by Rose, Callie
I trail off. I don’t want to go into the specifics of everything Clint did, of the emotional and physical pain I’ve endured at his hands. I’m not sure I can talk about it without breaking down entirely, and I really don’t want to do that.
“I never felt safe enough to run away,” I say, self-conscious about the way the words come out weak and strangled. “If I tried and he caught me, I knew he would kill me. I never felt like it would be… I didn’t even try. I was weak.”
All four men are tense now, staring at me with a mixture of sympathy and rage. The rage, I know, isn’t directed at me. But the sympathy washes over me like a cool breeze on a hot day, calming the rapid pounding of my heart a little.
“We were coming home from the hospital that night,” I say, finally getting around to Dare’s question as I meet his gaze. “He… pushed me down the stairs and thought he had broken my arm. The doctor tried to help me; he was suspicious of Clint and wanted to ask me questions alone. But I was too scared, even then. I threw away the lifeline he offered me.”
My throat tightens as I swallow, remembering the pity in Doctor Patil’s eyes.
“Then on the way back, a deer ran out in front of my uncle’s truck. He slammed on the brakes and we came to a stop just in time. We were angled half across the road. I looked out and saw the deer we almost hit and realized it was freer than I was. I had this moment of absolute clarity, and I just—I just threw the door open and ran. Right in front of your car,” I add with a shaky smile.
Silence falls over the room as I finish speaking.
I hate that I’ve brought down the mood. It was a nice breakfast, somewhat lighthearted and full of energy. A vast improvement over last night. And I’ve ruined that. Although my life story couldn’t do anything but bring the mood down, even if it isn’t my fault.
“I should have run sooner,” I murmur, wrapping my fingers around the warm coffee mug in front of me. I finally lose my battle against the burning tears, and they spill over the corners of my eyes. “I should have been stronger.”
To my left, Trystan shifts forward. He reaches out with one finger and brushes away the tear sliding toward my jaw line. My breath catches in my throat, my body reacting to his touch as if an electric current flows between us.
I look at him, our eyes meeting. He’s such a proud, cocksure kind of guy, so hard to read, but his face is an open book right now.
Then, before I can fully process what he’s doing, he leans in and kisses me.
It isn’t hard or demanding, not like I would have expected from him. His lips lock with mine, warm and firm, sending a tingle up my spine, but he releases me without taking it further.
“You’re not weak,” he says gruffly, tucking his fingers into my hair and cupping my face gently. “You did whatever it took to survive. That’s strength, Sable. The greatest kind of strength there is.”
24
Sable
Trystan’s eyes are the most beautiful blue-green. They look like I imagine the ocean would look, and I feel like I’m drowning in them as he draws back a little, still holding my gaze.
He’s such a confusing mix of conflicting pieces, this man. More of a mystery to me than any of the other three—even Dare, who I just met. Trystan often seems to look down at the rest of the world from on high, as if he’s got everything figured out and is just waiting for everyone else to catch up.
But then he does things like this, and it’s like a whole other side of him emerges.
A softer side.
A kinder side.
I want to know this side of him better. I want to understand him, to get inside his head.
His hand is still cupping my cheek, and we’re gazing into each other’s eyes as if we’re the only two people in the world. But then Dare shifts slightly on one side of me, and Trystan’s body gives a little jerk as he seems to remember we’re not alone.
The veneer of casual, languid confidence falls back over his face, although softness still lingers in his eyes as he presses up to stand.
Ridge grips my hand gently. “He’s right, Sable. I knew it as soon as I found you that night. You were all banged up, looking like a boxer who’d just gone eight rounds. Looking like a fighter.”
I certainly didn’t feel like a fighter that night. I was still nursing injuries from the man who abused me for most of my life as I fled through the woods like a frightened deer. What part of that does he suppose is representative of a fighter?
Maybe there are more ways to fight than just one, a quiet voice murmurs in my head. Maybe sometimes running is fighting. Fighting to stay alive, just like Trystan said.
“Thanks,” I mutter quietly.
I’m fucking terrible at taking compliments, maybe because I haven’t received many of them in my life. Clint was great at hurling insults, and I got pretty good at letting the harshest ones rebound off the armor I built around my heart.
But compliments?
My fortifications aren’t meant to withstand those, and I don’t quite know what to do with the warm feeling that floods my chest.
Archer leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek, his lips lingering for a second. When he pulls back, he gives me a little smile.
“I think today should be Sable Day,” he says, glancing at the men gathered around me as he speaks. “It should be dedicated to doing something fun. Whatever Sable wants. What do you think?”
There are nods all around, and the warm feeling in my chest expands until it seems to fill my whole body. I’m positive I’m blushing a little as Archer looks back at me.
“Anything you’d like to do?”
“Um…” I chew on my lip, considering the question. “Could we go outside? I mean, farther away from the cabin than just to chop wood?”
