Dark Wolf (Claimed by Wolves 3)

Archer’s warmth disappears from my side, and the cool night rushes back in, bursting the small, safe bubble that built up between the two of us. He trots to Clint’s head, and his teeth latch on to the man’s flannel shirt, but before I can join him to help, Trystan appears. The large brown wolf snuffles my ear, which is strangely both soothing and erotic, then bypasses me to latch on to Clint’s other shoulder. The two wolves drag the body to the grave.

The heels of Clint’s heavy boots scrape over the ground, dislodging little pieces of dirt and carrying an inch of forest detritus with him. He’s as limp as a rag doll, his arms splayed at his sides and his head lolling toward Archer’s jaw. The wolves get him quickly to the edge of the long, narrow hole Dare and Ridge have dug and drop him onto the ground next to the opening with little ceremony. Then all four wolves give my uncle a nudge with their noses. He rolls into the grave and hits the fresh earth below with a solid thud.

I step up to the edge of the hole and gaze down into the darkness. My wolf sight has no problem making out my uncle’s placid face, a splash of pale, ghostly color against the dirt. He looks as if he could be sleeping, except for the blood that marks his face and stains his neck and shirt.

My four mates surround the hole and begin to kick soil back into the grave. I watch my uncle’s blood-streaked face until the dirt covers him completely, as if he were never there at all.

2

Sable

It’s well past midnight, probably close to one in the morning, when the five of us slow to a walk on the narrow street that runs through the main part of the North Pack village.

I’m exhausted from the journey—racing to my uncle’s house, finding him and fighting him, then sprinting back home. It’s a lot for one night. Not to mention, we did it all on the heels of Ridge’s fight with Lawson after his brother challenged him, followed by some seriously intense sex.

Honestly, it’s probably a miracle I can even stand on my own at this point. The thought of Ridge’s comfortable bed and fresh, clean sheets sounds better than heaven.

But even though my body is running on fumes and ready to collapse, my mind is wired. Maybe it’s because I have this strange agitation inside me—a niggling feeling that even though the rest of my life has just begun, there’s someone out there who might destroy it all.

You better hope she doesn’t find out about you.

I shudder, and my hackles rise instinctively.

The North Pack’s settlement is a hodgepodge of small metal shacks, log cabins, and gravel roads set well off the grid in the Montana wilderness. This late at night, the streets of the village are empty, though I can hear voices somewhere nearby, accompanied by the scent of cooking meat and the distant glow of a fire. Not everyone is asleep, which probably shouldn’t surprise me in a community full of shifters. Some are just out of sight.

I catch a glimpse of a curtain fluttering in the window of a small cabin as we pass, and a curious face peers out at us. Ridge leads us down the street with his nose in the air to sniff at the wind, a partial moon shining on his auburn fur. I’m sure his wolf is a familiar sight to everybody in his pack, including the man in the window. I wonder, though, how the pack feels about the rest of us. Three wolves from different packs, and one girl who shouldn’t be a wolf at all, striding through the darkened streets together.

Another curtain parts in the next house, and light spills onto the grass through the open window. There’s too much illumination behind the face for me to see the person’s expression, but some wolf sense inside me recognizes suspicion. It dances in the air between us, tickling my consciousness. I’m not naive enough to pretend the shifter’s suspicion isn’t firmly placed on me, the white-and-blonde dappled wolf who doesn’t belong.

The girl who carries a shifter and witch magic.

My shift into wolf form and Ridge’s proclamation that I’m his mate did smooth some things over on the heels of his duel, after everyone in his pack saw magic leak out of my fingertips. But Amora warned us that many people are still freaked out by me. That’s what sent the five of us to Clint’s house. We hoped that if we could find answers about who I am and why I’m both witch and wolf, maybe it would soothe some of the more worried pack members.

But I’m not sure if the answer we found is one that will soothe anybody. It definitely didn’t help me.

We shift back to our human forms on the lawn outside Ridge’s cabin, and as cool air rushes over my bare skin, I’m hit by a wave of lightheadedness that makes me reach for Dare’s arm. He grabs me, his fingers curling around my arms.

“You need rest,” he says, catching my eye. He looks stressed-out and exhausted himself, with his dark hair in wild spikes and shadows growing beneath his eyes above the scruff on his cheeks. I know I’m the one who put some of those shadows there. He lost sleep over my transition to witch. Hell, he kind of lost his mind over it and went on a witch killing rampage.

But he’s here now with his thumbs brushing gently over my biceps as he holds me on my feet. He kisses me softly, then guides me toward the house.

I’ve overextended myself, both physically and emotionally, and all I want to do is crash. But it turns out the cabin isn’t empty.

Amora stands up from the couch as we enter, tossing one of Ridge’s magazines back onto the coffee table. “Oh, thank God. Is everyone all right?”

“We’re fine.” Ridge nods, stepping forward. “What are you doing here?”

Amora is one of Ridge’s oldest friends and confidantes, and she’s been almost sisterly to me in the short amount of time I’ve been here. She’s stunning, with a lithe body toned by hours spent running in the woods and long, shiny dark hair that falls in waves down her back.

“I was worried about you. All of you,” she adds, giving me a small smile. “I swear I went home and had every intention of going to bed, but I couldn’t. So I came back to wait up for you.”

Ridge grunts, and I’m not sure if the sound is meant to be a thank you or one of irritation. They’re such old friends that they have a sort of shorthand communication, and I haven’t learned how to interpret all of it yet. He bypasses the couch, and Amora, heading for the back of the house.

She looks at me and raises a dark eyebrow, but I just shrug and lead the way after the alpha.

Amora grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and tosses it around my shoulders, then squeezes me in a side-hug as she falls into step beside me. “How you doin’, Sable? You okay?”

I tug the edges of the blankets closed around my naked torso, touched by her thoughtfulness. She remembered without prompting how uncomfortable I feel naked. Most shifters don’t really give nudity a second thought, since stripping down naked is usually a precursor to transitioning to wolf form.