Fated Magic (Claimed by Wolves 1)

“Sable?” Ridge’s voice is soothing. The same gravelly voice he used last night to soothe my fears, to ask me what makes it stop?

It’s all too much. Too overwhelming. There’s nothing to make it stop.

“No.” As my breaths come faster, I shake my head wildly, the whole world seeming to spin out of control around me. “No. I don’t want to go.”

14

Archer

The last thing I expected to find when I came to the council meeting today was a mate. Yet, here I am, watching the woman my wolf has claimed tremble like a leaf in a strong wind and aching to go to her.

I don’t though. Not yet.

She’s so terrified.

Vulnerable.

I’ve seen fear like that before. I know fear like that.

And I wish like hell I wasn’t part of the cause of it.

“I can’t do this,” she says in a light, soft voice, wrapping her arms around her chest. She’s wearing a t-shirt and shorts that are far too big for her—a man’s clothes, probably Ridge’s, and fuck if that doesn’t send a hot wave of jealousy rippling through my wolf. “I don’t want to do this. I can’t be a shifter.”

Ridge stands and holds both of his hands out toward her, palms down like she’s a wild pup who needs calming. “Sable, you are a wolf. It isn’t something you can decide not to be.”

She shakes her head, her mussed golden hair flinging about. I can see the whites of her eyes as her gaze darts around the too-small living room. “I’m not a wolf. Just… please. No.”

And then she’s running. Her sneakers slap against the elder’s clean hardwood floors as she launches across the room and through the front door. Trystan doesn’t even have a chance to jolt, still holding up the fucking wall as the door slams into him for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A surge of emotion flows over me, and I tamp it down, forcing my feet to remain firmly planted. Everything in me wants to follow her and ease her fears. The girl is terrified, more so than seems logical, but I’m well aware that fear doesn’t always follow logic. Been there, done that.

Ridge moves first, taking two steps toward the door. In the same breath, Trystan straightens and makes a move to follow her outside.

But I throw an arm out, stopping them both. “No.”

Both men tense and glare at me, and Ridge snarls, “I’m going after her.”

“Somebody has to,” Trystan adds, his tone scathing.

“Neither of you are capable of understanding her right now,” I say firmly. “Not like me.”

I’ve known Ridge and Trystan for a long time. Almost my entire life, really. That happens when your fathers are the alphas of packs who exist peacefully within a treatise. We grew up together—sort of. I’ve seen them both do a lot of hot-headed things, and they’re both reactionary. They can kindle a temper in two seconds flat.

They don’t have the experience I have. They weren’t captured and imprisoned by witches as a kid; they weren’t mentally and emotionally destroyed by the enemy and then left to figure out how to live again.

I have a unique perspective on trauma they’ll never understand.

“Sable needs someone who can understand her,” I point out. “I know neither of you want to take your mate by force. Right?”

Ridge looks stricken at the thought, and the tension in his shoulders eases slightly. “No. No, never.”

“Of course not,” Trystan says, crossing his arms. I can tell he’s furious at this whole situation, but I know he means it. All of us take the bond seriously, and an imp

ortant part of the mate bond is the willingness of both parties to enter into it.

Wolves don’t mate by force. It’s not our way.

I glance at the door then hold up both palms toward them. “I have the best chance at talking to her. Just give me a few minutes. All right?”