Broken Bond (Claimed by Wolves 2)

I hate those moments, because there’s nothing I can do for her. She doesn’t respond to my voice or my touch. She’s lost completely to the transition.

And the black marks on her pale, satin skin? Fucking hell. They’re terrifying.

Magic has pulsed through the room this entire time, waxing and waning with the black marks on her body. The marks themselves appear to show up anywhere she has a scar, as if the skin there is thinner and better suited for glimpses of the magic beneath. Tendrils of black power rise off her like steam. Not even the sunshine coming through the window during the day can penetrate that darkness.

Trystan, Archer, and I are all well aware how dangerous it is for us to be in the room with her right now. There’s no way to know what she’s capable of with that magic flying around, and she could likely hurt us without even meaning to. But it hasn’t stopped us from keeping watch over the bed in shifts. Sable doesn’t need to be alone through this. We promised to take care of her and protect her, so we are.

Even with this new—and fucking devastating—development.

Since she first went under, we’ve taken turns cleaning her, changing her blankets, or trying to get any kind of food or water down her throat in the few moments she’s been coherent enough to swallow.

I’m counting the section of floor beneath my feet when she wakes. She jerks up in bed with a painful-sounding gasp, her beautiful blue eyes flying wide open. The covers fall away from her as she struggles to get air into her lungs. She gasps, dragging in raw, shattered breaths that seem like they’re reaching deep inside her soul.

Shock courses through me, rooting me to the chair for a split second. Her condition hasn’t really changed for three whole days, so I didn’t expect her to wake so soon.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure she’d ever wake up.

But I get a grip on my emotions as quick as I can and leap to my feet, ready to cross the small space between the bed and my chair. I want to tug her into my arms and soothe her pain away. Make sure she knows she’s not alone.

Her gaze snaps to me at the first sign of motion, and she throws her hands up like she expects me to hit her. Tears crest over her lower lids, making her blue eyes shiny, if a little bloodshot.

I falter in my steps as I realize that although she’s awake, her eyes indicate empty fear. She looks at me like she doesn’t recognize me. I’m not even sure she’s fully conscious.

“Sable?” My voice sounds too loud in the quiet room. I take the last two steps to reach the bed, and she cringes away from me, curling back into the blankets. “It’s me. Ridge.”

She surges away before I finish telling her my name, scooting backward to the other side of the bed, going as far as she can go without falling off the mattress. The blankets are wrapped around her legs, and she shoves desperately at them.

“No! No, stay away!”

Her usually sweet, bell-like voice is hoarse from disuse. She looks rough. Strung out and pale from her time spent in the transformation. Her clothes are rumpled and sweat-stained, clinging to her petite frame.

The marks on her skin that have come and gone during the transformation are a deep, stark black right now, much more visible than they’ve ever been before. So prominent like this, they resemble sigils, similar to the marks we use to protect the boundaries of our lands.

No. They don’t just resemble sigils. That’s exactly what they are.

Jesus. She’s marked with witch sigils.

This is so fucked up.

Sable was meant to be my mate, a shifter like me. Not a witch, not the mortal enemy of my kind. How am I supposed to deal with the feelings I have for her now? Because even though she’s the embodiment of a shifter’s worst predator, my heart still aches for her. I’d give anything to wipe away the panic that contorts her features and hold her until she can breathe again.

I raise my hands up, palms out, and gently take several steps back, making sure every move I make is slow and careful. Like the day I brought her breakfast when she sat in my bed, nothing but a scared, broken lamb afraid of shadows. That wasn’t so long ago, but it feels like a lifetime has passed since that day.

“Okay. It’s okay, Sable. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. I’ll stay away.”

For a brief moment, she looks relieved. I think something inside her recognizes me the moment I give her space to process her new situation. But my soft voice and careful movements are overridden by the sudden scuffle I hear outside the bedroom door.

The thin wooden door slams open with a hell of a lot more force than necessary, startling Sable into letting out a screech that doesn’t even sound human. Trystan and Archer rush in, their eyes wild and their footsteps heavy on the floor. I don’t know how they knew she was awake, but the way they barged in like fucking lunatics didn’t do Sable any favors. Her panic seems to return full force to her face, twisting her features into something harsh.

So much for keeping her calm.

“Is everythi—” Trystan cuts off as his gaze lands on Sable. “You’re awake.”

Archer’s face goes slack with relief as he brushes past the larger man. “Sable. Thank God.”

Before he can take more than a few steps, Sable yanks the quilt off the bed, wrapping it around herself and practically huddling under it as she presses her back to the headboard. It’s as if she wants to get as far away from us all as possible. Like she wants to hide from us.

“I think she’s still half in her dream state,” I tell them, keeping my voice soft and even. “Don’t startle her.”