by Callie Rose
“Let me watch you fuck me,” Trystan murmurs, his voice a rough burn. He catches my hands and pins them to his chest, holding my gaze.
Tentatively, I roll my hips. It feels so good I can’t resist doing it again. And again. I slide up and down his cock, grinding my clit against the base and letting my eyes drift closed as I give myself over to it.
It’s slow and deep, neither of us rushing toward the finish line. I don’t even particularly care about coming again—I just want to hold on to this feeling of Trystan inside me.
But there’s no holding it off forever.
Eventually, our breathing grows faster, our movements more choppy. My second orgasm builds like a tidal wave, looming higher and higher until finally I can’t stop it from crashing over me.
As I flutter around him, Trystan sits up suddenly, smashing our chests to together as he holds me close. I feel him pulse inside me, and I wrap my arms around him too, holding on with everything I have.
I don’t let go for a good, long while. Maybe it makes me seem a little desperate or clingy, but I’m just not ready to let go of this feeling yet. Not that Trystan seems to mind. He buries his face in my hair, breathing me in as his hands stroke idle patterns over my back.
Finally, he kisses me and then draws back, his turquoise eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them. “I’ll take that over a goodnight kiss anytime.”
My throat tightens, emotions clogging my chest. I already miss him, and he’s still inside me.
“Trystan,” I murmur. “I know that I said I want to sleep alone… but will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”
Something in his expression shifts, and he gives me a soft smile. “Of course. I’ll stay for as long as you let me.” His arms tighten around me a little. “We’re yours now, Sable. Forever. You’ll never have to face the world alone again.”
23
Sable
Trystan does just what he promises.
I fall asleep in his arms, and although I wake up the next morning alone, I feel more rested than I have in a long time.
The North and West packs arrive early, before the sun has fully crested the horizon. I manage to chug a single cup of coffee before we have to hurry out to join the gathering crowd and help get them settled in various places around the village.
Of course we chose to combine all three packs in the smallest of the three villages. In hindsight, that was probably a terrible idea.
But the East Pack steps up, every home graciously accepting entire families from the neighboring packs. We have to deal with the logistics of keeping children and the elderly safe by making sure they end up in houses that have basements where they can be sheltered during the battle.
I spend several hours carting cots, pillows, and blankets into the meetinghouse for overflow, while Ridge and Trystan do a roll call with their packs, making sure nobody is missing. If anybody chose to stay behind, they’d be in danger and without the pack to protect them, but luckily, it seems everyone is taking this threat seriously.
By mid-afternoon, everyone is settled, and the village is overflowing with a strange mixture of focused determination and nervous energy. We leave Ridge and Trystan doing their check-ins, and Archer and I lead a group of elders to the boundaries of East Pack lands to refresh the protection sigils that keep the witches out.
While I was doing manual labor, unfolding cots and making up beds, directing shifters around the meeting house and ensuring they all had what they needed, I managed to hold my mental barriers in place without too much trouble. But the moment I begin tracing sigils and using my magic to attempt to add another layer of protection to pack lands, it becomes harder to hold Cleo out.
Of course, I don’t know that she’s actively looking for me. I don’t know for sure that she even knows I exist. She could’ve thought she made up the sensation of me in her head, watching her. I can’t take the risk though.
So I grit my teeth and split my attention between keeping the barrier up in my head and strengthening the barriers on the trees.
While another contingent of shifters sets traps all around the village, a third group works on other forms of defense. Holes are dug into the land and then concealed to trap any unsuspecting witches who walk over them. Old school bear traps are set, their dangerous claws glinting in the sunlight.
No matter what, before the day is done, we’ll be ready to attack and defend.
After the last of the sigils has been set, Archer and I return to the meeting house. When the other packs came, they brought all the weapons available to them, and now an entire corner of the meeting house is stacked full of guns and knives, making it look like we’re some kind of crossover modern and medieval armory.
Amora stands next to a plastic folding table, laying out guns side by side. As she sees me come in, she waves, a tight smile crossing her pretty face. I wave back and cross the room to join her, weaving in and out between the cots and loitering shifters. Many of Ridge’s people greet me by name with smiles on their faces, and for the first time, I think maybe they don’t all hate me, the half-witch who’s ended up among them.
“Hey. Archer told me on the way over that you could use some help with sigils?” I ask as I greet Amora.
She leans across to hug me with one arm, still clutching an automatic rifle in her other hand. “Yeah, that would be great. We’re going to draw sigils on the weapons to make them stronger.”
“What kinds of sigils?”
“We only have two.” She picks up a sheet of paper from the center of the table and holds it out toward me. She taps one of the two large, black-inked sketches. “This makes the weapon more powerful. Think of it as adding a bit of oomph to the blow. We’ll use it for knives and swords or any ‘striking’ weapons. This one”—she taps the second sigil—“helps the weapon aim true and hit its target. We’ll use it on the guns.”
“How do you guys have this knowledge?” I ask, reaching for a pile of knives already waiting on the table.
