by Callie Rose
Her gaze snaps to me at the first sign of motion, and she throws her hands up like she expects me to hit her. Tears crest over her lower lids, making her blue eyes shiny, if a little bloodshot.
I falter in my steps as I realize that although she’s awake, her eyes indicate empty fear. She looks at me like she doesn’t recognize me. I’m not even sure she’s fully conscious.
“Sable?” My voice sounds too loud in the quiet room. I take the last two steps to reach the bed, and she cringes away from me, curling back into the blankets. “It’s me. Ridge.”
She surges away before I finish telling her my name, scooting backward to the other side of the bed, going as far as she can go without falling off the mattress. The blankets are wrapped around her legs, and she shoves desperately at them.
“No! No, stay away!”
Her usually sweet, bell-like voice is hoarse from disuse. She looks rough. Strung out and pale from her time spent in the transformation. Her clothes are rumpled and sweat-stained, clinging to her petite frame.
The marks on her skin that have come and gone during the transformation are a deep, stark black right now, much more visible than they’ve ever been before. So prominent like this, they resemble sigils, similar to the marks we use to protect the boundaries of our lands.
No. They don’t just resemble sigils. That’s exactly what they are.
Jesus. She’s marked with witch sigils.
This is so fucked up.
Sable was meant to be my mate, a shifter like me. Not a witch, not the mortal enemy of my kind. How am I supposed to deal with the feelings I have for her now? Because even though she’s the embodiment of a shifter’s worst predator, my heart still aches for her. I’d give anything to wipe away the panic that contorts her features and hold her until she can breathe again.
I raise my hands up, palms out, and gently take several steps back, making sure every move I make is slow and careful. Like the day I brought her breakfast when she sat in my bed, nothing but a scared, broken lamb afraid of shadows. That wasn’t so long ago, but it feels like a lifetime has passed since that day.
“Okay. It’s okay, Sable. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. I’ll stay away.”
For a brief moment, she looks relieved. I think something inside her recognizes me the moment I give her space to process her new situation. But my soft voice and careful movements are overridden by the sudden scuffle I hear outside the bedroom door.
The thin wooden door slams open with a hell of a lot more force than necessary, startling Sable into letting out a screech that doesn’t even sound human. Trystan and Archer rush in, their eyes wild and their footsteps heavy on the floor. I don’t know how they knew she was awake, but the way they barged in like fucking lunatics didn’t do Sable any favors. Her panic seems to return full force to her face, twisting her features into something harsh.
So much for keeping her calm.
“Is everythi—” Trystan cuts off as his gaze lands on Sable. “You’re awake.”
Archer’s face goes slack with relief as he brushes past the larger man. “Sable. Thank God.”
Before he can take more than a few steps, Sable yanks the quilt off the bed, wrapping it around herself and practically huddling under it as she presses her back to the headboard. It’s as if she wants to get as far away from us all as possible. Like she wants to hide from us.
“I think she’s still half in her dream state,” I tell them, keeping my voice soft and even. “Don’t startle her.”
Despite my attempt at not scaring her, she throws a wild, panicked look in my direction and pulls her knees tighter to her chest. The blanket hangs over her face like a cloak, hiding her away but giving her room to keep her eye on us.
“Still the most awake she’s been in days,” Trystan mutters as he draws up to the end of the bed and studies her. Worry hovers behind his turquoise eyes. He snaps his fingers three times, like he’s calling a pup. “Sable! Wake up.”
Archer clasps Trystan’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Don’t be an idiot. You’ll scare her.”
“I’m not trying to scare her!” Trystan grunts, shrugging Archer’s hand away.
Beneath her blanket fort, Sable makes a small, panicked sound as her face disappears entirely beneath the blanket.
“Oh?” Archer jerks his chin to indicate Sable. “Well, you’re doing a real bang-up job of it anyway.”
