Broken Bond: A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (Claimed by Wolves Book 2)

by Callie Rose

  “It’s not much, but it’s home,” he says, glancing at us. “I’ve got some meat in the freezer, and some potatoes in the cabinet that hopefully aren’t sprouting wings. Anyone up for dinner?”

  “That sounds great,” I offer when nobody else breaks the awkward silence. “I’ll help.”

  We pile our bags in Archer’s small, sparse bedroom, then migrate to the backyard where he has a large charcoal grill and a picnic table that’s weathered a few mountain storms in its time. While I get the flames going, he helps Sable and Trystan get settled at the wooden table with a cold case of beer. Both help themselves to a can, but neither speak. There’s a touch of sadness to Sable’s eyes, and I wonder if she’s thinking of Malcolm.

  Honestly, I was pretty shaken up by his appearance too. He’s a lot worse off than he was last time I saw him.

  For a while, we’re all lost to our own thoughts. Archer wraps the potatoes in tin foil with butter and salt, and I place them over the charcoal to get cooking. We tag team the hamburgers, mixing the meat with a variety of ingredients before we pat them into circles and toss them onto the rack beside the potatoes.

  While the food cooks, I grab a beer of my own and sit in the empty chair beside Sable. She’s staring down into the black hole of her can as if it might hold all the answers she’s seeking. I can tell she’s lost in her head, still trying to process everything she’s been through. I wish I could help her, give her some kind of reassurance that it won’t always be like this and things will get better.

  But it’s not like I have any kind of experience with this particular situation. The mate bond, the witch transformation—this is all uncharted territory. Any of the reassurances that sit on the tip of my tongue would sound stupid and dishonest, too vaguely optimistic without anything to back that optimism up with.

  So the four of us sit in companionable silence and finish our beers, keeping our thoughts to ourselves.

  Another beer later, Archer brings out ketchup, mustard, and slightly stale buns. We make our plates, unrolling the soft baked potatoes and slathering them with more butter while Archer apologizes for not having sour cream, cheese, or bacon.

  I’m too fucking hungry to care about the condiments one way or another. I tear into my sandwich, watching Sable eat from the corner of my eye. Everything she does, she does gracefully, purposefully—even eating a hamburger. It’s a beautiful quality and reminds me there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her safe.

  “We should discuss a plan to ensure Sable’s safety,” I say.

  My voice startles everyone at the table. Sable drops her hamburger to her plate with a squeak, while Archer almost knocks over his beer and Trystan misses his potato with his fork. We’ve been silent so long, I think everyone expected it to continue.

  “She’s safe here,” Archer says quickly, then reaches over to squeeze Sable’s hand. “You’re safe here, I promise.”

  “I don’t mean physically,” I assure her. “I mean because of her new witch magic. We need to ensure nobody finds out.”

  A pink blush creeps up Sable’s cheeks. “I told you all this was a bad idea—”

  “We know you and we trust you,” I rush to add, feeling like a broken record. They’re just words, and I wish I could prove to her that my assurances aren’t empty promises. “But if anybody here—or in any pack—finds out…”

  Silence stretches between us all as they fill in the blanks.

  “So we figure out how to keep the magic at bay,” Archer says simply. “I know it’s still new, Sable, but have you noticed any common denominators with the magic? Like can you feel it coming on? Does anything make it happen?”

  “My emotions seem to make the magic stir.” She chews on her lip, her food forgotten. “When I’m scared or panicked, it’s like it reacts to those feelings. That’s when the scars turn black.”

  “That’s a good start,” I tell her with a reassuring smile. “If we can manage to keep your emotions in check, we’ll not only keep you safe and keep your secret silent, but by default, we’ll protect the packs too. Win, win.”

  “So we have to work on keeping your emotions at bay,” Archer muses. “That’s doable.”

  “Is it?” Sable stares forlornly at her plate instead of looking at us. “I’m a constant ball of panic at the littlest instigation. This is a disaster waiting to happen.”