I don’t add that after spending so much of my life trapped in a single house, I’m developing a craving for open spaces and sunlight—but I don’t need to. It seems like they can all sense my unspoken words anyway, and my suggestion is met with an enthusiastic response.
We clean up from breakfast, then head out the back door toward the stream where Dare found me last night. We turn right, following the edge of the small stream through the woods.
As the cabin disappears amidst the trees behind us, I slow my steps a little to fall in beside Ridge, who’s bringing up the rear of the group.
“Is it safe for us to leave the cabin like this? I mean, I know you guys go out to hunt, but…”
“It’s safe.” He nods, although I don’t miss the way his gaze stays alert as he takes in our surroundings. “As safe as it’s possible to be with witches in the world anyway. We burned sigils into trees in a boundary that encompasses all of the pack lands. It’s possible for witches to get through, but it makes it harder for them to come en masse. Harder for them to attack in numbers. And you’re with four alphas.” He glances down at me with a reassuring smile. “We won’t let anyone hurt you.”
I ignore the tingle that runs down my spine at the way he looks at me, focusing on what he just told me instead. “What do the sigils do? You’ve mentioned them before, but I don’t really get it. Are they magic? I thought the only magic shifters had was… well, shifting.”
“That is the only magic we have.” Archer drops back to join us, ending up on my other side so I’m bookended by him and Ridge. “But sigils themselves hold power. Witches infuse them with magic, which makes them far stronger than any we could ever create. But anyone who knows how to form the proper sigils can wield the inherent power in those runes.”
I blink, trying to process that new piece of information. It’s still sometimes hard to believe I’m having conversations where the word “magic” is said in total seriousness.
“So you use magic against the witches?”
“We use every tool we have against the witches,” Ridge says, a hint of a growl entering his voice as he scans the trees again. Then he nudges me gently. “We use sigils for more than that though. Remember how your arm and ankle were nearly healed af
ter your second night at my house? Our elders use sigils for a variety of purposes, including the creation of healing poultices and tinctures. And it’s also how Elder Jihoon determined that there’s a wolf in you. His dowsing rods are powered by sigils.”
It’s hard to believe that was just over a week ago. It feels like it might as well be another lifetime, and the entirety of my upbringing in my uncle’s house sometimes feels it must be just a very long, very horrible dream. Out here in the woods, with the sun shining and the birds twittering in the trees, it’s hard to believe so much evil can exist in the world.
Of course, it can.
And I’ll never be able to forget that.
I’ll always bear the scars of my past, both the ones on the outside and the ones on the inside.
But right now, I can allow myself to believe that maybe—one day—they might fade.
We walk for several more minutes before the creek widens out into a small pond. Dare and Trystan got ahead of us, deep in a conversation that’s the most civil I’ve seen them manage so far. By the time we catch up to them, Dare is kicking off his jeans. Trystan shoots me a wink before tugging his shirt over his head and shucking his jeans too.
Then magic ripples over both of them as they shift.
They pad toward the shoreline and step in, letting the water ripple around their paws. Beside me, Ridge gives one more scan of our surroundings before nodding to Archer. The two of them strip too, quickly and perfunctorily. Archer told me once that a shifter could make the transition fully clothed, but their clothes don’t tend to survive the process. So to avoid wasting perfectly good clothing, they always undress first unless it’s an emergency.
As I watch the two wolves join the others in the pond, a wave of unexpected longing washes through me.
I wish I could join them.
And I don’t just mean in the water.
I wish I could shift too.
But I want Archer to get his wish. I want today to be a fun day, a lighthearted day, so I push any melancholy feelings aside and step forward, kicking off my shoes and rolling up my borrowed pants so I can wade in the shallows as the wolves splash around.
The water is probably runoff from higher up in the mountains, so it’s just this side of freezing despite the warmth in the early spring air. It’s crystal clear and has that crisp scent I love though, so I hold out as long as I can before my numb toes force me back onto land.
The men seem to take their cue from me, and as soon as I leave the water, they follow after me.
Dare gives a mighty shake, sending water spraying in all directions as his damp fur puffs out from his body. I laugh, holding up a hand to shield myself as the others all shake off too. When magic shimmers over their bodies, I suddenly take a great interest in the birds flitting among the branches above us—although I’d be lying if I said my gaze didn’t slip back downward once or twice, catching on broad shoulders, thick thighs, and perfectly sculpted muscles.
After the men are all dressed again, we walk a little farther around the pond.
I find myself hiking next to Dare, and I can’t stop myself from shooting little glances his way. I’m so curious about him, and I have dozens of questions I’m dying to ask. But even though I told the men my sad life story this morning, I’m hesitant to ask him about his.
I know the basics already—witches attacked his entire pack and sent the survivors scattering to the wind. Asking for more details feels a little like slowing down and gawking at the scene of an accident or something. I don’t want to make him dredge up horrible memories just to satisfy my own morbid curiosity.
