by Callie Rose
“I feel like death,” the black-haired shifter croaks, leaning into Archer’s side.
“Hey, no more witch hunts. Got it?” Ridge jokes as he steps up on Dare’s other side.
I feel useless, standing around watching them help their wounded friend. I want to help him. I could have helped him put his shorts on or taken some of his weight on my shoulders. But how can I do any of that when he flinches from my touch and won’t even meet my eyes?
So instead, I fall into step behind the three men with Trystan, who’s uncharacteristically silent.
We draw several gazes, the same way I did on the day I tried to flee Ridge’s pack lands. But the looks we get aren’t filled with suspicion, just curious interest.
Archer takes us up a side road and past several houses. Two small kids are out playing in one yard, and somewhere nearby, I hear another child let out a laughing shriek. We pass a woman on her knees in a vegetable patch, and a man with bushy white hair sweeping off his front steps. Like in Ridge’s village, nobody would ever guess these people are shifters. Everything just looks so… normal.
Finally, we peel off from the main road and take a long, narrow dirt path away from the cluster of homes toward a small log cabin set apart from the rest. The chimney smokes merrily, indicating the healer is home, thank goodness.
Dare makes it onto her front porch before his legs collapse beneath him.
I let out a small cry when it happens, then clap my hand to my mouth as if I can take it back. He hits the wooden slats of the porch hard on both knees. Ridge and Archer both try to catch some of his weight before he crashes down, but pain flashes across his face. His strength is really waning now, and it sets off a burst of panic inside me.
I knew he was pushing too hard. It takes every ounce of my willpower to stay back and let the other men help him back to his feet. Even if I did go to him, he wouldn’t accept my help. Honestly, the idea of facing yet another rejection from him is enough to keep me standing on the grass with Trystan.
The door to the cabin creaks open, and a tall, willowy woman with flyaway gray hair, vivid golden eyes, and deep creases in her face stares out at us. She’s in pink sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, and clearly wasn’t expecting company.
“Archer,” she greets the blond man. Then her gaze slides over to Dare. “What’s this?”
“He needs help,” Archer replies, readjusting his grip on Dare as his head lolls. “Can we come in? I’m sorry we couldn’t give you more advance warning.”
The woman waves off his apology then steps aside, pulling her door wide open. Archer and Ridge turn sideways to guide Dare into the dim interior, and Trystan holds out a hand to indicate I should go ahead of him. The wooden porch steps bend and creak beneath me, and I pass by the woman with a polite smile.
The cabin is clean but sparse, with brightly painted, unadorned walls, a single couch, and a hallway that leads to several open doors. The woman shifter passes me on silent bare feet and holds out an arm to indicate one of the doors. “In here. Tell me what happened.”
I stay back by the doorway as Ridge and Archer lean forward to let Dare fall onto the bed. He’s barely conscious now, his eyes nothing but slits and his breathing ragged. Archer bends down and pulls his feet up onto the bed, pointing out the massive wound on his leg. He gives her a quick explanation of what’s going on. He mentions Dare got in a fight with some witches, but he conveniently leaves out the fact that the injured man went looking for them.
The healer chews her lip as she listens, her eyebrows rising and falling as she absorbs Archer’s words. Then she turns to examine Dare, poking and prodding at the wounds the men have done their best to dress. Finally, she straightens and nods grimly at Archer. “He’s in rough shape, but I think I can help him. I need some time.”
“We’ll leave him here,” Archer says. “I’ve got to see my father about some things. I’ve been away too long. Do you need anything?”
“No, I have everything I need. I’ll get him back on his feet in no time.”
Archer nods, and then he and Ridge turn away from the bed and head back toward me. I watch the healer bend over Dare, talking quietly to herself as she examines his wounds more closely. Hopefully she’s as good as Archer swears she is.
“Where’s Trystan?” Ridge asks me as they join me at the doorway.
I shrug. “Lost him on the way to the bedroom.”
