Fated Magic: Claimed by Wolves #1

by Rose, Callie

  Uncle Clint used to have his buddies over for poker sometimes, and I had a love/hate relationship with those game nights. I liked them because they usually gave me an evening of respite from my uncle. But most of his friends were creepy and gross, and on nights when Clint drank too much or lost too much money, he’d take it out on me after they left.

  And it was only ever men he invited over to play, so for some reason I assume Ridge is only talking to the guys—until all four of them turn to me expectantly.

  “You in?” Archer asks.

  Oh. Right. Of course.

  These men aren’t my uncle or any of his friends. They actually want to spend time with me, and they care about what I want.

  That simple truth hits me in the chest like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, I’m too overwhelmed by emotion to answer.

  I really don’t want to start crying just because they asked me to play cards with them though; they already know I’m an emotional mess, but at some point, they’re gonna start thinking I’m straight-up crazy.

  So I clear my throat to buy an extra second to collect myself, then glance at Ridge. “I don’t know how to play.”

  “Well, that’s easy enough to fix.” He smiles down at me, then jerks his head toward the back of the cabin. “Come on. We can use the table in the kitchen.”

  I get up and follow the guys into the little kitchen, a little thrill of excitement running through me. Ridge and Trystan light a few candles to keep the gathering darkness at bay while Dare and Archer give me a run-down on how poker works.

  To be honest, nothing they say makes any sense to me. Archer tries to break it down into manageable pieces, but Dare keeps throwing in his own two cents, and they’re using words like “big blind,” “flop,” and “river,” none of which make any sense to me.

  When they finish their explanation and find me staring at them like I’m still waiting for them to start, Archer chuckles. “Maybe we should play a few rounds open-handed. We can guide you through it and you can see what we’re talking about.”

  I blink. “You’d do that? You wouldn’t mind?”

  “Of course not.” He smiles, his blue eyes warm. “We can play that way all night. I don’t think any of us really care.”

  I half-expect Trystan to snort at that. I saw the competitive gleam in his eye when Ridge first suggested poker, and I have a feeling he was looking forward to trying to kick the other men’s asses at the game. But no objection comes, and when I glance his way, he pats the seat next to him, inviting me over.

  A new wave of feeling rises in my chest. These men are all so patient with me, about big things and little things—and I know it’s not because they’re patient people in general.

  It’s because of me.

  Because they care about me.

  I still don’t quite know how to handle that, and the parts of me that my uncle left battered and broken still don’t quite believe it. But these four shifter men prove it through their actions day after day, and I hope someday I really can trust that this is all real.

  Ridge deals the first hand, and the guys talk me through the rules and strategy as we begin to play open-handed. The things Archer and Dare were saying make a lot more sense when I can see them with my own eyes, and I ask a lot of questions, absorbing everything I can.

  We play two rounds like that, and I think the men really would be content to play this way all night. They seem to be getting as much enjoyment out of teaching me as they do out of the game itself. Trystan grins widely as he explains what “tells” are and how to look for them, and Dare flips him off when Trystan points out that he has a terrible poker face.

  It’s actually kind of true. Dare can be stoic and hard-edged, and I can’t always tell what he’s thinking. But I rarely have a hard time guessing what he’s feeling. He wears his emotions on his sleeve, and they radiate out from him like a palpable aura.

  “Okay. I think I’m ready,” I say as Archer shuffles the deck. “We can play a real round if you want.”

  “You sure?” He glances up at me, candlelight warming his green eyes.

  “Yeah.”

  I grin, scooting my chair a little closer to the table. Truthfully, I’m still not sure I understand everything about this game. There are a lot of bits I’m a little fuzzy on, but I want to try playing a regular game.

  “All right.” Archer grins at me, then deals the cards face down.

  We start to play, and I immediately realize I’ve made a mistake. I thought I had a handle on this game, but now that I’m trying to strategize on my own, I feel a little out of my depth again.

  So I focus on what Trystan told me about tells and study each of the men gathered around the table with me, trying to guess whether they’ve got a good hand. I can at least do that, even if I don’t quite remember whether my hand is good or bad.

  They look back at me, their gazes just as penetrating as mine, and I realize with a start that this is my favorite part of the game—having an excuse to stare at these men.

  The candlelight casts their faces in shadow, making them look beautiful and almost otherworldly. Archer’s blond hair gleams like gold as he runs a hand through it, and Dare presses his full lips together as he contemplates whether to call or fold. Trystan’s gaze slides to mine, and I can practically see the glee dancing behind his turquoise eyes.

  He’s having fun.

  They all are. And so am I.

  It’s a little thing in some ways, just like their willingness to take the time to teach me. But in other ways, it’s everything. For entire years of my life, “fun” was something foreign to me, so far outside the realm of my experience that it might as well be another language.

  But right now, sitting around a table with four burly men—four wolf shifters—it feels easy.

  It feels right.

  I could happily spend months out here in this cabin, with nothing to do all day but cook, eat, talk, and explore the woods. Part of me wishes we could stay here forever, even though I know that’s not possible. I might not have responsibilities beyond these four walls, but the men do. I can tell that all of them, even Dare, worry sometimes about the duties they’re neglecting while they hole up here.