  “No, it’s not.” Trystan speaks up, dropping his fork to his plate with a loud clatter. “You’re much stronger than you were when I met you. You can do this.”

  A flicker of irritation sets my nerves on edge, and I fight the urge to punch the alpha in his face. Sable, on the other hand, doesn’t react to his stern rebuke the way I expect. She stares at Trystan, her blue eyes wide, and then nods.

  “You’re absolutely right,” she says. “Thank you. I’m not the girl I was before.”

  Okay, so I’m not fully on board with his hard-assed methods, but fuck if that didn’t work.

  “I also need to figure out what this means,” Sable goes on, lifting her fork to spear a hunk of potato. “Why am I a witch? How does this affect me? Or how does this affect us and the mate bond?”

  “We need to figure it out,” I add, putting emphasis on the we. “You’re not in this alone, nor should you feel like you are.”

  She grins—probably the first real smile I’ve seen on her face since we arrived here. “Right. We.”

  The rest of dinner passes with lighter conversation, but by the time we’ve all cleaned our plates, I can tell Sable is dead on her feet. Archer is itching to go join his pack for a hunt after sunset, and Trystan is surprisingly interested in tagging along with him. He probably needs to blow off some steam. I send them both away with the promise that I’ll clean up our mess while they’re gone.

  I make quick work of the backyard, scraping the grill clean and putting away our supplies. Then Sable helps me carry all our dishes and condiments back into the house, even though she’s so exhausted she’s swaying where she stands.

  To be honest, I’m pretty tired myself. Today might have been the longest day of my life.

  After she slides the last of the dishes into the warm, soapy water waiting in the sink, I take her carefully by the elbow and steer her out of the kitchen. “You need to lie down before you fall down.”

  “I’m fine!” Sable insists, planting her feet on the linoleum and tugging back against my grasp. “I can wash dishes.”

  “You can lie down,” I correct her and pull harder.

  She’s too tired to fight very hard. Her tense muscles loosen, and she allows me to lead her down the narrow hallway and into the only bedroom. A small lamp casts a glow beside Archer’s bed, which is a queen-size that dominates the room, leaving barely a few inches of space between the dresser and the mattress. I help Sable shed her jeans, then pull back the covers so that she can slip between the soft, cool sheets.

  “Do you need anything before I go finish cleaning?” I ask her. I don’t want to walk away. She looks stunning with her golden hair splayed over the maroon pillow case and her eyes half-closed with exhaustion.

  “You,” she says, gripping my arm and tugging me toward the bed. “I need you.”

  “I should wash the dishes.”

  “You wouldn’t let me do that,” she says sleepily, lifting the cover and patting the sheet beside her. “Stay. Don’t leave me. The dishes won’t go anywhere.”

  I have to admit, the sight of her snug in the sheets in nothing but a t-shirt and panties is very inviting. It reminds me of the night I found her in the ravine, when I had to undress her and had to physically drag my gaze away from the sight of her perfect body. I’ve wanted her every minute since that night.

  But this isn’t a sexual invitation. The earnest look on her face is shrouded by a hint of fear, and I can tell she doesn’t want to be alone. So I laugh and crawl in beside her. “You’re a bad influence.”

  “Hey, you’re the one that made me come to bed.” She snuggles against my chest, her small han
d coming to rest over my heart.

  I settle onto the soft sheet and wrap my arms around her, pulling her close to my side. I can’t deny her anything. I know damn good and well I should get back up and go finish cleaning because I told Archer I would, but there’s no force on earth that could make me walk away from her when she asks me to stay.

  The truth is, as much as she doesn’t want me to leave, I don’t want to go either. I want to be with her always, every moment, sleeping and waking. I would bring down the moon for her, move mountains to reach her, give her the deepest desires of her heart.

  In some ways, it’s truly a terrifying realization. I’m wrapped so completely around her finger that I’d rather die than resist her needs.

  My heart belongs to a witch.

  I hold her tighter as if I can erase the thought.

