’t stopped reeling. It’s hard to collect my thoughts and keep them in any kind of order for more than a few minutes.
I’m determined to no longer be a doormat. If I said no right here, right now, he’d take it for the final answer and let me go. Something about him promises me he would. I have the power and the ability to say no, more than I ever have in my entire life. But… I don’t want to say it.
I kind of want to say yes.
So I convince myself I’m doing it for his benefit. I don’t want him to think I hate him. I don’t want to walk away from Ridge without telling him thank you. What kind of person would that make me?
And honestly, I don’t know where on earth I would go if I don’t stay here. The path of least resistance is to stick around and see where this circus leads me.
“Okay,” I agree. “I’ll stay.”
Archer’s smile transforms his face, making him even more handsome, as if the sun itself is shining from behind his eyes. “Great. I’m glad, Sable. I promise you won’t regret it.”
My heart does a confused little flip. Partly because I’m not certain I won’t regret this decision. But also because his smile is affecting me in ways I don’t really understand. I’m not used to men drawing out this kind of reaction in me. Nobody has ever had this effect on me, and it scares me.
The panic rears up like it always does, but I breathe through it.
I will not shut down.
We walk silently back down the road. Archer stays at my side, but he gives me an excessive amount of personal space that helps keep the panic at bay. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and he doesn’t try to make small talk. I appreciate that, too, considering Ridge and Trystan are watching us come toward them.
Both men are standing on the lawn behind Ridge’s house. I hate to think they stood there and watched me and Archer talking, but I’m sure that’s what they did. Their gazes all seem to have some kind of magnetic pull toward me, finding me unerringly anytime I’m near them.
I don’t know if I believe in this “mate bond” thing they’re all talking about, but it’s hard to deny that there’s something between us. Something that crackles in the air like an invisible electric charge.
Oh my God. This is insane.
These three men each feel they have a claim to me, and I’ve agreed to give them a chance to prove it. Jesus. What the hell am I thinking?
Trystan watches me approach with a hint of desire in his gaze, but Ridge is staring at me as if searching for any new injuries. He waits until I meet his gaze before he asks, “You okay?”
I nod. “As good as I can be.”
Ridge nods in return. He probably didn’t expect anything less from the crazy girl he dragged in from the woods like a half-drowned kitten. Turning to Archer, he says, “Barton will alert the council of our imminent absence, and the reason why.”
When he tosses a subtle glance at me, I flush. All this focus on me makes me want to sink into the ground and disappear.
“And rescheduling the meeting?” Archer asks.
Ridge shakes his head. “We’ll discuss a more cohesive defense against the witches at the next summit. In the meantime, the packs will continue to defend themselves as they have been.”
Trystan claps Ridge on the shoulder. “Well then. Let me go talk to my pack mates before they head back.”
“I should do the same,” Archer says as the brown-haired wolf brushes past him. “We’ll meet you back here in fifteen.”
As the two stride off back in the direction of the council house, where I can see a group of people still milling about outside, Ridge offers me his hand. I’m too distracted to decline, and I slide my smaller hand into his. His palm is warm and calloused, and the feel of his skin against mine sends little tingles all the way up my arm to my heart. Without a word, he leads me through the back door into the house.
“Will you be all right on your own for a few minutes?” he asks. “I’ve got to pack up.”
“Yeah.”
The word comes out with more strength than I expected, but it still takes great force of will to make myself let go of his hand. My skin feels too cold immediately, and I clasp my own hands together to try to combat the feeling of emptiness.
Maybe Ridge notices my reaction, or maybe it’s because he feels something similar. But he seems reluctant to leave, hesitating for a long moment before nodding and moving across the room.
I sit on the edge of the couch as Ridge disappears into the bedroom. I can hear him rifling through drawers and shoving hangers around in his closet. When he returns a few minutes later, he’s hauling two large satchels and a smaller one, and he tosses them down by the front door. I remain where I am, out of his way and feeling as if I don’t belong here. He gathers more supplies—flashlights, tools, and some nonperishable items from the kitchen, depositing them in the bags.
What the hell am I doing? The mantra repeats over and over in my head.
The situation seems too real now as I watch him pack basic necessities for the group of us. I’ve agreed to go to a cabin in a remote location with three men I don’t know. On what planet is that a safe or smart idea?
Maybe the planet where men can be wolves and witches exist? The small voice in my head sounds almost amused, and I bite my lip to stifle the slightly crazed smile that threatens.
As he zips up the two large packs, Ridge remarks, “This smaller bag is yours. My friend Amora donated some clothes and necessities for you. She’s probably a bit bigger than you, but they should work.”
I nod, wondering who Amora is. Is “friend” just a euphemism? Is Amora his girlfriend?
The idea that he might belong to someone else makes me crazy with an unreasonable sort of jealousy, and I bite back any desire to question him about her. I’m fragile enough without adding excess fuel to the fire.
Leaving the bags by the door, Ridge leaves the room one more time. When he comes back, he’s got a small bottle and a few white pieces of gauze in his hands. He approaches me with smooth, even steps, as if wanting to make sure he doesn’t scare me.