Trystan doesn’t reply, but he storms away from the bed to go lean by the open door, his brooding gaze on Sable’s shivering form. Guilt lingers in his eyes though. He didn’t mean to scare her. As annoyed as I am at him, I know that. But he’s fucked up by this, just like we all are.
Rational thought is in short supply these days.
I exchange glances with Archer and roll my eyes. I’ve gotten to know them both pretty well during the last couple weeks, and the one constant is Trystan’s need to be in control, to be right, and to be the best. When he’s none of those things, he can throw a tantrum that rivals the youngest wolf cub. Of the three of us, he’s had the hardest time coming to terms with the new situation. We’re all adrift here, and I’m just doing my best to go with the flow. Trystan isn’t a go-with-the-flow kind of guy.
In the silence that lingers after he walks away, Sable resurfaces. Her bright blue eyes are wild as she looks between me and Archer.
Archer moves slowly and carefully, avoiding direct eye contact with her as he rounds the edge of the bed. I follow his lead, giving her a little more space but keeping my movements small so that I don’t scare her. I’ve overseen my fair share of wolf transformations, and even though that’s not exactly what she went through, the situations have startling similarities. Add the normal disorientation to Sable’s ingrained sense of panic, and we’ve got a fucking ticking time bomb on the bed.
One who now has witch magic pulsing inside her. Witch magic she very much does not have control of.
Archer sits at the foot of the bed and peers at her with his head down like a submissive wolf showing the alpha he means no harm. “Sable. You’re going to be okay.”
She shakes her head, staring at him with wide eyes. Her blonde hair, damp with perspiration, is stuck to her forehead and neck.
“Yes. You’re going to be okay,” he repeats soothingly. “You’ve been going through a transformation. You probably ache all over and feel really disoriented. But I promise you’re safe.”
Her pale brows pull together, and she takes a longer, more steadying breath. “T-transformation?”
Archer nods. “You possessed magic you weren’t aware of. Deep inside you. Something unlocked access to that magic, and your body has spent the last three days processing that. But it’s done now. You’re safe and whole.”
“Three days?”
Her voice sounds stronger. She clears her throat as if she can suddenly hear the hoarseness in her own voice, then lets the blanket fall away from her head. It settles on her shoulders, and she looks so small and vulnerable with the quilt wrapped around her that it breaks my fucking heart.
“I know that seems like a long time, but it’s normal,” Archer assures her. “Some shifters take five days or more to transition. You did really well.”
Except she wasn’t transitioning into a wolf, I think, fighting the urge to rub away the knot between my eyebrows.
Until she began to transition, I didn’t even know witches went through something similar. I just assumed they were born with their magic. Instead, her situation has shown me their magic is just as dormant inside them as our wolves. They have to uncover their magic and wait for their witch side to “come out”—just like us shifters waiting for our wolves.
Having proof that the witches aren’t so different from us just pisses me off even more. How can they hate us so much? Hypocritical assholes. But I keep my thoughts to myself. This isn’t really the time or place for that conversation. Sable has nothing to do with our enemies.
“Everything is going to be all right.” Archer gives her a s
mall smile, his eyes soft. “Breathe with me?”
They lock gazes, and Archer exaggerates his movements as he breathes deeply in, then empties his lungs. Sable follows his lead. In and out, each breath chasing away some of her tension. I’ve seen him do this before. He used the same technique during our first couple days at the cabin when Sable had a panic attack on the kitchen floor. It worked miracles then, and it’s doing the same now.
Eventually, her shoulders slump forward, and she relaxes her grip on her knees. The tears stop pouring down her cheeks. She no longer looks like she’s ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Instead, she just looks exhausted and worn down from the transition. The black sigils on her skin fade bit by bit until they’re gone entirely, and she blinks, glancing around the room as if she can see us for the first time.
“You’re here.” She sniffles, then smiles wanly at each of us in turn—even Trystan, who’s still standing by the door. When her focus lands on me, my heart clenches at the sad, tired look on her face. She’s trying to be brave. To be strong.