  They have packs that rely on them, and once my wolf finally appears and makes her choice, this blissful little bubble will burst and reality will come flooding back in.

  It will happen sooner or later. I know it will.

  Nothing this good can last forever.

  But as I glance around the table at my four companions, narrowing my eyes in mock suspicion as I hold my cards close to my face, I wonder how on earth my wolf will ever choose.

  How can she, when I can’t?

  26

  Sable

  The sun is setting over the mountains, already casting a purple twilight over the cabin.

  It’s hunting time.

  Since Dare’s arrival at the cabin nine days ago, he’s joined the hunting party every night. I get the sense that he likes spending time as a wolf, that he needs it, almost. A break from the stresses and strains of being a human, I guess. I don’t know.

  Archer gives me a sweet kiss on the cheek, and Trystan taps my nose with his finger, grinning at the way I scrunch up my face at him. Dare’s gaze lingers on me before he joins the other two in the yard.

  “Don’t be gone too long,” I say.

  “We’ll be back before you know it,” Trystan promises, before giving me a wicked smile and shoving his shorts to his ankles.

  A hot flush rises in my neck, and I fight the urge to fan myself as all three men disrobe in the front yard. Before I can fall into the trap of looking at things I shouldn’t be, they shimmer with the magic of the change. A moment later, three large wolves dash off into the forest to find dinner.

  I’ve started to love watching them shift, but in the same breath, I feel… envious. Shifting is this beautiful, magical thing that seems incredibly out of my reach.

  I find Ridge in the kitchen, chopping carrots o
n a beat-up cutting board while a pot of water boils on the wood stove. I love watching him cook. Where Archer is lively and talkative about cooking, Ridge goes silent and contemplative, working with an impressive precision. The two of them have made every meal a delicious experience.

  His posture shifts a little as soon as I walk into the room, the same way it always does. These men are so attuned to me that it sometimes feels like they’re attached to me somehow, like some kind of invisible cord connects us at all times.

  He glances over his shoulder with an easy smile and points at the counter behind me. “Want to cut potatoes?”

  “Sure.” I grab the mesh bag he’s indicated and carry it across the kitchen to his side. There’s only one cutting board, but luckily it’s a big one, so I grab another knife and set to work halving the potatoes to throw in the pot. I don’t mind being so close to him. In fact, I love it. I crave it.

  The need to be near them has grown from a subtle impulse to an undeniable, constant pull over the course of our time here, and I’ve given up fighting it.

  They’re all careful to avoid pushing me too far—even Dare, although I feel the memories of our first meeting hovering over nearly every interaction we have—so I haven’t kissed any of them since the day Trystan pressed his lips to mine in this very kitchen.

  But they let me touch them all I like. They encourage it even, and I can practically feel how it soothes them the same way it soothes me.

  It awakens something in me too. A heat and a need that refuses to be satisfied with little touches and chaste kisses.

  That feeling still isn’t drawing me toward one of the men over the others though, and it’s starting to make me question my willpower and my sanity.

  They told me. These men and the elders—they all told me that my wolf would choose.

  So why hasn’t she?

  Where is she?

  Those thoughts swirl through my head as I work beside Ridge. Our elbows touch as we chop, and I can feel the warmth rolling off his skin.

  We continue our dinner prep in silence for a few minutes, though he keeps shooting glances at me, his brow furrowed. He always seems to know when something’s weighing on me. I don’t know if I’m just that easy to read, or if Ridge has a stronger intuition than anyone I’ve ever met.

  Finally, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

  “How do you know something’s wrong?” I toss two halves of a potato into the pot of water with a soft splash.

  He puts down his knife and turns to face me, one eyebrow lifting. “Is there not?”

  Letting out a sigh, I put my own knife down and shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just worried the elder was wrong.”

  “About what exactly?” Ridge steps closer, reaching out to squeeze my hand.

  “About me being a shifter. If I’ll ever shift. Maybe I’m not really one of you,” I say, voice small. Until saying it out loud, I never really gave that particular fear too much power in my mind. Now that I have, I realize I really am worried this is all a fluke. Maybe it’s been nothing but a huge misunderstanding.

  I’m not a shifter.

  None of these men will ever belong to me.

  All of this is just a brief moment of blissful peace and happiness, a short interlude before I’ll have to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.

  How to survive on my own.

  But Ridge shakes his head adamantly, his other hand lifting to touch my chest, right over my heart. “You’re wrong about that, sweetheart. She’s in there. I can feel her, and I know she’ll come out soon.”

  His smile is so gentle, so kind. Just as he’s been every step of the way with me.

  There’s something else there too, beneath that comforting relationship we’ve formed. The thing that always lingers between us, demanding more.

  More.

  Our fingers are still entwined, and his palm rests between my breasts. Amora was so generous to give me clothes for this adventure, but she only gave me one bra. And it’s hanging over the shower curtain rod to dry after I washed it in the sink this morning.

