Fated Magic (Claimed by Wolves 1)

I kind of want to say yes.

So I convince myself I’m doing it for his benefit. I don’t want him to think I hate him. I don’t want to walk away from Ridge without telling him thank you. What kind of person would that make me?

And honestly, I don’t know where on earth I would go if I don’t stay here. The path of least resistance is to stick around and see where this circus leads me.

“Okay,” I agree. “I’ll stay.”

Archer’s smile transforms his face, making him even more handsome, as if the sun itself is shining from behind his eyes. “Great. I’m glad, Sable. I promise you won’t regret it.”

My heart does a confused little flip. Partly because I’m not certain I won’t regret this decision. But also because his smile is affecting me in ways I don’t really understand. I’m not used to men drawing out this kind of reaction in me. Nobody has ever had this effect on me, and it scares me.

The panic rears up like it always does, but I breathe through it.

I will not shut down.

We walk silently back down the road. Archer stays at my side, but he gives me an excessive amount of personal space that helps keep the panic at bay. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and he doesn’t try to make small talk. I appreciate that, too, considering Ridge and Trystan are watching us come toward them.

Both men are standing on the lawn behind Ridge’s house. I hate to think they stood there and watched me and Archer talking, but I’m sure that’s what they did. Their gazes all seem to have some kind of magnetic pull toward me, finding me unerringly anytime I’m near them.

I don’t know if I believe in this “mate bond” thing they’re all talking about, but it’s hard to deny that there’s something between us. Something that crackles in the air like an invisible electric charge.

Oh my God. This is insane.

These three men each feel they have a claim to me, and I’ve agreed to give them a chance to prove it. Jesus. What the hell am I thinking?

Trystan watches me approach with a hint of desire in his gaze, but Ridge is staring at me as if searching for any new injuries. He waits until I meet his gaze before he asks, “You okay?”

I nod. “As good as I can be.”

Ridge nods in return. He probably didn’t expect anything less from the crazy girl he dragged in from the woods like a half-drowned kitten. Turning to Archer, he says, “Barton will alert the council of our imminent absence, and the reason why.”

When he tosses a subtle glance at me, I flush. All this focus on me makes me want to sink into the ground and disappear.

“And rescheduling the meeting?” Archer asks.

Ridge shakes his head. “We’ll discuss a more cohesive defense against the witches at the next summit. In the meantime, the packs will continue to defend themselves as they have been.”

Trystan claps Ridge on the shoulder. “Well then. Let me go talk to my pack mates before they head back.”

“I should do the same,” Archer says as the brown-haired wolf brushes past him. “We’ll meet you back here in fifteen.”

As the two stride off back in the direction of the council house, where I can see a group of people still milling about outside, Ridge offers me his hand. I’m too distracted to decline, and I slide my smaller hand into his. His palm is warm and calloused, and the feel of his skin against mine sends little tingles all the way up my arm to my heart. Without a word, he leads me through the back door into the house.

“Will you be all right on your own for a few minutes?” he asks. “I’ve got to pack up.”

“Yeah.”

The word comes out with more strength than I expected, but it still takes great force of will to make myself let go of his hand. My skin feels too cold immediately, and I clasp my own hands together to try to combat the feeling of emptiness.

Maybe Ridge notices my reaction, or maybe it’s because he feels something similar. But he seems reluctant to leave, hesitating for a long moment before nodding and moving across the room.

I sit on the edge of the couch as Ridge disappears into the bedroom. I can hear him rifling through drawers and shoving hangers around in his closet. When he returns a few minutes later, he’s hauling two large satchels and a smaller one, and he tosses them down by the front door. I remain where I am, out of his way and feeling as if I don’t belong here. He gathers more supplies—flashlights, tools, and some nonperishable items from the kitchen, depositing them in the bags.

What the hell am I doing? The mantra repeats over and over in my head.

The situation seems too real now as I watch him pack basic necessities for the group of us. I’ve agreed to go to a cabin in a remote location with three men I don’t know. On what planet is that a safe or smart idea?

Maybe the planet where men can be wolves and witches exist? The small voice in my head sounds almost amused, and I bite my lip to stifle the slightly crazed smile that threatens.