Dark Wolf (Claimed by Wolves 3)

I win.

“Settle down!” Malcolm leans on the podium as he circles around to stand beside me, his voice booming through the room.

To the crowd, I’m sure it looks like I have total control over this, even though I’m not sure that’s entirely true. I stare out over the pack, trying to ignore the darkness where I’ve caged it away from prying eyes. I feel like I’m deceiving the room, pretending to be better than I am.

I wish I had more time with Gwen, because I don’t feel ready for this.

For fighting witches.

For leading a charge against them.

For the responsibility of keeping these shifters alive.

“Sable is our ally,” Malcolm says, “and you will treat her with respect.”

He puts a sturdy hand on my shoulder, even as the light still glows in my palm. I see the movement for what it is—he’s giving me his full support, showing the pack that he doesn’t fear my magic. I also see the alpha in him in that action, in the strength he still carries despite his physical weakness.

Those who stood earlier sit back down, and the fearful mutterings die away as the pack stares at their alpha, waiting for his next words.

“Good.” Malcolm nods, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Then we are in agreement that Sable will join us, with your support, to help us fight our common enemy.”

21

Trystan

“I’d like it to be known that I disagree with this plan.”

As I speak, I slam my empty beer can on the coffee table, already regretting that I finished it too fast. It’s the only one I’ll have tonight. We’ve gotta stay sharp and alert, but I needed something to calm my fucking nerves.

The guys and I are gathered around our mate on the couch at Archer’s place as she prepares to try to break into Cleo’s mind again.

I get it—we want to be prepared. What’s coming isn’t going to be easy. How the fuck do you fight magic with claws and fangs? You don’t. Not really. You just try not to get your ass kicked too hard.

For the first time in shifter history, we actually have a chance to fight magic with magic. If Sable can walk through the bond into Cleo’s head one more time and get us a timeline on their planned attack, that information could be priceless.

But I don’t have to like it.

“We need to know what they’re doing and what’s happening next,” Sable says simply. “If this attack is coming today or tomorrow or next week. And there’s only one way to find that out.”

The steaming mug of hot tea between her white-knuckled hands has barely been touched. Archer forced it on her when we got back from the pack meeting, but all she’s done is stare into it like it’s a magic mirror with all the answers. She’s been quiet since we returned, but there’s a hint of steel in her voice now that tells me I shouldn’t push her too far.

Too bad I never listen to hints. Never listen to anything I should, really.

“It’s not safe,” I argue.

“Hey. Shut up.” Dare levels a hard glare at me, shaking his head. He’s perched on the arm of the couch like a fucking vulture, while Ridge and Archer flank Sable on the cushions.

I’m sitting on the coffee table facing her, even though I’m ninety-nine percent sure the damn thing is going to collapse beneath me at any minute. After watching her perform magic in front of the pack earlier, I’ve wanted to be as near to her as possible. I could tell it took a lot out of her—not just the effort of performing the spell, but the fear of doing it in front of a freaked out audience.

“Dude,” I snap back, shifting my gaze to Dare. “It’s not safe, and you know it.”

Sable shrugs. “Safe or not, it needs to be done. I’m going. You can’t stop me, Trystan.” She gives me a little grin, a hint of amusement glinting in her eyes even though her cheeks are pale. “Not even if you tackle me again.”

I stare at her warily. She hides her backbone well, and when she whips it out, it’s like we should all run for cover. Who knew such a small, sexy package could hold such an iron will?

“You’re on board with this?” I ask Ridge, hoping he’ll back me up.

“Sable’s stronger than we give her credit for,” he says.