“Time and luck, mainly,” she says with a shrug. “Any time we’ve faced off with witches, we’ve learned more. That’s how we learned how to set up our protective boundaries to keep them out too. I’m sure you already know that all sigils hold some power, even if they’re not infused with magic by a witch.”
I nod because I did know that. I’m tempted to try to infuse the sigils with a bit of my magic to make them true spells, but I decide against it. I don’t recognize the shapes from the book Gwen gave me, and I know the wolves probably pieced them together from several sources, so I can’t be sure they’re entirely accurate. The shapes themselves on the weapons won’t do any harm and will hopefully help, even if they’re not exact. But if I infuse an inaccurate sigil with magic, I’m not sure what would happen.
We work in silence for a few moments as I get used to the feel of the sigils. I find a rhythm and stick to it, moving each weapon from the ready pile to the done pile as I work.
“So, how’s domestic bliss?” Amora cocks an eyebrow at me, a lightly teasing tone to her voice.
I flush, and I know without even seeing my face that the heat in my neck and cheeks has turned me red as a tomato. “It’s the best.”
“Aw. I’m so glad.” She sets aside a wicked looking rifle and reaches for two handguns. “You know, I’ve never really wanted a mate.”
“Oh?” I glance at her, surprised. “I thought it was something all shifters wanted.”
“Nah. Lots of us live our whole lives without forming a mate bond. Those of us who are stubborn and headstrong, anyway.” She grinned to indicate she’s making fun of herself, then draws the sigil over the barrel of a handgun with her white paint pen as she goes on. “We date, you know. Normal dating among the pack. Some even get married as they get older and it looks like they’ll never have an actual mate bond. We’re social creatures that way. Looking for some kind of connection, even if it isn’t magical.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“I have flings,” Amora c
orrects with a shrug. “I like doing things my way. I like that I’m not beholden to anybody but myself and the pack. I don’t need a boyfriend any more than I need a mate. Not that wolves really have a say in the latter. If the mate bond chooses someone for you, it’s hard to resist that.”
“Don’t I know it.” I shake my head, grinning. “Four of them is a lot of work.”
Amora laughs. “Well, I for one am glad to see Ridge mated. And the other alphas, too. You guys clearly have something special. Makes me think that if I end up with a fated mate, maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible.”
We continue chatting as we work, mostly about inconsequential things. It feels easy and casual, the kind of conversations two women might have over coffee in their favorite cafe.
And it’s so weird.
I’ve never had a girl friend. I’ve never had someone to connect to on this level, where you confide in one another and joke around simply because you like each other’s company. I really like it, and I’m grateful now more than ever that Ridge’s best friend is a woman.
Even as we talk though, I keep thinking about Amora’s declaration about the mate bond. How it wouldn’t be “so terrible.” I didn’t grow up knowing that one day I might bond with someone. I knew nothing about the mate bond, or about shifters at all, really, and when it first happened between me and all four alphas, I didn’t want the damn thing either. But now, I’d say it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.
When we’re done placing sigils on the weapons, we leave the meeting house to go help out along the perimeter of the village, where a team is still working on traps. Amora gets called away by several of her pack mates, and she gives me a nod before striding off to join them. As I turn away from her, I catch sight of Ridge hunched over a deep pit in the ground, swinging a hammer as he nails a board into place.
The sunshine glistens off the sweat on his skin. Ridge has a thick, hard body and tan skin that glows golden in the afternoon light. He hasn’t shaved in days, and his scruff is thicker than usual, giving him a darkly handsome look.
I cross to him, careful to keep my attention on the ground so I don’t tumble into some other hidden pit they’ve already dug.
As if he senses me coming through the connection of our bond, he straightens. The muscles in his back ripple as he twists, tossing the hammer aside onto the grass as his honey-colored eyes search for me in the crowd. When our gazes meet, a frisson of white hot energy floods through me.
Mine.
That man is mine.
And God, he’s beautiful.
I walk right into his arms, not even caring that he’s covered in sweat and dirt. He laughs, and the sound rumbles through me, feeling as heady and intoxicating as the whiskey I drank the other night. I could stand here in the heat of the day and drink in every last drop of him—and still want more.
“Hey, little wolf. I’m happy to see you too.” Ridge rests his chin on my head as he splays his hands over my back, holding me tight against the hard angles of his body.
“Thank you for finding me that night in Devil’s Ditch.” I pull away just enough to look up at him.
His eyes gleam with a mixture of affection and desire as he leans down, closing the space between us to kiss me. His lips are salty and warm from the sun, and he tastes like wide open spaces and freedom.
“I’m glad I did. That night changed my life,” he murmurs against my lips. He kisses me again, then sinks his hands into my hair. “I’ll always find you. No matter what.”
I tighten my grip around his waist and press my face into his skin. I wish I could hold him here forever. All of them, all four of the men I’ve been blessed with.
Please don’t take them from me, I think, squeezing my eyes shut and sending my plea out into the universe. To fate. To God. To whoever will listen.
Please don’t let them die.
24
Dare
The cabin’s so quiet I can hear the clock ticking in the kitchen. Fucking loud as hell.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
I want to rip the motherfucker off the wall and hurl it out a closed window just so I can watch the glass shatter. I don’t know how Archer lives with the damn thing with his heightened shifter hearing, but I’m reaching my limit.
