Fated Magic (Claimed by Wolves 1)

Ridge doesn’t push me away. He doesn’t mock me for my weakness or leave me to face the demons howling in my head on my own. Instead, he wraps an arm around my waist to hold me in place as he leans forward and turns on the water.

I know I’m going to have to let him go to get beneath the water. As he stands there testing the warmth of it with one hand, I brace myself for the impossible prospect of standing on my own.

But then his other arm comes around my waist, and I’m being lifted into the bathtub. Only… Ridge comes with me.

He managed to kick off his boots, I realize, without me even noticing. He sets me gently down on top of his bare feet, holding me tight to his body. We’re both still fully clothed as the water cascades over us, and I don’t loosen my grip on his neck.

Standing with him like this, I realize just how big he is compared to me. I’m leaning against him, my cheek resting against his broad chest. He drops his head so that his beard tickles my forehead, and his hands smooth gently over the back of my wet t-shirt, keeping me on my feet.

After a few moments, the panic begins to subside. Quicker than usual, even. Back home, in the aftermath of Clint’s rage, I’d stand beneath the water for an hour, until all the warmth was gone and only cold remained, and still feel the effects of my panic attack.

But here, clinging to this stranger who smells like the mountains, this stranger who wants to help me, I find what might be the last scrap of peace inside myself.

My mind goes blank, and I just let the water fall around me, listening to the sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear.

7

Sable

I wake from sleep groggily, my eyelids blinking into clear, early morning light. The curtains on the window are drawn open, and I can see that Ridge closed the window back up sometime while I was asleep. His presence in the room while I slept sends a little shiver down my spine, despite the fact that he’s done nothing but take care of me from the moment he brought me here.

Sleeping is such a vulnerabl

e time.

And I’m terrified of being vulnerable with anyone.

I shove back the covers and gently sit up. My body is stiff and unwieldy, my limbs as heavy as my eyelids, and I scoot back to rest against the headboard and get my bearings. I don’t remember getting out of the shower or falling asleep, but that’s not abnormal for my panic attacks. When my mind goes blank at the tail end of an attack, I operate on autopilot.

I’m wearing some of Ridge’s clothes again. A soft, worn pair of cotton shorts and a t-shirt three times too big for me. I realize I’m not wearing a bra or underwear, and I hope to God I took them off myself in the moments after my fully-clothed shower. I hope I changed my own clothes last night, because Ridge already did it once—and that time, he at least kept my underwear on. If I didn’t change myself last night, then he certainly got an eyeful of my body.

The thought sends a new wave of panic skittering through me, but on the heels of that, there’s something else. Something warm. A tingle that travels through my belly, making my breath hitch a little. I can’t quite identify the feeling, but it floods my cheeks with heat.

Regardless of who changed me after the shower, I feel weirdly safe here in Ridge’s bed, wearing his clothes. But I don’t want to hold on to the feeling.

As far as I’m concerned, nowhere is safe. Not here, not the hospital, not back home with my uncle. Life with Clint taught me that people are fundamentally bad and want to hurt me. It’s just human nature to want to hurt each other.

If I expect anything else, I put myself right back in danger.

The cobwebs of sleep continue to slowly recede from my mind, and as they do, I realize something else is different. I’m no longer wearing my wrist brace.

My arm, which ached like a son of a bitch yesterday, barely hurts. My ankle feels better too. Some of the bruises and scrapes I gathered during my flight through the woods are barely visible anymore, although the scars my uncle left on me are still there.

I blink, my throat tightening convulsively.

How long was I asleep for?

There’s a brief knock at the door, then Ridge calls through the thick wood, “Are you awake? I brought breakfast.”

My heart skips a beat, and for a moment, I think I’m about to have yet another damn panic attack. But then I realize that’s not it at all. It’s his voice making my heart skip, and in a way I’m not accustomed to.

“I’m awake,” I call out, my voice scratchy and rough.

“May I come in?”

I’m floored by the question. Uncle Clint would have just barged in—it’s my fucking house, kid. Ridge is giving me the option to turn him away, something I was never allowed back home.

All I can manage is a strangled, “Yes!” that comes out a little too high-pitched as a strange mix of emotions flood my chest.