by Callie Rose
Dammit. There’s a downside to having four mates, I think, frustration bubbling inside me. I’m outnumbered.
8
Sable
I’m alone, walking through a cold, damp cave. I can hear the trickle of water on stone, feel the chill breeze of the underground, but I can hardly see my hand in front of my face. The darkness is so absolute that it feels like a physical entity, watching me, urging me on. My heart races, and I have a strong urge to turn back.
Wake up, Sable, I tell myself.
But I don’t. And something inside me keeps me moving.
The ground beneath my feet is uneven, littered with loose stones that make me slip and slide on even the slightest incline. Considering the path I’m on is steadily sloping downward, I almost fall more than once. So I grip the rock walls on either side of me to stay on my feet, though they’re wet and slippery with algae too.
After a while, the two cliff faces on either side begin to press in on me. It’s too dark to see it happening, but I can feel it when I reach out to balance myself. I had to stretch before, or choose just one wall to break my fall. Then, suddenly, I don’t have to stretch. When I touch the walls, my elbows are bent.
That’s when I hear the voice.
“Attack.”
The whisper seems to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. It drags out the single word into something snake-like and venomous, until the sound crawls across my skin like fingers caressing me.
I freeze and press my back against one wall, shrinking away from the other to give myself room to breathe and get a grip on my emotions.
“Evil creatures,” the voice goes on. The words are right in my ear, and I swear I can feel an invisible breath brushing along the tiny hairs at my nape. “They long for the peace of death. You should give it to them.”
Between the weight of the rocks surrounding me, the darkness, and the insidious whispers, my panic rises in a tidal wave. I worked so hard to get past these emotions, to get past my fear, but all it takes is a dark cave and thick, pressing walls to bring it all back to the forefront of my mind.
My breaths come faster, more ragged. I slide down the wall and curl into a ball, wrapping my arms around my knees as I try to focus on my breathing the way Archer taught me.
Archer. My mate.
My shifters.
I’m a wolf, I remind myself, and the panic starts to dissipate. I’m a shifter. Shift, and keep going. Fight it.
Magic shimmers over me. My body changes, crouching down and growing into my massive, white-and-blonde furred wolf. I take a few experimental steps forward and realize my steps are more sure than they were in human form, and even though I’m larger in wolf form, I don’t feel the immense pressure of the walls pressing in on me.
“Kill them all, witch,” the whisper taunts me. It wraps around me as if the speaker is everywhere, flitting around me, speaking in one ear and then the other.
I ignore it and keep going.
The floor slopes ever downward, and the walls crush closer. I keep my head up, comfortable in my shifter skin and refusing to give in to the panic that still wants to surface.
Until I hear the voice again.
“You cannot run from who you are.”
The voice is more than a whisper now. It’s forceful and clear, growing in power.
I whip around, my snout in the air as I try to sniff out the culprit. Is it the cloud of blackness? That dark, menacing fog that hung over me the night I transitioned? Even with my shifter sight, the cave is too dark to tell.
I pick up the pace, trotting through the narrow tunnel as fast as I can safely go. But the voice follows me.
“Kill them.”
“They all must die.”
“They are the enemy.”
“Abominations do not deserve to live.”
I run faster, my thick shoulders bouncing off the walls as they grow closer on either side of my body. No matter how fast I run, I can’t outrun the voice. It’s in my ears, in my head, part of me.
If I can’t outrun it, I’ll fight it.
I skid to a stop and leap, biting at the air. My jaws close on emptiness. I try again and again, but nothing is there for me to latch on to.
“You cannot fight this, Sable,” the voice hisses.
Then it’s on me.
I recognize the dark cloud as it settles over me, squeezing me, and I growl and lunge into it, determined to rip it to pieces. Instead, the cloud overtakes me, and I can no longer move. I sink to the floor, adrenaline surging through me as I stretch my paws out to try to crawl through the darkness. They’re like beacons in the pitch black—pale blotches against the dark ground.