“We’ll find him on the way out,” Archer murmurs, casting one more glance back at the healer. “Let’s go see my father.”
10
Sable
The late afternoon air is hot as we leave the healer’s cabin.
Part of me wants to remain behind and keep an eye on Dare. Not just because we’re leaving him half-conscious and with a total stranger—which would be grounds for absolute terror if I were in his shoes—but because I feel somewhat responsible for his current state.
But I know if I say that out loud, I’ll get a lot of blowback from the other three men about how it’s nobody’s fault but Dare’s for running out into the wilderness and picking fights with witches.
Maybe it’s because I’ve done my fair share of dealing with shitty things in my life, but I’m more inclined to see that Dare’s behavior had a trigger, and that trigger was me becoming a witch. So in a roundabout way, it is my fault. I’m still hurt over him running away, and over the way he’s rejected me even being near him since he showed back up. Mostly though, I hurt for him and the deep, underlying pain he feels over the loss of his pack. I’m not stupid enough to ignore the fact that it’s my transition that brought all his pain back to the surface.
Behind me, Ridge closes the door to the healer’s house, and I follow Archer down the path. What I want doesn’t really matter right now anyway. I doubt the shifter healer really wants me underfoot while she works. Plus, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to be around strangers right now; it’s imperative nobody finds out about the witch inside me. So I don’t mention my desire to stick around.
We navigate back up the narrow dirt path away from the healer’s cabin and onto the main road that cuts through the East Pack’s small village. There are a few people out and about, doing chores or going about their everyday lives, but not nearly as many as in the North Pack’s town. Most of the houses here show no signs of life beyond the misty swirl of smoke coming from their chimneys. Shifters are home, but nobody is showing their faces.
“Where is everybody?” I ask, unable to quell my curiosity.
Archer grimaces, and his green eyes flash around the surrounding village. “The recent attacks have put much of my pack on high alert. My father has instituted sheltering rules, as well as a nightly curfew to keep everyone safe.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize your father was still doing alpha duties.” I blink, surprised. “I thought he was really sick.”
“He is,” Archer replies in a quiet voice, his gaze fixed on the empty road ahead as we walk. “He’s bedridden most of the time. He can’t get out and do the things he used to. But he’s still alpha of our pack, and his mind is still sharp. I take care of some of the day-to-day of running the pack because he’s too weak to do everything. But the official last word on anything belongs to my father.”
“So you’re like his emissary,” I say. “Acting in his stead while being advised by him.”
He offers me a small smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Exactly. It’s not how things are usually done, but it works for us.”
On the other side of Archer, I notice Trystan’s lips press together. Both he and Ridge have been listening silently to our exchange, and clearly, Trystan doesn’t approve of the East Pack’s setup. I don’t know much about shifter packs, and I’d like to ask him why he’s so disapproving. Archer is a great guy, and he clearly loves his father if he’s working to help him carry out his alpha duties. But I don’t have time to ask.
Archer has brought us to the other side of the village, where a small walkway leads to a modestly
sized home. Like the healer’s little cabin, this house is set off the beaten path and well away from other homesteads around it, giving it an air of privacy. Our conversation stalls as he pulls a key ring from his pocket and opens the front door, then ushers us inside.
As he closes the door behind us, he glances at the other men and sighs. “Just so you’re aware before we go in… he’s in rough shape.” He looks pointedly at Ridge and Trystan. “He’s not the man you remember.”
Ridge grasps Archer’s shoulder with a grim frown. “I’m sorry.”
Archer shrugs. “It is what it is. I don’t want you walking in there expecting more than what he is. He’s the same old Malcolm, just… not as strong.”
There’s raw pain in his eyes as he turns away and heads down a dark hallway. We pass a living room with all the curtains closed, where white sheets cover every piece of furniture. I assume this isn’t a house that sees many guests anymore, and I feel even more heartbroken for Archer and his family. The next arched doorway opens onto a small dining area illuminated by a dim overhead light, though the curtains are closed in here as well. A brunette woman in sapphire blue scrubs sits at a rustic mahogany table munching on a sandwich.