He doesn’t though.
He’s broad and imposing, but for some reason I’m not afraid of him, even if his presence always seems to take up the whole room.
When he reaches me, he kneels on the hardwood floor in front of me, grimacing slightly as he takes in the sight of my scraped and dirty knees. His gaze flicks up to meet mine. “I’ll clean and disinfect these, okay?”
I nod, unable to look away from the sight of this massive man kneeling before me.
Working quickly, he dabs some disinfectant on one of the gauze pads before brushing the pad over my knee. I hiss at the sting, and he freezes immediately, clenching his jaw as if it hurts him too.
He looks up at me again. “You all right?”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “It just stings a little. I’ve felt worse.”
I shouldn’t have said that. His gaze drops to the scars crisscrossing my bare legs beneath the oversized shorts, and he clenches the gauze pad so tightly that little drops of disinfectant drip from the bottom of his closed fist.
His tension makes my skin prickle, so to distract him, I ask, “Is he really your brother? Lawson?”
The anger in his expression doesn’t go away, but it morphs into a new kind as he shakes his head with a grunt. “Yes. Really. Unfortunately.”
“He’s kind of an asshole.”
I feel safe saying this, considering I’m pretty sure Ridge already knows it. And he proves me right when he laughs humorlessly.
“Yes. That he is.” His features soften a little as he starts swiping gently at my skin
with the wet pad again. “I’m sorry for what he did. He’ll pay for it, I promise you that. And I won’t let him touch you ever again.”
The truth in his words sends a little shiver up my spine—a mixture of fear and something else I can’t quite name. He means it.
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I let silence fall between us as he continues cleaning up the little scrapes on my knees. His big hands are surprisingly careful as he dabs the disinfectant over each little tear in my skin.
When he’s done, he sets everything on the coffee table beside the couch before looking up at me, his big palms resting on my thighs just above the knee. He gives a soft squeeze, and I feel one corner of my lips tilt up into a smile.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Of course.”
He gazes up at me for another long moment before he finally moves. Sitting beside me on the cushions, he slides a finger beneath my chin and tilts my face up toward his.
“You don’t have to do this.” His gruff voice is gentle, and his gaze sweeps my face as if he can see right through me.
Hell, maybe he can. From the moment I woke up here, he’s been able to sense my fear, my panic, and calm me down. Now, I’m sure he can clearly sense my thoughts and just how stressed I am over this extremely odd situation. Like every other action he’s taken in my presence, his statement is one more way in which he seems determined to protect me.
Warmth unfurls inside me, and I lean into his touch. His protection feels like a force-field, cutting me off from the storm brewing inside me. I focus on the heat of his finger on my chin, way too aware of his closeness and his breath not far from my lips.
I could take him up on this offer. Back out now. But there’s something in me that can’t do it. Instead of my usual instinctual need to flee, I want to stay right here forever with his finger on my skin and his warmth radiating over me. As long as he’s there to comfort me, I’ll be all right.
“Thank you. But I’m going,” I say resolutely. “I—I want to.”
The tension in his forehead melts away, and the corners of his lips turn up, making his ruggedly handsome face even more beautiful. “Good. I’m glad.”
We stare at one another for so long that I feel like I’m going to drown in his eyes. When his gaze drops to my lips, my stomach flutters, and the warmth inside me unfurls further.
He brushes his thumb over the line of my jaw, making every nerve ending in my body sing. A sound escapes me, and I sway toward him a fraction of an inch, lost in him.
Entranced by him.
Drowning in the strange connection I can neither understand nor deny.
“I’m so glad I found you that night, Sable,” Ridge murmurs. “I wish I’d found you long before then.”
I think I know what he means, even without him saying it. He wishes he’d known me long enough to keep the bad things in my life from hurting me. To keep me safe.
I could tell him that he would’ve had to have met me when I was a child for that to be possible, but I don’t want to ruin the sweetness of this moment. I don’t want him to stop looking at me the way he is, with hunger and tenderness all rolled into one.
My body shifts toward him a little more, and Ridge mirrors the movement, closing the space between us…
The front door bangs open.
I jolt, leaping nearly half a foot off the couch as I flash back to the day Lawson and his cronies burst into this same room. Luckily, no raging bullies enter. Just Trystan and Archer, who I think aren’t bullies. At least, I hope they don’t turn out to be, though I guess right now anything is possible.
Trystan pauses just inside the door, his gaze hardening as he surveys the scene they just walked in on—Ridge and me sitting so close together we’re sharing the same air, with his hand still touching my face.
“Are we interrupting?” Trystan drawls, his voice dark. Archer peers over his shoulder at us, and a muscle tenses in his jaw.
I quickly scoot away from Ridge before this turns into a dog fight. I’ve built a kind of… friendship, I guess, with Ridge. But I can’t forget that these other two shifters are absolutely certain I’m their mate. I really don’t want to have to referee three territorial men. I’m not equipped for that level of violence.
Ridge unfolds from the couch, turning back into the imposing shifter I’ve come to recognize.
“No. You aren’t interrupting.” He snatches a pack off the floor near Trystan’s feet. “Grab a bag,” he adds, then shoves past the two wolves on his way out the front door.