But when I look down at my paws again, my heart lurches in my chest.
Black magic is rippling across my fur just like it does in my human form.
The witch is trying to overtake the wolf.
I jolt awake, scrambling against the bedsheets with four paws. I’m no longer in the cave, but in bed, where I’ve been asleep with my four mates. I realize with dawning horror that I’m in my shifter form, and that threads of black shimmer through my fur, just like I saw in the nightmare.
What I dreamed of, what seemed so nightmarish and impossible, was truly happening in real life even as I slept.
All four men have been woken by my thrashing, backing away from my claws as I struggle to get purchase and stand.
“Sable! Sable, calm down!” Ridge calls, his voice strained by fear and rough with sleep.
I can’t hide the black marks in my fur, and I see them notice it, one by one. Ridge’s eyes widen, and Dare backs away, his eyes going dark with horror. It’s like I can see his whole pack being murdered in the reflection in his eyes. Trystan’s gaze is on my side, his mouth hanging open, dumbfounded.
Archer reaches for me, and there’s worry in his voice as he says, “Sable, it’s okay.”
Liar. It’s not okay. Nothing is okay. I’m numb all over, like the night I woke up and didn’t recognize my mates lying beside me.
I refuse to hurt them. I will not give in to that insidious voice or this horrible numb feeling.
I back away, the blankets slick beneath my paws, and tumble off the bed inelegantly in my haste to get away from the men. Then I find purchase on the slick hardwood floors and bolt toward the front of the house.
Bursting through Ridge’s front door, I race into the night. The air is cool, and the moon is hidden behind thick clouds, but I have no problem seeing with my wolf sight. I leave the village behind and plunge into the woods on the edge of town—the same woods I attempted to escape through when I first arrived here.
Back then, I was running from the unknown, from the strange men who’d saved me and claimed me as their mate. Now, I’m running to protect those same men.
I can hear all four of my mates chasing after me. Their paws thunder on the ground as they crash through the undergrowth after me. I wish they’d just let me go. I’m not fast enough to outrun them, but I try. I leap over a narrow creek and put on an extra burst of speed, dodging trees as I head deeper into the forest.
But it’s not enough. They draw closer. So close I can feel the heavy panting from their snouts, can feel the ground rumbling beneath the pads of my feet from their combined footfalls. And then a heavy weight collides with my body.
I fall to the ground as teeth latch on to my neck with aching gentleness.
No! I scream in mind speak as I try to struggle away from the large body pinning me down. Let me leave. Please!
You know we can’t, sweetheart. Trystan’s voice in my head is deliberately cool, as if he’s trying to tamp down his own emotions so they won’t fan the flames of mine. Let us help you. Come on, calm down.
Breathe, Sable, Archer adds gently as he sinks to the ground near my head, his face close to mine. His vividly green gaze meets mine, but I look away, unable and unwilling to be comforted this time.
Ridge places a heavy paw on my shoulders, a low whine spilling from his lips. We
want to help, little wolf. Let us help you.
When Dare comes and rests on my other side, completely enclosing me between the four of them, the fight starts to drain out of me. Their closeness, their palpable worry for me, and the support I can feel flowing through the bond—it all finally starts to break through the tidal wave of blind panic that rose up inside me earlier.
Shift back, Archer tells me, his voice still soft. It will be easier to fight the magic in human form.
Lacking any other option since I can’t move at all, I obey.
I’m not the only one who shifts. Trystan releases his hold on me, and his body morphs on top of mine, while Ridge and Dare step away and shift as well. Tears spill over my cheeks the moment the wolf is gone, joining the dozens of black marks currently painting my body.
Trystan slides over to get his weight off me, then pulls me into his arms, tucking me against his broad, warm chest. I bury my face in his skin and realize I’m shaking uncontrollably. Then Dare and Ridge are behind me, lending me their strength.
Archer’s soft hands slide over my hair, smoothing the tangled locks. “Breathe with me, Sable.”