“Ah! Archer!” She stands to greet him with a hug, and she’s so short and curvy that the top of her head barely reaches his shoulder. “I didn’t even hear you come in. I expected you to be gone much longer.”
“We ran into some trouble,” Archer says, keeping his response vague. “How is he?”
“The same.” She plants her hands on her hips and glances around at the rest of us with curious brown eyes. Close up, I can tell she’s older, with a sprinkle of gray around her hairline and crow’s feet at her eyes. “Would you like me to whip up something to eat or drink?”
Archer shakes his head. “No. We won’t be long.”
“Well. If you change your mind.” She smiles at us, then sits back down in front of her sandwich to resume eating.
“That’s Hope, my father’s home care nurse,” Archer explains as we leave the dining room. “She operates as a kind of assistant while also monitoring his health and medications. And companion too, I guess. She kicks his ass in card games almost every night. I never hear the end of it.”
I return Archer’s smile with one that I hope conveys affection and offers him strength. I can tell he’s trying to lighten the situation however he can, so he can cut the tension hanging in the air. I reach out and slide my hand into his, giving his fingers a quick squeeze.
Most of the doors in the hallway are closed, except for the one standing open at the very end. The large bedroom would be cozy if not for the hospital-grade bed, IV stand, and heart monitor. A man that looks exactly like an older, grayer Archer is propped up against several pillows, a book held open between his hands.
The moment he sees Archer appear in the doorway, his face transforms into a beaming smile, and he sets his book on the nightstand. “You’re back!”
For someone who looks so sickly, his voice is booming. Malcolm’s skin is yellow with jaundice, and his cheeks and eyes are sunken. He has the look of a man who was once large and muscular, but who lost a lot of weight, very fast, and for all the wrong reasons. But the wasting appearance of his body hasn’t affected the brightness in his green eyes or the sincerity of his smile.
“Father!” Archer returns Malcolm’s smile with one that’s nearly identical, then leans over to embrace the older man. With the two of them right next to each other, it becomes painfully clear just how sick Malcolm is. “How are you feeling?”
The two men pull away from the hug, and Malcolm shrugs. “As if every organ in my body is shutting down. You brought friends.”
The older man’s vivid green eyes, very similar to Archer’s, study me with interest. I don’t know how much he was told about the mate bond situation, but my cheeks flare anyway under his perusal.
Ridge takes a few steps forward and offers his hand with a respectful, “Alpha Malcolm. Always a pleasure, sir.”
“Alpha Ridge,” Malcolm replies approvingly. “Leading the North Pack suits you, it appears.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And Alpha Trystan,” Malcolm goes on, turning his gaze to the West Pack leader. “Unusual to see you so far from your territory.”
Trystan nods and clasps his hand politely. “Not much can make me leave.”
“Not much except for this beauty, eh?” Malcolm zeroes in on me, his keen eyes seeming to peer right through me. He holds out a hand, palm up. “Sable, I presume. Welcome to the East Pack.”
My skin burns under his shrewd gaze, and I realize I’m incredibly shy about meeting Archer’s father. I’ve been developing feelings for Archer for a while now, and I almost feel like the old man can sense it. Though that’s a crazy thought, really. I place my hand in Malcolm’s and flush even warmer as he plants a soft, chaste kiss on my knuckles.
He tugs on my hand with a kind smile. “Come a bit closer. My vision isn’t what it used to be.”
I do as he asks, though I extract my fingers from his and cross my arms in a vain attempt to hide my scars. I have a lot of reasons for not wanting him to see them, starting with the fact that the evidence of my abuse still fills me with a bit of shame. Not to mention the horrifying fact that they could turn black at any second, betraying me and revealing the truth. This is exactly why I was so terrified to come here in the first place.