So when he catches me glancing at him for the third time, I blurt out the first question I can think of that doesn’t have to do with the decimation of his pack.
“Does it hurt?”
His brows furrow. “What?”
God, Sable. Be more awkward. Please.
I take a breath, then speak at a more normal speed. “The shift. When you turn from a man into a wolf or back. Does it hurt?”
His dark brown eyes focus on me, and I remember what they looked like last night in the moonlight, deep and mysterious. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to look at him and not think of that moment. It feels like it’s still imprinted on my skin, on my soul.
“Nah, it doesn’t hurt.” His gruff voice drags me from my thoughts. “Most of us start shifting when we’re just cubs, so it might be a bit different for you. But it’s not like being ripped apart and reformed. The magic washes through you and then it’s done. It feels good in a way, like meeting your other half. Your better half.”
His expression softens a little, and I wonder if he thinks his wolf is his better half. Do all shifters feel that way?
“That sounds… nice,” I admit.
And it does. I was terrified by the idea that I might not be entirely human at first, but the idea isn’t nearly as frightening as it once was.
What would I be like as a wolf? Would I be stronger than I am as a human? More confident? Would I trust my instincts more?
Maybe Dare can see the wistfulness in my eyes, because he gives a soft snort. “I said better, not perfect. Wolves have good instincts, but we can make mistakes just like anyone.”
For a second, I think maybe he’s talking about the mate bond, and how four different shifters have somehow claimed that bond with me. But when I look up at him again, his features are hard, his gaze unfocused—and I realize he’s thinking of something else entirely.
He’s thinking of the thing I promised myself I wouldn’t ask about.
“I’m sorry. About your pack.”
The words come out before I can stop them. I press my lips together like that’ll keep me from blurting out anything else as Dare’s body goes stiff beside mine. We’re walking close enough to each other that I can feel the change in him immediately, and my own body reacts to the tension in his.
“Thank you.”
His voice is low and rough, and he doesn’t meet my eyes as he speaks. I can’t tell if I made anything better or just made everything worse. The overwhelming urge to reach out to him rises up in me, making my fingers itch to thread through his. I want to hold his hand or wrap my arms around his waist, and this impulse has nothing to do with the scorching heat that flared between us when he caged me in his embrace last night.
This urge is deeper and more complex than that.
I want to help him.
I want to heal him.
But I don’t know if I can, or whether I even have a right to try. I don’t know if he’d welcome that kind of touch from me, or what it would mean if he did.
So I just shoot him a soft smile and then move away to give him space, quickening my steps to join Archer and Trystan at the head of our little pack.
“Hey, Sable. You gettin’ your sunshine fix?” Archer greets me with a grin, draping an arm over my shoulders.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
I let myself melt against his body a little, my own arm instinctively going around his waist. It feels safe here. Comfortable.
When I glance over my shoulder, I find Dare watching me. The expression on his face is no longer hard and stoic. Instead, there’s a softness in his features that makes me think maybe, just maybe, if I’d reached out—he would’ve let me.
25
Sable
Over the next several days, things begin to shift between the five of us.
It’s hard to believe how quickly these men have become a huge part of my life. I can barely remember when they weren’t in my life, even though it was barely two weeks ago that Ridge found me in that ravine. There are still plenty of things I don’t know about them and things they don’t know about me. But I’ve stopped holding myself back as much, letting down little pieces of the barrier around my heart.
It meant more than I thought it would to tell my story out loud and have these four beautiful, protective men look at me the same way they did before they knew how fucked up my life has been.
I kno
w they all hate my uncle, and I know they all hurt for me.
But they don’t look at me like I’m broken.
Damaged.
Ruined.
They look at me like they always have, since pretty much the first moment I met them.
Like I’m special.
Like I’m perfect—just the way I am.
It’s a balm to my soul, and their acceptance of even my broken parts makes it easier to trust them with more of myself. So I do.
We take more walks together, never venturing too far from the cabin and always as a group. But I move between the men, finding time to talk to each of them, getting to know them better in small increments. Thankfully, my newfound level of comfort with them makes me a slightly less awkward conversationalist than before, and the low-level panic that was my constant companion for so long bleeds away slowly. Even my nightmares are growing less intense.
I’m not the only one who’s growing more relaxed either. The men seem to have buried the hatchet, at least somewhat. They’re no longer always tense and glaring at one another as if they’re in competition. They’ve come to a truce, with me at the center of it.
On the sixth day after Dare’s addition to our little group, Ridge walks into the living room after dinner. The sun is setting, its last rays filling the cabin with a soft orange light, and it catches his silhouette perfectly as he stands near the couch, waggling something in his hand.
“Look what I found.”
I have to force my attention away from his handsome face, and when I get a look at what he’s holding, my brows scrunch up. “Cards?”
“Yup.” His gaze darts to the men who are gathered around me on the couch and chair. “What do you say? Poker?”
“Fuck, yes.” Trystan gives a cocky smile, looking pleased.