Fated Magic (Claimed by Wolves 1)

I almost laugh again into the darkness, and I have a fleeting worry that I’m losing my mind. I don’t feel like… myself.

My life has been an unending monotony of boredom, fear, and pain for so long that the number of new things that’ve happened tonight leaves me reeling. My mind can’t quite comprehend all of it, and when I try to comprehend the enormity of what I’ve done, something powerful and overwhelming rises up in my chest.

If I let that thing grow too big, I know it will crush me. It will dwarf me, leaving me curled up in a ball on the ground.

So I push thoughts of any future beyond the next few minutes away. That’s all I can handle right now. A minute at a time.

Pressing a hand to the lingering stitch in my side, I scan the dark forest around me.

I’m not sure what my plan is from here, but I don’t want to stay still for too long. I know chances are slim Uncle Clint will find me this deep in the wilderness, but why tempt fate? I can find somewhere to shelter overnight—a cave, or a tree, maybe, so I don’t get eaten by bears.

As I shove away from the tree to get moving, a wave of dizziness crashes over me. I stumble, catching myself against the trunk before I can keel over into the undergrowth. The run took a lot out of me. More than I realized, which is stupid really, considering I’m fresh off a hospital visit.

I lift my head, focusing on the tree as I try to blink away the fog that clouds my vision. There are strange dark lines etched into the bark beneath my palm, and I lift my hand, swaying as I let all my weight settle back on my legs. The trunk is marked with some kind of odd pattern.

Bears, I think, scraping my fingertips down the claw marks. It’s just bears. Not that the idea of bears being nearby gave me any kind of comfort. And what kind of bears make marks that look so stylized?

My feet are infinitely heavy as I turn and stumble away from the marked-up tree. I couldn’t run now if I tried, but I keep my pace as quick as I can. I trip over my own feet several times, barely able to stay upright, but I manage to move several more yards through the trees. Those strange marks are on a bunch of these trunks, but I’m too tired and strung out to wonder what they are anymore.

The farther I walk, the more my vision tunnels and the woozier I feel. When the ground ahead of me dips downward sharply, I’m not prepared for it. My steps falter, and I stumble, falling forward. I flail, arms thrashing out to my sides for anything I can grab to keep me from hitting the ground.

But the trees have grown farther apart, and I have nothing to hold on to.

I tumble down the side of a ravine, a pained grunt forcing its way out of my lungs as my body rolls over the rough rocks and dirt.

When I come to a stop at the bottom of the ravine, darkness overtakes me.

* * *

It’s still dark when my eyes open again.

My mind is only half-alert, and I have no idea how much time has passed since I blacked out. It could have been minutes or maybe hours.

I can’t seem to move my limbs. I’m on my stomach, my cheek pressed into the dry dirt and my arms tangled beneath me. It’s colder here, and my extremities ache from the chill. My blonde hair is draped over my face, partially obscuring my vision.

But I can see enough to know that I’m not alone.

A shadow prowls toward me on four paws, a glistening snout sniffing at the air. Not a bear, as I expected, but a wolf. It takes a few tentative steps toward me, its giant paws silent on the ground.

Fear prickles at the edges of my consciousness. I’m too hurt, too exhausted to move. I can’t even seem to get an open line of communication between my brain and my arms, even with the fight-or-flight response currently pumping through my body.

So I just close my eyes and hope death comes quickly.

* * *

I must have passed out again.

In my next brief moment of consciousness, which is barely more than a flicker of awareness, I feel strong, warm arms slide around my broken body.

Then I’m lifted, and we’re moving, my head resting against a broad chest and a stranger’s heartbeat.

3

Ridge

When I left the cabin and shifted into wolf form to patrol the borders of my pack’s land, I had no idea my trip back home would include carrying a beautiful, unconscious woman against my naked body.

Granted, most men wouldn’t hate this particular situation. The girl is stunning, even with all the cuts and bruises. Golden hair that falls in a thick curtain around her shoulders. Petite, but with perfect curves beneath her tight blue jeans and gray sweatshirt. The kind of heart-shaped face poets dedicate entire stanzas to in the throes of their passion.