I want to pull her into my arms and give her some of my strength. Promise her that she is brave, even when she doesn’t feel like it. That she’s one of the toughest fucking people I’ve ever met.
But before I can say a damn thing, her gaze flicks around the room again, taking in the space… and especially, the notable absence in it.
Something in her posture shifts as her wide blue gaze finds mine.
“Where’s Dare?”
3
Sable
None of the men answer my question right away. They grow silent, tossing secret glances around at each other as if hoping someone else will take the lead.
Ridge’s handsome face settles into a look of quiet resignation, while Archer’s lips turn down into something that looks like pity. Or maybe even disgust? Trystan just looks angry, his blue-green eyes churning with agitation.
“Where is Dare?” I ask again, catching Ridge’s gaze and putting as much strength behind my voice as I can.
I need to know. Whatever the answer is, I need to know. I’m not a child who needs to be protected from the horrors of reality. In fact, I’m really freaking tired of them trying to hide the tough stuff from me. The reality of my life before I met them was horror enough on its own, and watching those scenes play out again and again in my head over the past few days has driven that truth home.
Nothing they say can break me at this point.
“He left,” Trystan says shortly. “He cut out right after you began your transition.”
My heart cracks open, and I reel at his blunt declaration. I realize with a shock of pain that I was wrong to assume they couldn’t break me. Because the fact that Dare is gone feels like a knife to my stomach.
“He… left?”
“He’ll be back,” Archer replies gently.
“Maybe.” Trystan’s jaw tightens. “Maybe not. He’s not the most stable of us, and he couldn’t even stick around for a fucking hour before he was gone. If he’s that quick to run, I don’t see why the fuck he’d come back.”
Archer’s green-eyed gaze hardens, but before he can reprimand Trystan for his harsh words, Ridge speaks up.
“We can’t be sure what Dare’s motivations are at this point. He could have just needed some space to think. What happened wasn’t…” He scrubs a hand through his ash-brown hair, shaking his head. “Fuck. None of us were prepared for that. There’s a possibility he might change his mind and return when he’s had time to work it all out in his head.”
I’m not sure who he’s trying to convince—me or himself. I twist my fingers into the blanket and avoid their gazes as I work through the emotions weighing heavily on my heart. It’s obvious none of them think Dare will return. Hell, Trystan’s probably hoping he won’t. Less “competition” to be my mate. More than likely, they’ve already assumed he might never come back and, to them, it’s no big deal.
To me, it is. I can’t explain the connections that link me to each of these men. There’s no easy why or how. All I know is that I need them and want them with me, and I’m mostly certain they all feel that same deep link and urge to be with me.
So I can’t believe Dare just left. Without a goodbye, without even making sure I would be okay, apparently. He claimed I’m his mate, but then abandoned me when things got difficult. And that’s shitty.
I’m torn between being angry and hurt at his betrayal… but I also feel strangely guilty.
None of us could ever have imagined this would happen. From the beginning of this, the shifters were all certain there was a wolf inside me. Elder Jihoon even waved his weird metal sticks around me, doing whatever strange magic that ritual entailed. And when it was over, he declared me a shifter.
But apparently, that’s not true. I’m something so much worse.
I’m a witch.
My kind killed Dare’s entire pack, leaving him all alone in the world with a burning need for vengeance. Can I really blame him for cutting out on me?
Tears prick my eyes, and a tidal wave of hurt rolls through me. Dark smudges begin to appear on the backs of my hands, forming a network like cracks in a windshield. They’re the same marks that were there when I woke up. Are they reacting to my emotions?
I shove my hands beneath the covers before anybody can see them. God knows I want to pretend I didn’t.
“How about breakfast?” Ridge asks, pasting on a smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it still calms me a little. As usual, he tends to know when I’m spiraling, and the change of subject is very welcome.
“I’m really thirsty,” I agree with a thankful smile. A little hungry too, though my stomach is unsettled enough that I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep food down. I don’t know if that’s from the transition or from the deep sense of betrayal left in Dare’s wake.