I keep my eyes closed and my face pressed against Trystan, but I follow Archer’s instructions as he speaks. Trystan does too, his chest rising and falling beneath my face as he guides me alongside his friend. Their voices are beacons for me, like lighthouses illuminating the rocky coast so that I can safely find my way home.
“Push down the magic,” Archer tells me gently. “You’ve told me you feel it in your torso, rolling and moving. Clamp down on it. Shove it deeper. Box it up and put it in the attic of your mind.”
His analogies make me huff a small laugh, but I focus on his words. He keeps coaxing me and guiding me, until little by little, I’m able to beat back the magic that thrums through me. When he tells me to open my eyes, the black marks are gone, and I’m left exhausted, cold, and broken on the forest floor.
Trystan carries me back to the cabin like a child, one arm beneath my shoulders and one beneath my knees. Nobody speaks on the walk, though all three of the other men stick close to us.
After the chill of the night, Ridge’s cabin feels calm and warm, and it chases some of the terror away just to be here, surrounded by these familiar walls, this scent of home and love. But when it looks as if Trystan’s about to carry me back to the bedroom, I buck wildly against his hold. He sets me down, and I lurch away, moving unsteadily on my feet.
Before anyone can stop me, I make a beeline for the living room, panic setting my heartbeat at an alarming pace. I can’t go back to that room with the echoes of that nightmare, the memories of my wolf’s fur stained by magic.
What if I hurt someone next time? What if the witch overtakes my wolf?
I turn on the light in the living room, wishing it were brighter, and then perch on the edge of the couch. I’m cold all over, my body shivering from the chill and the anxiety. Ridge tucks a blanket around my shoulders, wrapping it around me like a burrito, then they each take seats with me: on the couch, on the floor, on the coffee table in front of me, until I’m surrounded.
At some point, something warm is pressed into my hand, and I’m urged to drink. Hot tea, I think, although my mind is in such turmoil that I’m not certain I haven't made the whole thing up.
Ridge rubs his hands up and down my arms, the blanket soft and soothing on my skin. “You’re going to be okay.”
I nod because it’s the only response I have. But I know, without the shadow of a doubt, that no one in this room can promise me that.
They do their best to calm me, talking to me in low voices and promises to protect me. I love how hard they try to reassure me, even though none of it really makes me feel better. In the end, I just tell them I’m tired, and the five of us go back to bed, leaving a rapidly cooling mug of tea on the table.
I’m tucked between Trystan and Ridge, while Dare latches on to my legs as if he's afraid I’ll run again. The three of them fall asleep fast—or at least fake it well—but Archer sits up against the headboard, his eyes glittering in the dark to keep watch. I don’t know if he’s keeping watch for more witchcraft under my skin or to keep me from running again.
I try to relax, but there’s no point in it.
There’s something bad inside me, and no matter what my mates say, they can’t fix this. They can’t guarantee I won’t flip loyalties, that the witch won’t take over and leave me locked in some kind of horrible room inside my own mind while she kills them all, and then goes after their packs too.
Silence settles heavily over the bedroom. Something about Ridge’s breathing tells me he isn’t actually asleep. Trystan’s thumb brushes over my side, and I’m fairly certain he’s not doing it in his dreams. But they’re all doing their best to act normal, staying still and silent so that I’ll go to sleep too.
And through it all, Archer keeps a quiet vigil.
It’s driving me crazy. All of it. They aren’t safe, and they know it. Their restlessness, their inability to fall asleep, the way they cling to me like a promise, none of it is fooling me.
They’re trying to protect me by refusing to go searching for the witch Elder Jihoon told us about. But they’re putting themselves in danger in the process.
We argued all the way back from the elder’s house and for over an hour after we got home, and none of them were willing to budge. I ran out of arguments to make, eventually just repeating the same points over and over. Because at the end of the day, it all comes down to this—which one of us gets to risk our safety for the others?
