Dark Wolf (Claimed by Wolves 3)

And now, here I am, about to do some serious magic with her help.

I can do this.

I have to.

“Sable, can you hear me?” Gwen’s voice comes from far away, distant and muffled.

“Yes.”

“Look around you. Can you see a dark tunnel?”

I didn’t realize until just this moment that the normal darkness behind my eyelids has adjusted and changed. I stand in a dim, hazy room that swirls with black smoke. An arched, open doorway leads away from the room, smoke lining the walls.

“Yes, I see it.”

“Walk down it.”

I hesitate, staring down the maw of the abyss. All of my nightmares where I’ve traveled down dark hallways or black caves have given me real fear of doing this. I swallow and take two deep breaths, reminding myself that this isn’t real. I’m not really here. My body is still seated firmly in Gwen’s kitchen chair, surrounded by my mates.

So I throw back my shoulders and take a step forward.

The tunnel stretches for what seems like miles, so black I can’t see my hand in front of my face. But I can feel the smoke swirling around me—the magic coating the tunnel and forging the link between me and this other person. I can’t tell how much time is passing here. Time seems meaningless now.

“See anything yet?” Gwen asks, just a distant whisper now.

“A light at the end,” I reply. I can’t tell if I’m really speaking or just thinking the words, but I hope she understands them. “I’m nearly there.”

The closer I get to the light, the more blinding it becomes. I shield my face as I leave the tunnel behind in a flash of brilliant illumination.

Then I’m no longer in my own consciousness. I’m inside someone else.

I am someone else.

A burly man with massive fists stands in front of me. As I try to orient myself, he rears back and throws a heavy punch at the face of a man tied to a chair. The wounded man cries out, his head whipping backward as knuckles crack against flesh. His eyes are swollen and bruised, and rivers of blood traverse his face from numerous injuries, but I recognize him immediately.

Lawson.

Oh my God, is the North Pack torturing him? Ridge would be furious if he knew about this. That’s not how the packs operate, and Ridge, of all my mates, isn’t one for needless violence or vengeance.

But then I raise a hand, and circular blades of magic fly out from my fingertips. They fling with deadly force at the man, and the magic slices through his torso as if I used a real knife to cut into his flesh. “Pathetic. You’re weak. It’s no wonder you ran away from your pack.”

Shit. I realize with growing horror that these aren’t wolves torturing Lawson. They’re witches.

“Lucky for us, you left shifter territory. That means you’re mine now.” My lips form the words, and a woman’s voice speaks coolly as the body I’m inhabiting leans over Lawson’s sagging form. “And you’re going to break eventually, wolf. You’re going to talk.”

More magic cuts through Lawson’s flesh, and he cries out, a strangled sound. The male witch steps in and uses his fists to pummel Ridge’s brother again, then the woman calls out, “Daniel, the shears, please.”

I don’t want to watch as a second man arrives with viciously sharp shears. The one who was hitting Lawson a moment ago seems carefully blank, almost bored. But this new man grins slightly, his eyes glinting with cruel glee. He doesn’t hesitate, stepping forward and snatching up the shifter’s hand before fitting the shears around one of his fingers between the first and second knuckles.

The crunch of bone and flesh as he snaps the shears closed is horrifying, and I wish I could press my eyes shut so I wouldn’t have to see it. But I’m not in control of the body I’m in, and the woman whose head I’m inhabiting doesn’t seem horrified by the sight before her.

She seems… satisfied.

Another finger is cut off, and I see Lawson’s body ripple as if he’s trying to shift. But he can’t. Something they did to him is stopping the magic of his wolf from completing the transformation.

The man named Daniel twists the shears viciously as he completes a third cut, and Lawson screams.

“I’ll talk!” His voice is ragged as he struggles to breathe through his pain. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He groans, a broken sound that makes me want to cry. “I’ll tell you everything. Please. Please stop. Please.”