Broken Bond (Claimed by Wolves 2)

Through the haze of lust and despair? A small growl reverberates in my throat. No.

I think I can, Dare offers. Obviously I’m going off the memory of one night around him, but I’m pretty fucking sure he’s in there.

Ridge nods. Good. We wait for him to emerge, and we’ll ambush him once he’s away from the crowds.

What if he’s with buddies? Trystan asks. Maybe he’s got a ride home.

We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Ridge huffs out a breath. We can take down a car if we have to.

I have no way of marking time, but it feels as if an hour or more passes. Customers ebb and flow from the bar, voices and laughter drifting through the night. I hear more than one glass break inside the building, and I’m surprised all over again by how sensitive my hearing is. A few times, I even think I catch a few words spoken in Clint’s gravelly voice. As with my witch side, there’s so much I have to explore when it comes to my wolf. At least wi

th the shifter aspect of myself, I’m looking forward to learning. That side of me can’t kill the people I love by accident. It doesn’t whisper insidious things inside my head.

Finally, Dare sits up at attention, his black snout turning toward the front of the bar, hidden from view down the alleyway. He’s leaving.

So are we, Ridge says. Archer, take point. Dare, bring up the rear. Sable, remember what I said. If things go sideways and we tell you to run, you do it.

Okay, I reply, though I know damn good and well that if things go bad, I’ll no sooner leave my mates than I’d willingly give myself over alive to Clint.

The man in question is already two blocks down the road, weaving drunkenly down the sidewalk with his big hands shoved in his blue jeans pockets. No ride tonight then. Maybe his companion found a lady friend to take home and left Clint on his own.

Good.

His shoulders are stooped in his short-sleeve plaid shirt, and he’s wearing one of his stupid wide-brimmed cowboy hats. A blue one, which clashes with his red shirt.

But with those bright colors and the drunken scrape of his boots on asphalt, we have no problem tailing him through the dark from a safe distance away.

We leave the center of town behind, and the last of the street lights fade into dim glowing points behind us. Clint swerves and nearly falls over as he takes a right-hand turn down a narrow dirt road. We’re nearing his house, I realize. It’s just at the end of this road.

This is going to be almost too easy. The man clearly imbibed more whiskey than he should have while he sat at the bar, shooting the shit with his friends. My mates will be able to take him down with a single paw, and then we can get the answers we need before deciding our next move.

A part of me wonders… could we kill him? Rid the world of this stain before he finds another young girl to hurt? I know I probably couldn’t murder him in cold blood. Not on my own. I’m no killer. But my mates… they’re predators at heart. If I asked them to kill my uncle, I think they would.

So the question remains—can I even ask?

Should I?

I’m padding softly along the grass behind Ridge and Archer, lost in my ‘what ifs’, when his stride suddenly changes. His stooped shoulders straighten as he whirls around in a flash, his steps sure and confident.

Black smoke curls from his hands as he attacks us with magic.

All five of us react swiftly, our group splintering as we dart off into the shadowy trees as Clint’s magic lashes out to strike at us. I’ve never seen the black smoke magic used like this—a weapon instead of passive fog hanging around in the air. One black tendril strikes the ground near my paws, and I dance away, a small whine escaping me.

So he is a witch.

And he’s sharper than we expected. He clearly knew we were following him and waited for the right time to surprise us.

Stay back, Sable! Trystan roars, and as one, my four mates converge on Clint.

Archer’s blond wolf leaps onto Clint’s back, his jaws latching onto the man’s neck, while Ridge, Trystan, and Dare lunge from the front. Clint’s craggy face is furious, and he launches another magical attack. Two massive tendrils spiral away from his hands and knock Ridge and Trystan out of the way before they can make contact with him. But before he can regroup and send another tendril out, Dare tackles him, teeth snapping in Clint’s face, and they fall to the ground.

Archer leaps away from the falling man, his jaws dripping blood. I can see the dark liquid shining on Clint’s neck from where my mate tried to subdue him from behind. Dare isn’t alone for long before Ridge and Trystan bound back into motion and leap in to help him pin the man down.

Clint is wily with his magic though.

He blasts out a thick black cloud, sending all four shifters flying through the air. Archer hits the ground near my paws, and I race forward, nudging him with my nose. His green eyes blink away the daze from the blow, and then he scrambles to his feet, urging me back into the shadows before he leaps back into the fray.

I pace along the trees, my hackles raised and my breaths coming in shallow, nervous pants. I’m helpless to do anything. I wish I could add my magic to the fight—use it to take down Clint before he can hurt the men I love, but I still don’t know enough about using my powers to risk trying. What if I hurt my mates? It’s my biggest fear, and in the dark like this, with Clint and the shifters rolling and jumping, snapping and biting with magic flying, the odds are good I’d screw things up.