  12

  Sable

  I’m not even aware of falling asleep wrapped in Ridge’s arms. But as his warmth and that crisp, woodsy scent so unique to him wash over me, my eyelids fall shut. A short while later, I give in to dreams.

  I’m back in the mating cabin, standing in the middle of all four men: Ridge, Dare, Trystan, and Archer. I don’t have a care in the world—there’s no magic around us, nothing but the desire rising between us. Ridge’s lips meet mine, and Trystan’s hands move over my bare skin. Dare presses into my back, evidence of his arousal hot against my ass, while Archer places a dozen tiny kisses to my collarbone, moving with agonizing slowness. I close my eyes, my skin humming with need.

  Then I’m on a bed with them. This is where it changes from memory to fantasy, as Ridge’s naked form rises over me and settles between my legs. I don’t know what it feels like for a man to be inside me, so in my dream, I can’t even make out the sensation. Trystan and Dare are on either side of me, fingers on my breasts, dipping between my legs, even as Ridge moves inside me. I can’t identify the feeling—I can’t even fantasize it without the experience to back it up.

  Regardless, I’m lost in the perfection of it all. This is what I wanted to happen, before the witch took over and ruined everything. Maybe this is what would have happened if the magic hadn’t risen up inside me.

  I’m staring up at Ridge, trying desperately to feel what he’s doing to me, when the scene abruptly changes. I’m no longer lying in bed naked with the shifters I desire, but standing fully clothed at the bottom of the basement stairs as Uncle Clint stalks down them.

  The change was so abrupt and violent, I immediately have the vague thought that I must be dreaming. Typically, if I can recognize my dreams for being just that, I can snap myself out of them.

  But not this time.

  The bare lightbulb hanging over the stairs casts a sickly green glow over Clint’s sneer and turns the shadows on his face darker. He’s holding a knife in one hand, and black smoke billows around him, filling up every corner of the room the closer he comes. I back away, my heart hammering as I look for a way out. The windows are covered in iron bars that didn’t exist the last time I set foot in his house. The door is behind him, and it’s the only exit. I’m cornered.

  My back hits the wall, and my vision darkens. The black smoke is everywhere now, seeping into my skin and turning my scars obsidian. Uncle Clint’s knife digs into my stomach, but instead of blood, more smoke filters out from inside me. I can feel the darkness brewing inside my chest, and it’s responding to the violence as my uncle moves the blade and begins to drag the knife down my arms one small nick at a time.

  The smoke builds further, until I can’t see the knife anymore, though I can still feel it making more black marks on my skin. Every slice brings out more smoke, more magic, until the darkness is no longer inside me but all around me.

  I wake up screaming.

  I don’t even recognize my own voice. I scream and scream until a voice breaks through my panic. Ridge, saying my name.

  The scream finally cuts off, leaving my throat raw and ragged, but I can’t seem to take a breath. Fear has frozen me to the sheets, and my arms are curled up over my torso, locked into place. I gasp desperately at the air, trying to remember where I am. The room is too dark. The darkness is everywhere.

  Ridge sits in bed beside me, his hands on my arms as he leans over me and says my name again. “You were dreaming. Sable, look at me. It was just a dream.”

  The sound of his voice breaks through the paralyzing feeling in my body, and I look up at him, focusing on his rough grasp on my arms. He’s become a kind of touchstone in the midst of my attacks. Just his voice and his face can get to me now, and I cling to his arms, gasping in breath after breath until I feel like I’m surfacing from the panic.

  Before I can let his presence soothe me, something even worse than the nightmare draws my attention.

  I can see the black marks on my skin.

  My scars are painted with magic. Now that I see it, I can feel the energy billowing beneath my skin, obviously awakened by the dream.

  The panic I carried over from my nightmare returns full force. I’m being overtaken by the magic inside me. This is it—the moment I lose control and everything I’ve come to love will be destroyed. The East Pack will discover my secret, and they’ll hurt me. Put me to death. Something, I don’t know.

  Terror crawls across my skin at the thought of what the shifters would do to me, their enemy.

