want to help, little wolf. Let us help you.
When Dare comes and rests on my other side, completely enclosing me between the four of them, the fight starts to drain out of me. Their closeness, their palpable worry for me, and the support I can feel flowing through the bond—it all finally starts to break through the tidal wave of blind panic that rose up inside me earlier.
Shift back, Archer tells me, his voice still soft. It will be easier to fight the magic in human form.
Lacking any other option since I can’t move at all, I obey.
I’m not the only one who shifts. Trystan releases his hold on me, and his body morphs on top of mine, while Ridge and Dare step away and shift as well. Tears spill over my cheeks the moment the wolf is gone, joining the dozens of black marks currently painting my body.
Trystan slides over to get his weight off me, then pulls me into his arms, tucking me against his broad, warm chest. I bury my face in his skin and realize I’m shaking uncontrollably. Then Dare and Ridge are behind me, lending me their strength.
Archer’s soft hands slide over my hair, smoothing the tangled locks. “Breathe with me, Sable.”
I keep my eyes closed and my face pressed against Trystan, but I follow Archer’s instructions as he speaks. Trystan does too, his chest rising and falling beneath my face as he guides me alongside his friend. Their voices are beacons for me, like lighthouses illuminating the rocky coast so that I can safely find my way home.
“Push down the magic,” Archer tells me gently. “You’ve told me you feel it in your torso, rolling and moving. Clamp down on it. Shove it deeper. Box it up and put it in the attic of your mind.”
His analogies make me huff a small laugh, but I focus on his words. He keeps coaxing me and guiding me, until little by little, I’m able to beat back the magic that thrums through me. When he tells me to open my eyes, the black marks are gone, and I’m left exhausted, cold, and broken on the forest floor.
Trystan carries me back to the cabin like a child, one arm beneath my shoulders and one beneath my knees. Nobody speaks on the walk, though all three of the other men stick close to us.
After the chill of the night, Ridge’s cabin feels calm and warm, and it chases some of the terror away just to be here, surrounded by these familiar walls, this scent of home and love. But when it looks as if Trystan’s about to carry me back to the bedroom, I buck wildly against his hold. He sets me down, and I lurch away, moving unsteadily on my feet.
Before anyone can stop me, I make a beeline for the living room, panic setting my heartbeat at an alarming pace. I can’t go back to that room with the echoes of that nightmare, the memories of my wolf’s fur stained by magic.
What if I hurt someone next time? What if the witch overtakes my wolf?
I turn on the light in the living room, wishing it were brighter, and then perch on the edge of the couch. I’m cold all over, my body shivering from the chill and the anxiety. Ridge tucks a blanket around my shoulders, wrapping it around me like a burrito, then they each take seats with me: on the couch, on the floor, on the coffee table in front of me, until I’m surrounded.
At some point, something warm is pressed into my hand, and I’m urged to drink. Hot tea, I think, although my mind is in such turmoil that I’m not certain I haven't made the whole thing up.
Ridge rubs his hands up and down my arms, the blanket soft and soothing on my skin. “You’re going to be okay.”
I nod because it’s the only response I have. But I know, without the shadow of a doubt, that no one in this room can promise me that.
They do their best to calm me, talking to me in low voices and promises to protect me. I love how hard they try to reassure me, even though none of it really makes me feel better. In the end, I just tell them I’m tired, and the five of us go back to bed, leaving a rapidly cooling mug of tea on the table.
I’m tucked between Trystan and Ridge, while Dare latches on to my legs as if he's afraid I’ll run again. The three of them fall asleep fast—or at least fake it well—but Archer sits up against the headboard, his eyes glittering in the dark to keep watch. I don’t know if he’s keeping watch for more witchcraft under my skin or to keep me from running again.
I try to relax, but there’s no point in it.
There’s something bad inside me, and no matter what my mates say, they can’t fix this. They can’t guarantee I won’t flip loyalties, that the witch won’t take over and leave me locked in some kind of horrible room inside my own mind while she kills them all, and then goes after their packs too.
Silence settles heavily over the bedroom. Something about Ridge’s breathing tells me he isn’t actually asleep. Trystan’s thumb brushes over my side, and I’m fairly certain he’s not doing it in his dreams. But they’re all doing their best to act normal, staying still and silent so that I’ll go to sleep too.
And through it all, Archer keeps a quiet vigil.
It’s driving me crazy. All of it. They aren’t safe, and they know it. Their restlessness, their inability to fall asleep, the way they cling to me like a promise, none of it is fooling me.
They’re trying to protect me by refusing to go searching for the witch Elder Jihoon told us about. But they’re putting themselves in danger in the process.
We argued all the way back from the elder’s house and for over an hour after we got home, and none of them were willing to budge. I ran out of arguments to make, eventually just repeating the same points over and over. Because at the end of the day, it all comes down to this—which one of us gets to risk our safety for the others?
They want to put me first, and I love them for that. But can’t they see that if something goes wrong and I hurt them, it will kill me?
I can’t let that happen. I have to protect my mates.
So I say a silent apology to them inside my head, summon my magic, and trace a sigil in the air.