They want to put me first, and I love them for that. But can’t they see that if something goes wrong and I hurt them, it will kill me?
I can’t let that happen. I have to protect my mates.
So I say a silent apology to them inside my head, summon my magic, and trace a sigil in the air.
It’s one of the few that Archer taught me during our sessions, and I hold my breath as I pour every bit of power and concentration I can into the spell. My skills are rudimentary at best, but I’ve made this one work before. I pray it’ll do what I need it to now.
Archer’s brows draw together as he sees my hand moving, and he makes a noise in his throat as if he’s about to speak.
Then his eyelids droop. He blinks twice, slower each time, before his head gently lolls to one side.
I slip out from between the bodies of my other sleeping mates, my heart pounding hard as adrenaline, guilt, and determination fill my chest.
Please forgive me. I love you.
9
Archer
I blink awake, groggy and disoriented from the weirdly deep sleep I clawed my way out of to be here. The room is shadowed and still, filled with small snores and light breathing. Trystan’s back burns hot against my legs, and I think, Jesus, he’s like a furnace. How does Sable sleep next to that?
I’m sitting up, my back against the headboard and my head angled down awkwardly in a position not meant for sleeping. I tilt it the other way, hoping to pop the crick out of my neck. The bones crackle like rapid gunfire, and I groan with relief, sagging back against the headboard and glancing toward the window. Outside the glass, light creeps through the crack in the curtains, and I can taste dawn on the horizon. I must not have slept well, considering how hazy and exhausted I feel.
Then I jerk fully upright, adrenaline surging through my veins.
I fell asleep on watch. I wasn’t supposed to be sleeping at all.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I never do that. Falling asleep when your pack is depending on you to keep watch is the ultimate betrayal—a letdown punishable by pack law. It goes against every instinct I have as a wolf. But I did.
I fell asleep.
My heart pounds like thunder as I look around the bed and take roll call. Trystan, Ridge, and Dare are spread out on the mattress, sound asleep… but Sable is nowhere to be seen.
She’s gone.
Fuck.
I grab T
rystan’s shoulder and shake him. “Hey, wake up, man.”
He mutters under his breath and rolls his shoulder to get my hand to release him, but doesn’t wake up. Just burrows deeper into the pillow.
Getting to my knees, I reach for Ridge on the other side of him. “Ridge? Wake up. Sable’s gone.”
Ridge turns his head away from me, but it’s the only source of life or movement I get.
“Guys, wake up!” I yell, lowering my voice so that it booms through the room with a note of command. No wolf can ignore an alpha’s demand, not even while sleeping.
But even though they all shift in place like they hear me, they settle back down and fall back into sleep immediately.
Panic floods me. This is all wrong. Wolves are usually light sleepers—we have to be, especially with the witch threat looming. It’s not normal for a shifter to not wake immediately. Every sound, every movement, could be the one that heralds disaster for the pack. So we sense it all, from the smallest rustle to the loudest footstep. When the lookout screams for everyone to wake up, they’re supposed to wake up.
I leap out of bed and rush to the wall near the doorway, slamming my palm into the light switch. The overhead light winks awake, spilling a harsh yellow glow over the bed. Then I go back to the edge of the mattress and give Trystan a hard shake.
He finally jolts awake, sitting straight up in bed and looking around the room as if he doesn’t recognize it. Then he squints up at me, a deep line forming between his brows. “What? What’s going on?”
“Sable’s gone,” I tell him shortly, punching Ridge in the arm. “Ridge, wake up.”
Trystan uses his foot to shove Dare, where he’s curled up asleep at his side. The two of us manage to get them moving, though it takes a few minutes for either of them to be cognizant. Then we’re all awake, and we’re all confused, caught under a fog of strange, unexplainable exhaustion.
“What the fuck?” Dare says as he staggers to his feet and sways like a drunk after a long happy hour. He rubs his eyes and then rests a hand against the wall, stumbling two steps sideways before he manages to right himself.