Trystan glares after him while Archer grabs the other bag. Then they both turn to me and wait, watching as I pick up the smaller pack with my hand-me-downs from Ridge’s maybe girlfriend. I hike it higher on my shoulder and skirt past them out the door, giving myself a wide berth from their imposing presences.
Ridge is in the front yard waiting in just his boxer shorts, jamming his shirt and pants into his satchel as I appear. My steps falter on the front walk as my gaze roams over the play of muscles across his back.
He glances over his shoulder, giving me a view of his profile in the evening sunlight. “It’s a hike to the cabin. We’ll have to shift and run to make it by nightfall. Since you can’t shift yet, you’re going to have to ride me.”
“R-ride you?” I gape at him. Surely that’s not what he just said.
Ridge grins wolfishly and turns around to face me. His front is even more delicious than his back, and my mouth goes dry as I try to swallow. “Don’t worry. It’s like riding a bike.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
He laughs, seeming amused by my sassy reply. I blink, caught off guard a little. Uncle Clint never found it the least bit amusing when I talked back to him.
As Trystan and Archer join us, shedding their own clothes, Ridge’s body begins to shudder and change. I see it now that Archer has told me—how the shift is powered by magic. For a moment, Ridge’s body seems to be swallowed up by blackness, and then in the next moment, he’s standing on four furry legs with his boxer shorts in pieces at his feet.
The change steals over my other two companions next. I clutch the strap of my satchel, gripping the leather tightly as I try to resist the urge to rub my eyes in cartoonish disbelief. I’ve seen this once before, in Ridge’s living room, but I was caught so off-guard then that I barely processed it. Observing the change when I’m in a more coherent state of mind leaves me nearly breathless with wonder.
The shift only lasts a few seconds before I’m facing three of the largest creatures I’ve ever seen.
Ridge’s fur is a light brown, almost auburn in the dying sunlight, with his belly and legs a lighter tan. His eyes are still the same honey color, and I recognize a sharp, human intelligence behind them—which means they don’t fully lose themselves in the transformation. Trystan is slightly taller than Ridge with deep chocolate brown fur all over and turquoise eyes, while Archer’s wolf has golden fur on his back and a white underside. Like the others, his green eyes are still the same, and they even look compassionate as he cocks his head at me, sensing my roiling emotions.
As Trystan and Archer nudge through the straps on their packs and manipulate the bags onto their backs, I cross to Ridge and try not to give in to my fear.
When I stand before him, his head reaches past my shoulders, even with him on four legs and me on two. He’s the size of a small pony, powerfully built and rippling with muscle beneath his thick fur. I put a hand on his side and trail my fingers over him, surprised by how wiry and scruffy his fur is, when he looks so soft.
It takes a couple tries, and some kneeling on his part, for me to scramble onto his broad shoulders. My own bag on my back throws me off until I get it settled directly behind me and find my balance on Ridge’s body. He snuffs at me, tossing me a gaze over his shoulder. Apparently, we won’t be able to talk while he’s in wolf form.
“I’m ready,” I tell him, my heart thudding hard in my chest.
He sets into motion, and I dig the fingers of
both hands into his fur, clinging to him for dear life. God, how embarrassing would it be if I fell off like a six-year-old at a sideshow pony ride?
After a few steps, I’m able to catch up with the rhythm of his trot. I keep my hands fisted in his fur and my legs tucked around his barrel chest. I’m even kind of enjoying it with the wind picking up through my hair and that snow-and-pine scent drifting from the mountains ahead.
But my good mood is soured when I realize we aren’t leaving without an audience.
Lawson stands beneath the shadows of a front porch as we pass through the outskirts of the village, watching us leave with hard, narrowed eyes.
16
Ridge
It’s been a while since I last ran—the full-out sprint of a wolf with a mission or a wolf at play, sprinting through the mountains as if every hill is a racetrack.
It’s a freeing kind of run, cosmic and powerful.
When I’m on patrol, I keep my steps measured and even. It’s too easy to let the landscape slide by without seeing potential threats if you don’t stop and smell the fucking roses, as my father used to say.
My paws thud against the ground and the cool mountain wind whips past my ears. Archer and Trystan flank me, their keen gazes aware of our surroundings even as the trees and rock flash by at lightning speed. If I had to be alone in the wilderness for any indefinite period of time, I have to admit, these two men aren’t the worst backup a wolf could ask for. They’re both strong and smart. Trystan’s attitude problem makes me want to gut him with my bare claws sometimes, and Archer bears more pain than I think he realizes he lets on to the world. Between his abduction as a cub and his father’s drawn-out march toward death, he’s had a hell of a lot to deal with.
But they’re good wolves.
I worried at first that Sable wouldn’t be able to handle the speed, but once she found her balance on my back, she was a natural. Her hands are wrapped firmly in my thick fur, and her legs are clamped hard around my body. She’s so small and light I think I could carry her forever. I can feel every inch of her gorgeous, supple body pressed against me, but it’s her breath on my neck, ruffling my fur, that drives me crazy.