  If he moved his hand just a couple inches…

  Desire swirls inside me, and I blush at my own wantonness. Step away, I tell myself, trying to force my feet to move, but it’s too late. I watch, mesmerized, as Ridge smells the change in my body chemistry.

  He stiffens, his hand hot on my chest. His pupils expand, and his lips part.

  I’m too attracted to him to care that he knows my inner desires, too swept up in the heat building strong and fast inside me. I can’t stop imagining his hand shifting to the right, our bodies coming together, and dammit, I want him to make the first move because I’m a coward.

  But he won’t. I know he won’t, because he’s Ridge.

  He’s a good man.

  Too good.

  It’s that thought that unsticks my feet from the floor. He is good, and that’s why I’m coming to care for him so much. But right now I want him to let go of that goodness, that protective worry he has for me, just a little bit.

  I want to be bad. And I want him to join me.

  I take a small step toward him, angling my body just enough that his hand slides over my breast. The moment he realizes I’m braless, his expression darkens with unfiltered desire.

  “Sable…” He mutters gruffly, letting my name trail off. I love the sound of my name on his lips.

  Arching my back, I close my eyes against the way the fabric bunches around his fingers, scraping over my nipple. Ridge hasn’t moved a muscle, even as my nipple pebbles beneath his fingertips. There’s something in his expression that says he’s just as surprised at my behavior as I am.

  Suddenly, his fingers tighten over my swollen nipple, and I gasp at the way the pinch goes straight to the wet heat between my legs. Ridge curses, his nostrils flaring.

  And then his lips crash into mine.

  This kiss isn’t as frantic as the one I shared with Dare on the bank of the stream, but it’s just as consuming. I go hot in his arms as he shoves me back against the kitchen counter, grinding his hips against mine. His hands move lower and then he lifts me onto the counter, opening my legs around his hips.

  My arms wrap around his neck as I clutch at him a little desperately, my legs hooking around his waist like I’m trying to pin our bodies together. To bind us so closely nothing can pull us apart.

  I’ve been wanting to do this for longer than I could ever admit. I’ve needed this for fucking days.

  His lips part, and his tongue dances with mine as his hands slide beneath my shirt. When he cups my bare breasts with his calloused hands, I moan into his kiss, my head whirling from the rush of adrenaline and arousal in my veins.

  After several moments, he pulls away, both his hands emerging from beneath my shirt to cup my face. He looks into my eyes, breathing heavily, his own cheeks flushed.

  God, I like him like this. I love the sight of him coming a little bit undone, and I love knowing that I’m the one who made him that way.

  This massive, powerful, controlled man wants me.

  Needs me.

  And I need him too.

  “Ridge, I…” My tongue darts out to lick my lips, tasting the addictive flavor of him on my skin. I don’t know quite what I want to say, what I want to ask for, but I hope he can understand.

  The wolf shifter’s amber eyes almost seem to glow in the fading light. He opens his mouth to speak when a soft noise comes from behind the cabin.

  He goes tense, his gaze darting to the back door.

  “Do you think they’re already back?” I ask, confused by his reaction. If it were only Trystan, Archer, and Dare outside, I don’t think he’d look so ready to fight. My skin prickles with unease.

  Ridge’s senses are on full alert. Even in human form, he looks like a wolf, with his nose in the air and his eyes unfocused as he listens to sounds well outside my range of hearing. “No. I don’t think so. That’s not anyone I know.”

  Fear strikes a chord within me
, and I fight the urge to run. “A stranger?”

  Ridge catches my frightened gaze and briefly touches my face, then murmurs, “Stay here.”

  Before I can argue, he leaves me sitting on the counter and disappears through the back door into the darkening night.

  I clutch the counter beside my legs and feel that old hysteria rising up inside me. I never fully realized how calm and normal my time here at the cabin has become, but it’s obvious now. My panic attacks have become so few and far between that they don’t feel real anymore. The cabin has turned into a safe place, somewhere I can be me without fear of abuse or judgment.

  But now there’s something here that doesn’t fit that narrative.

  No sounds emerge from behind the cabin. Ridge closed the door behind him. I’m sure he did it because he wanted to protect me, but I don’t like not being able to hear what’s happening. What if he’s in danger? I glance at the counter where our two knives are lying by the cutting board. If all else fails, at least I have a weapon. Of sorts.

  The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence, counting each second since Ridge walked out. I strain to hear anything beyond the cabin walls, wishing I had the preternatural senses of a shifter.

  It’s okay, Sable. It’s probably nothing.

  I repeat the comforting words to myself, trying to believe them. Trying not to let my old fears run away with me.

  Any moment, Ridge will probably walk back through the door with a grin, telling me he found possums in the trash.

  But I know that’s not the case. Ridge didn’t smell an animal outside. He smelled a person. “That’s not anyone I know.”

  A loud pop breaks the mountain silence, and I jump, toppling off the counter in my shock. I’ve heard gunfire before, back when Clint and his friends would drink too much and go out to shoot Coke bottles in the yard, and I’m almost positive that’s what just came from behind the cabin.

  My heart seizes in my chest.

  Ridge.

  A wave of fear and adrenaline like I’ve never known surges through me, so powerful it feels like I got struck by lightning.