Alpha Queen (Claimed by Wolves 4)

Archer slides his arm around my waist to lead me back to Ridge’s cabin. “You can rest and recuperate, then we’ll get back at it tomorrow.”

“Do we have to?” I whine, but it’s just a joke and my mates laugh. Magic doesn’t seem so daunting right now. A few more days like today, and I might actually start to believe I know what I’m doing. Maybe a few more days like today, and it won’t drain me so thoroughly either.

I lean into Archer’s side, my other hand clasped in Dare’s grasp. Ridge and Trystan give a play by play of my magic, laughing, and I just soak it all in. Archer’s hard muscles beneath my fingers. Dare’s warm palm pressed to mine. Ridge’s gruff voice filled with happiness. Trystan’s laugh, more carefree than I’ve ever heard it before.

I did it. I reached a new level with my magic and unlocked something inside me. My mates are proud of me. Nothing could bring me down from the high I feel.

“I feel like grilling,” Ridge remarks as he holds the cabin door open for the rest of us to pass through. “Brats? Burgers?”

“Both,” Trystan says with a grin. “And maybe some of Sable’s homemade potato wedges?”

I laugh and step over the threshold. “Sure. You wedge the potatoes, I’ll season them.”

The words are no sooner past my lips than a wave of dizziness slams into me. I gasp and stumble into the doorframe, grabbing it with both hands so that I stay upright.

My head swims, and I recognize Cleo’s magical signature immediately. She’s breaking down the barrier and coming for me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I cling to the doorframe, all of my senses dulled by my desperate need to fight her off.

But the magical assault so close on the heels of my practice training is too much.

I don’t know if I can fight her off this time.

14

Sable

I push back against Cleo’s attack with my own power. Still gripping the doorframe, I envision a protection sigil in my mind, hoping it will give me just enough room to build my wall back up. For a second, I think it works. Cleo’s essence backs off minutely, and I can breathe. I snatch desperately at the last threads of my energy and attempt to weave my barrier back into place in my mind.

But my efforts at fighting the witch off are in vain. I know it before she wins, but I try anyway, throwing every last bit of strength I have into keeping her out of my head.

Then I’m snatched right off Ridge’s doorstep, and my spiritual essence flies through the bond into the astral plane.

My soul is flung through a long, dark tunnel that’s shot through with smoke and sparkling silver lights like fireflies against a night sky. I flail my arms around me, hoping to catch hold of something and keep Cleo from dragging me all the way to her, but nothing is solid. Including me. The wind whips past my face, and all I can do is hurtle toward the person I fear the most.

I don’t stumble when I land this time. My feet touch down hard on slick stone, but I’m ready for it and I balance out the force of my momentum by widening my stance and leaning back. Look at me—a regular old pro at astral travel, I think bitterly as I face off against Cleo.

My senses return incrementally, until I can hear the steady drip of water in the cave and can feel the cold air on my skin. Despite the darkness, I can see Cleo as clearly as if she’s lit from within, and she’s just as viciously beautiful as always. Her lips are lined in blood red, her dark hair shiny and straight. She’s almost inhumanly perfect.

But Cleo’s like a Picasso, I realize. The closer I look, the more I can see the cracks in her foundation, the way she isn’t quite as beautiful up close. Almost as if the evil on the inside has warped her outsides.

The witch narrows her eyes at me, raking her gaze over me with disdain. “Something is different.”

I lift my chin and attempt a haughty expression, but the way my hands are shaking probably gives away the fact that no matter what, I’m truly terrified of this woman. She’s older, better trained, stronger than me in nearly every way. I’m no match for her.

“Nothing’s different,” I say, proud when my voice doesn’t waver. “And if it is, it’s not your business.”

“I beg to differ,” Cleo snaps, losing a little of her usual cool. “It’s your magic. You’ve mastered more of it. You’ve accepted your witch.” One side of her upper lip curls in a snarl, and fury tightens the skin at her eyes. “That is my business.”

Before I can reply, she drags me back through the void. I don’t even have a chance to scream.

At least this time, I know what she’s doing.

We emerge from the dark corridor in a flash of light, slipping right into Clint’s living room.

Terror feels like a stone in my stomach. I never wanted to be back here in this house. Even though my false uncle is dead, and I never have to step foot in his house again in the real world, here I am. I’m sitting on the couch while a movie plays on the television.

Thoughts creep in, giving me context to the memory—Clint’s out. He didn’t lock me in my bedroom like he usually does, so I took advantage of the freedom. I made popcorn. I’m watching an older romance movie about two sisters with magical powers and their cursed family and doomed love affairs. In the past, I was riveted to the screen and never even heard his truck pull in.

Of course, this time, I do. Cold washes over me at the sound of his truck’s engine. The light thump of his boots on the back porch. The creak of the door hinges and the jingle of his keys. Past me is too caught up in the story and misses every single clue that he’s returned. I could have run. Could have turned off the television and raced to my room.