Alpha Queen (Claimed by Wolves 4)

We go straight to Ridge’s house, where he shifts back to human form on his front lawn and turns to address our group of guards. “Shawn, you live closest, right?”

A short, tawny wolf straightens to attention, and then magic shimmers over him until he stands before Ridge in human form. “Yes, alpha.”

I’m still not entirely used to the whole nudity thing when it comes to strangers, so I train my gaze on Ridge’s face and deliberately ignore the five shifters as they each transform back to their human forms.

“Good. I want you all to sleep there,” Ridge says. “Stay together at all times and be ready for anything. If you need me, howl. I’d rather you steered clear of us while we’re working with magic. Got it?”

The men agree and split off for Shawn’s house, leaving the rest of us to go inside Ridge’s familiar cabin.

My other mates and I all shift back before heading for the front door, and I literally breathe a sigh of relief as I walk into the dimly lit living room. It’s like coming home, being welcomed back by memories of when I arrived in this strange new world.

As if he can sense my thoughts, Ridge puts an arm around my shoulders and kisses my head. We were both different people then, who hadn’t quite figured out who we were to each other and what the connection between us meant. I think of how kind he was to me, and how he moved with slow, deliberate motions as if he were dealing with a beaten dog. Which I was, I guess, though I don’t really feel like that girl anymore.

I wish I could drag him back to the bedroom where I awakened that first morning. I want to take all of them back there, where we could slip into bed and stay forever. But we’re here on a mission, and I can’t put off what we came for. The longer I ignore what needs to be done, the longer they have to stay away from their packs. I can’t sit with that on my conscience for too long.

Plus, if I put off learning how to harness my magic, that gives Cleo more time to break through my defenses again.

I unzip my pack and dig out the spell book Gwen gave me, staring down at the cover with a sense of deep foreboding. I think of Gwen, the hermit witch we sought out for help, and I wish like hell she was here to help me with this. I need guidance, a firm hand who knows what she’s doing magically and can correct me when I screw up. But Gwen gave no indication that she’d ever leave her quiet little cabin in the remote mountains—especially not while Cleo’s still around.

Archer helped me as much as he could with his knowledge of witch magic from his time in captivity, but I’ve progressed beyond his limited understanding by now. All that’s left for my men to do is provide emotional support, which I know they’ll do happily. But none of them can teach me how to use my powers.

So it’s up to me to teach myself.

Once we’re all dressed, we slip back out into the street and walk a little way down the road to put more space between me and the shifters we brought with us. They’re out of sight, supposedly inside Shawn’s house, resting up, eating, hydrating, and whatever else wolves do after a long run. But I’m highly aware of their presence here in the village, and most particularly conscious that the house they’re staying in is well within sight of where Ridge indicates we should set up shop.

Gwen’s book almost feels like it’s vibrating in my hands, but I know it’s just my heart racing like mad, adrenaline flooding my system. I’ve used magic before. Effectively, even, in the recent battle against the witches. But that was in the heat of battle when I had to if I wanted to save the people I cared about. That was mostly raw magic too, only summoned up by my need to defend my mates and their packs. There was no strategy or control behind the power that poured out of me that day—only desperation and fury.

This, though? This book represents the control I need to have.

It means delving into more complex spells and trying to fill them with the same amount of magic I used that day. I don’t even want to think about what doors I’m going to be opening.

Or whether I’ll be able to close them if I don’t like what’s on the other side.

I open the book between my hands, my throat tight. All I can think about is how I could lose control. What if I hurt one of my mates just by trying a simple levitation spell?

“Sable,” Archer murmurs, sensing my distress. “It’s going to be okay.”

My mates have formed a four-person semi-circle before me, placing themselves close enough to reach me if the need warrants, but far enough away that if I fail miserably, nobody will get burned. I hate that they have to think like that and balance the two sides of me no differently than I’m constantly forced to. At least they’re smart enough to do so. They don’t pretend I’m not a ticking time bomb.

Archer smiles at me reassuringly, his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Take it slow and don’t be afraid to fail.”

Easy for him to say. Failing could mean hurting someone I love.

I want to do what Dare said. I want to be brave, to embrace all of myself.

But how the hell am I supposed to do that?

11

Sable

The next afternoon, I stand in front of a card table we’ve unfolded in the street with half a pound of shattered glass on the ground at my feet.

I suck at this.

I’ve been at it non-stop for more than a day—minus the roughly six hours I managed to sleep last night. No matter how hard I push myself, I just can’t seem to get past my own mental blocks. I’m getting nowhere.

For what feels like the sixth hundredth time, I trace a sigil in the air, and the empty glass soda bottle on the table shudders before lifting ever-so-slightly off the tabletop. I focus on that dark glass and reach for my magic to channel more of it into the spell, but it feels wispy and out of reach.