“The council representatives brought news to me of the… interesting turn of events at the summit,” Malcolm says, lifting an eyebrow at his son. “Is it over? Has Sable’s wolf chosen one of you to solidify the mate bond?”
Oh, God. If my face gets any hotter, my skin will burst into flame. I hate the way everyone seems to know about the strange situation the five of us have found ourselves in. It feels private, like something that should be worked out between the men and me with no one outside of our little group peering in.
Fat chance of that though. I’m guessing every shifter in every pack probably knows by now, given how unprecedented this development is.
“No,” Archer replies, his face schooled into an impassive expression. “Dare was injured, so we had to leave the cabin before anything was settled. He’s with Camilla now for healing.”
“Dare? From the South Pack?” Malcolm blinks in surprise. “He came out of isolation?”
“And claimed Sable as his mate,” Trystan says wryly.
“Four of you for one female wolf. My, my.” Malcolm shakes his head. “Well, there’s nothing to do but give it more time now. Unless any of you are willing to relinquish your claim on the girl?”
My heart stutters a little. Surprise that he would ask such a probing question rises up in me, followed quickly by worry about what the men will say.
“Absolutely not,” Archer says firmly, at the same time Ridge says, “No, I will not.” From behind them, Trystan offers a quick, “Not a fucking chance.”
Well. This got awkward.
My cheeks continue to burn hot even as a little zing of satisfaction shoots through me. As stressful as it is waiting for the bonds to sort themselves out, I’m relieved and pleased that none of the men are willing to back down. I don’t want them to.
Archer clears his throat, and some of the tension dissipates. “So I stopped by to make sure you have everything you need. I’m not sure how long I’ll be home. Long enough to get Dare back on his feet, and then we may have to return to the mating cabin…”
As he and the other two men chat with Malcolm for a few moments longer, I’m left thinking of the iron-clad surety they had as they reiterated their claim to me.
Nothing has changed for Ridge, Archer, and Trystan. Not like it has for Dare, who’s down for the count and lying prone in Camilla the healer’s cabin. He’ll no longer let me touch him. Hell, he won’t even look at me right now. So I can’t help but wonder what his response would have been to Malcolm’s question.
Has he changed his mind?
Would he relinquish his
claim to me if someone gave him that choice?
Honestly, I’m not sure I even want to know.
11
Ridge
We’re a subdued group as we say our goodbyes to the alpha and leave his house. Some of the levity and politeness seemed to seep out of the atmosphere after Malcolm’s question about whether or not any of us would give up our claim to Sable.
Back at the mating cabin, we were able to live in the present, build upon our friendships, and get to know Sable in slow, sweet moments. It genuinely felt like we were just five friends getting to know one another better on a backwoods vacation.
But now, back in the real world of the packs, things are different.
There’s a definite line in the sand between the world that existed in the mating cabin and the world out here. Archer and Trystan look more like competition and less like friends. And I’m feeling antsy too, with a deep pull to return to my people and make sure everything is okay. Even in my best moments with Sable, I haven’t been able to shake my concern over my brother Lawson and what kind of trouble he might stir up while I’m gone.
But I can’t leave Sable—not while she’s dealing with everything that’s happened.
I’m torn between this beautiful woman and my duty to my pack, which isn’t how the mate bond is supposed to be. The mate bond is all-consuming, sure, but usually when two people are bonded, it doesn’t stand in the way of normal duties. Usually, what’s best for one’s mate is best for the pack too.
In this unorthodox case, my drive to protect Sable could endanger not just my pack, but all of the packs.
I refuse to focus on that right now. I can’t. I just have to do my best to not let my worries come to pass. So I shove all those thoughts away and fall into step beside Sable.
Archer lives just a few houses away from his father in a small house hardly bigger than the mating cabin. The place smells a bit musty with disuse, and as we enter, dust billows in the slants of evening sunlight coming through the curtains. Archer glances around with a look of horror on his face, as if he’s ready to drop everything and clean.