Sable, Ridge, Amora, and Archer sit around the table playing cards, while Trystan wears a groove into the floor by the front window. He’s the only one who looks how I feel—on edge, ready to break apart at the seams.
The witches were supposed to come yesterday. Sable saw it in Cleo’s mind the last time she checked on the witch coven. Plain and clear, they were planning on yesterday, but they didn’t come. The day passed in a haze of worry and choking tension as we all waited for hell to break loose. But then night came, and… nothing.
None of us slept. At least, no one in this cabin did.
I had my hopes up for a fight. I was raring for it, ready to make some witch heads roll. Literally. Now… the uncertainty isn’t something I’m used to.
Did Sable get the day wrong? Or did they trick us somehow? Is all our planning fucked?
Trystan stops in front of the window and peers out once more, then turns to settle back into his pacing.
“Trystan,” Sable says, and I can tell she’s as tense as he is. She’s just hiding it better. “I probably got the day wrong. Without Gwen helping me through the bond, I couldn’t get an entirely clear picture.”
“And if you did get it wrong?” he growls. “What then? Why are they taking so long?”
She sighs and looks back down at her cards. “I don’t know. I must’ve screwed up the connection somehow.”
Amora draws a new card. “The magic you did to reach Cleo isn’t an exact science. Nobody blames you.”
“Of course nobody blames you,” Archer adds, shooting Trystan a slightly annoyed look. “We’re all just keyed up.”
Sable plucks out a card to lay down on the shared pile. Her hand hesitates as she releases the card, and she glances up, worry in her expression. “Should I look into Cleo’s head again?”
“No. Absolutely not.” I shake my head, speaking up before she can run with the idea. “It’s too big of a risk. You know what happened last time.”
She grimaces but nods. “I know. And if we’re being honest, I don’t want to do it again. If I break the barrier and she figures out we’re connected, I’ll basically be handing her all our secrets on a silver platter.”
“Exactly,” Ridge agrees. “It’s not worth it.” He grunts, then cranes his neck to look toward the front of the house. “Trystan, sit down. We can’t do anything yet. You might as well rest.”
But even as he finishes speaking, a howl goes up out in the village. The keening cry is followed by a second, and a third, until a chorus raises an alarm.
I spring to my feet, already shifting to wolf, trusting that someone else will open the front door so I don’t have to break it down.
The attack has begun.
Trystan reaches the door a split second before me and wrenches it open. I barrel past him out into the yard as magic begins to shimmer over him, transforming him to wolf form as his clothes shred away from his body. I can hear Ridge shouting and Archer giving calm orders, but I’m already out the door.
We’ve gone over the attack plan at least a dozen times. Now is the time to do it.
All around us, East Pack shifters burst from their cabins—some in wolf form, some still in human form and carrying guns. Black smoke fills the air, and the sizzle of witch magic is so strong I can taste it with every breath.
When I catch sight of our attackers racing toward us, my stomach clenches.
Shit.
There are a lot of them. And they’ve already managed to breach the protective perimeter around the village, tearing past the sigils burned onto the trees as if we drew them on the bark with fucking crayon.
Chaos explodes around me.
The crack of gunfire fills the air as tendrils of magic reach toward wolves l
ike hands. Shifters racing into smoke fearlessly, refusing to sit back under the force of the attack. Through the hazy darkness, I can see witches dodging jaws or being tackled by massive furry forms.
My entire body comes alive, and I launch toward the nearest witch with black smoke on his hands.
He doesn’t see me coming—too busy trying to attack someone else. The fucker crumples beneath me, his head slamming into the dirt. For a second, I stare down at his shocked face as magic billows around us, and I see my family. I see my pack, and the countless people I’ve lost to these fucking monsters.
Then I rip his throat out with my teeth.
The witch’s blood tastes sour as I race away from his twitching body. I could kill every witch in Montana, every witch in the States, and it will never bring back the people I love. But maybe it would fill the hole that still eats away at my heart.
I take down another witch—a big guy standing over a dead wolf. I’m not pretty about it. He’s standing over a dead shifter, and as far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t deserve to die with his head attached.
It seems like an eternity passes as I race through the chaos, but I know it’s only a few moments. There’s magic everywhere, and smoke hangs thick and heavy, obscuring my vision. The gunshots are fewer now, whether that’s because the shifters carrying the weapons are dead, or because they can’t see well enough to take a shot, I don’t know. There are witches all around me, but I’ve lost sight of the wolves.
Cleo was right about one thing—if it were just the East Pack against the coven, the witches would decimate Archer’s people.
As it is, we’ve given them a false sense of victory. Enough to hopefully make them cocky and stupid.
I barrel into another male witch’s legs and throw the fucker off his feet. Before I can dart in and finish him off, blinding pain slams into my haunches, and I yelp, rolling with the blow. Witch magic sparks up my body like there’s electricity beneath my skin, and I begin to shift back to human form unbidden. I stare at my hands in horror.