Maybe both.
“We did our best to get food and water in you while you were out,” Archer says, “in your semi-lucid moments. But it was difficult with the… magic everywhere.”
“I don’t even remember. Did I hurt anybody?” The question comes out small and frightened. God, how could I ever forgive myself if I hurt one of these men while I was unconscious?
“You didn’t,” Ridge says firmly. “We were careful.”
I let out a sigh of relief and nod. At least there’s some good news to come out of this. I shove the covers away, glad to see the smudges have disappeared without fully forming into marks on my skin, and swing my legs over the side of the bed. When I stand, a rush of lightheadedness makes me sway. Archer leaps forward, wrapping an arm around my waist to steady me.
“I’ll help her get dressed,” he tells Ridge. “If you want to go get food and coffee ready.”
Trystan bares his teeth and looks ready to argue, but Ridge grabs his shoulder and shoves him toward the door. “Yeah. Sounds good. Let us know if you need anything.”
After they’re gone, Archer points to the bed, keeping one arm wrapped around me. “Here, sit. I’ll get some clean clothes so I can help you change.”
I shake my head and latch on to his arm. “No, I think I’d like to shower first, if that’s okay. I feel gross after…” I wave vaguely at the bed, indicating the fact that I’ve lain there for three days, sweating like a pig through my transformation. I feel so gross, I’m worried he can smell me.
Luckily, Archer doesn’t need me to put that concern into words. With a nod, he secures his arm around my waist and walks me to the bathroom, moving slow so that I don’t keel over.
My legs are weak from being in bed for days, and the tingling in my feet makes it feel like I’m walking on pins. Archer takes as much of my weight as he can without physically lifting me off my feet, and I lean against him gratefully. I don’t know how he seems to anticipate my needs the way he does. He has a deep sense of empathy and compassion, but the way he reads me goes beyond even that sometimes. It’s like he can peer directly into my brain.
In the small, narrow bathroom, Archer
deposits me on the toilet seat and then turns on the water to let it get warm. While he works on the water temperature, I slide my arms out of my t-shirt, fumbling with the effort. My limbs aren’t quite up to speed yet on the whole “being awake” thing. I finally give up and bend forward, sliding my hands through the neck of the shirt so I can rest my aching head in my palms.
“Too much, too soon?” Archer asks gently.
I lift my head to find it’s even heavier than before. “I got into an argument with the shirt.”
“I’ll fix it.” There’s a soft smile in his words, and just the sound of his voice soothes me on a soul-deep level.
The hiss of the shower provides background noise as he helps me out of my dirty clothes. My t-shirt and shorts are both damp with perspiration and smell horrendous. I’m too exhausted to be embarrassed, even when he peels my sweaty underwear down my thighs. Not a damn thing about this is sexy, and there’s nothing I can do about it. My body just went through a battle, and I have a feeling I’m lucky to be alive.
When I’m fully undressed, Archer straightens and holds out both hands, his gaze on my face as if studiously avoiding my naked body. “Up. I’ll help you in.”
I take his hands and let him haul me to my feet, but I stumble over the pins and needles still working themselves out in my legs. He catches me in his arms with a small laugh. “Whoa, there.”
Burying my face in his t-shirt, I take a shaky breath. Fuck, I hate feeling this helpless. “I don’t think I can do this on my own,” I admit quietly. “I feel really weak.”
“What if I get in with you?” He pulls back just enough to look down at me, concern in his gaze. “Are you all right with that?”
I nod, gratitude rushing up in my chest. “Yes. Thank you. That would be good.”
But as he strips off his clothes, I wonder what the hell I was thinking. I mean, I guess my mind was on the night that Ridge stepped into the shower with me to help me through a panic attack. He kept his clothes on then, though to be fair, I was fully clothed as well. It’s silly of me to think Archer would get into the shower in his clothes to help me wash off, but that’s exactly what I assumed when I accepted his help.