Dark Wolf (Claimed by Wolves 3)

But somehow, I know she isn’t. She’s still out there.

Still connected to me.

And even if her army failed today, it won’t stop her for long.

26

Sable

“Sable!”

Dare’s voice is almost as hoarse as mine was earlier as he cries out, running toward me. I barely have time to look up before I’m swept into his arms, pressed against him in a bone-crushing hug.

I wrap my arms around him too, clinging tightly to him as I breathe in the scent of blood and smoke that clings to his skin.

“You’re alive,” I gasp. “The others?”

My heart stutters as I ask the question. I lost track of everyone when the magic overtook me, and as I remember the strange sensation of being nothing but a conduit for the power, a shudder runs down my spine.

Did I kill any wolves in my attack? Did I hurt any of my mates? I wasn’t even throwing spells, just pure, raw magic. I had no control.

“They’re okay.” I feel him nod, but he doesn’t loosen his grip on me at all. “What the hell was that?” he rasps.

“Magic.” I swallow, tears pricking my eyes. “I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s okay.” I can hear the strain in his voice. He still hates witch magic, and I almost can’t believe he can stand to touch me after watching what I just did. But his hand smooths over my back as he adds, “You took a shitload of the witches down, moonlight. Whatever you threw out knocked them back hard. Your magic didn’t kill them, but it gave us the opening we needed.”

I nod, pressing my face against his chest and squeezing my eyes shut to force the tears back. I wish I could pretend any of that was on purpose—that it wasn’t just blind luck that the witches were hit and not my friends. Not my mates.

Before I can say anything else to Dare, I catch Trystan’s scent behind me. A second later, I’m being swept up into his arms. My other two mates join us a moment later, and as I feel all four of them surround me, the awful feeling that’s stayed with me ever since I pulled the torrent of magic back into myself finally begins to fade.

They’re all alive.

They’re all here.

I cling to all of them, letting myself take comfort in their presence even though my limbs feel heavy and weak, and my heart aches for what we lost today.

We held the witches off.

But did we really win?

As the packs begin cleaning up in the aftermath of the battle, Malcolm demands to be taken home.

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Hope says softly as she sponges his head with a cold, wet rag. “He’s feverish. Slipping in and out of coherency. I think moving him right now would be detrimental.”

But the alpha is too strong-willed to be denied.

“I refuse to die on anything but my own damn land,” he snarls, voice stronger than he looks. He doesn’t even open his eyes, but there’s a note in his tone that says if we don’t obey, there will be hell to pay.

Archer’s eyes are shiny with unshed tears as he says, “We’ll bundle him in a blanket. Carry him that way. Gently. If he wants to go home, we’ll take him home.”

Amora graciously slips out to help organize efforts in the cleanup. Trystan, Ridge, and Dare help Archer get Malcolm wrapped in blankets, and then the four of them convey the alpha back to his cabin.

It’s a solemn parade that trudges through the streets, carefully avoiding bodies in the process. As we pass, every shifter stops what they’re doing and turns to bow their heads in respect. Malcolm’s eyes open and close periodically, at times seemingly cognizant of the destruction, and other times so far away that I wonder if he’s already passed.

But he’s conscious as my four mates carefully place him in his bed. His green eyes roam his bedroom, where the curtains are still open on the village. Shifters move through the streets outside, gathering the dead and sweeping up shotgun shells. I see him acknowledge the grim tableau, his face crumpling in despair for only a moment.

His home is untouched by the battle, which I hope gives him a little peace in light of such horror. Hope returns from her room in a fresh pair of her signature blue scrubs and bustles around her charge, ensuring he’s covered and warm. With deft fingers, she sets up a line for fluids, even though I know—and she knows—they’ll do nothing but help keep him comfortable as the end comes.