  Ridge is in danger, I realize, my breaths becoming shallower and more ragged. I stare at his face with unblinking eyes, and even though I can see his lips moving and feel his hands on my arms, I can’t hear anything but the whooshing in my ears.

  I want to scream at him to let me go before the magic hurts him, but I have no control over my voice. So I just tug against his grasp, trying to break free so that I can fall off the bed onto the floor where he can’t touch me. Where he can’t be hurt. If he would just let me go…

  “Sable!” Ridge shouts.

  Suddenly, the whooshing in my head stops. I blink up at him, dangling by my arms from his grip.

  “Can you hear me?” he asks in a lower voice. His honey eyes gleam in the dim moonlight as his gaze rakes over me, but I can tell he’s not looking at my scars or the magic. He’s just looking at me, a touch of worry in his expression.

  I nod.

  “Breathe,” he commands. “In, out. In, out.”

  I follow his lead, watching his lips form an O as he sucks in air, then releases it. After the first few breaths, I relax against the pillows, and he releases his death grip on my arms. His fingers brush gently over my skin as he continues to coach me through the panic attack using Archer’s usual methods.

  His voice is soothing, and his hands on my arms ground me. The calmer I become, the more the black marks fade, until they’re gone entirely. All that’s left is Ridge.

  He’s leaning over me, our gazes locked as his hands gently rub up and down my arms. My skin begins to tingle beneath his fingers, and then suddenly, heat rises inside me.

  I recognize this heat.

  This need.

  It’s the same consuming fire that took over me in the cabin, that I felt before the witch transition. But I’m not going into heat this time either—at least, I don’t think so. It’s more like a powerful desire to make Ridge my own.

  “Don’t stop touching me,” I murmur, a little breathlessly.

  “It’s helping?” His brows pinch together as he puts a little more strength behind his hands.

  I close my eyes and focus entirely on the sensation of his hands on my skin. I relish the heat rolling off him, and the hard press of his hip against mine as he leans over me. He’s so close. I silently urge him to widen his playing field. I want his fingers on more parts of my body. I want him to touch everything all at once. I want him over me, between my legs, the way he was in my dreams.

  I want to know what it feels like when our bodies merge.

  Opening my eyes, I gaze up at him. My lips part as desire and heat roll through me. I can feel when he recognizes the emotions rushing through me. I’m sur
e he can smell my arousal with his preternatural senses.

  His hands slow.

  “No. Keep touching me,” I rasp, fisting the front of his t-shirt with my hands. “Ridge… touch me.”

  His face darkens, and his gaze drifts to my lips as his hands begin to move again. I can tell he’s fighting his own desires—keeping his motions chaste, soothing, platonic. But he’s losing the battle. I can feel it in the way his touch grows a little harder, a little more possessive. Still, his hands won’t budge from my arms. He’s such a goddamn gentleman, and I don’t want him to be.

  This might be a bad idea, but I’m beyond caring about what’s smart.

  I sit up abruptly, and as his hands fall away from my arms, I kiss him. The moment our lips meet, it’s like a dam breaking.

  With a low noise that rumbles up from the back of his throat, Ridge wraps his arms around me, pinning my body against his as he returns my kiss. I can feel his heart thudding against mine as my chest presses to his, and the movement of his lips on mine is hot and almost frantic, starting at one hundred instead of building up slowly.

  It feels like falling and flying at the same time. It’s overwhelming, addictive, and everything I need in this moment.

  My sexual experience before I met the four shifter men was next to nothing. I don’t get the sense that Ridge has ever been a player, but I can tell he’s more experienced than me. There’s a confidence in the way he holds me, in the way he kisses me, that makes me certain he knows exactly how to draw pleasure from a woman’s body.

  Maybe the difference in our experience levels should make me feel shy or awkward, but instead, it makes me feel… safe.

  I don’t need to be some perfect sex goddess. I just need to be here with Ridge, following my instincts and reveling in the feelings he draws out in my body. I just need to let go and do what feels good.