Fated Magic (Claimed by Wolves 1)

“Are you all right?” he asks gently, his strangely-hued eyes searching me as if checking for visible injuries—or new ones, anyway.

His gaze lingers on the arm Lawson nearly yanked from its socket, and a little of the pure fury from earlier ignites in his eyes again. I know he saw how roughly the other man treated me, and I get the feeling it’s a testament to Ridge’s self-control that Lawson is still alive.

I nod, too exhausted and strung out to catalogue all of my injuries. But my knees still feel wobbly. I’m coming down from the adrenaline rush.

“What’s going on?” I ask him, my voice barely a whisper. “What are you all talking about? I’m… I’m not a wolf.”

12

Sable

Ridge glances at Trystan and Archer, who are both watching us with intense expressions.

“I honestly don’t know,” he murmurs, squeezing my hand as he turns back to me. “But there’s something in you that speaks to my wolf. And theirs as well, I guess. We need to find out why.”

The elder finishes ushering everyone out and returns to us, his gaze sweeping over me for what seems like the first time. He purses his lips, pity filling his face as he takes in my bedraggled appearance. But I notice a careful sort of distance in his expression too, and I wonder if part of him believes what Lawson said. Does he think I’m a witch?

?

?I think it’s best if we go see Elder Jihoon,” he says finally. “Perhaps he can help.”

I look to Ridge for an explanation, but he’s exchanging glances with Trystan and Archer. Something unspoken passes between all of them, and I bite down hard on my bottom lip as I attempt to decipher some shred of its meaning.

Dammit. I hate this feeling of being outside my depth, or not knowing what the hell is happening.

The panic still simmering beneath my skin wants me to scream and shout and demand answers, but I know, logically, that doing so will just make even more of a case against Ridge for bringing a crazy person into their village. I’ve been trouble enough for him since the moment he brought me home. I don’t want to make his life any harder.

We leave the barn, Ridge still gripping my elbow lightly as if he’s laying physical claim to me, and silently head through the village. The barn was already on the outskirts, far from Ridge’s little cabin, but we walk farther into the wilderness instead of heading back into the village proper. We pass a few final houses, stretched farther apart than the rest, before the elder veers off from the dirt road and up a weed-covered path to a tiny, corrugated metal cabin that looks as if a stiff wind might knock it over.

The elder’s knock makes the whole structure shiver, and we wait in skin-crawling silence for an answer. A cool breeze shifts my hair around my face, and I shudder, pressing tighter to Ridge’s side. On my right, Trystan’s gaze shifts to us; he presses his lips together, looking angry.

I don’t know if he’s mad at Ridge or me or this entire situation, but what am I supposed to do? Does he want me to be leaning against him like this? I don’t know Trystan at all. Or Archer, for that matter. It’s weird enough to feel like Ridge is my ally and friend, when all I’ve done is get his clothes wet in the midst of a panic attack and sleep in his bed.

The door swings open with an audible screech that echoes off the mountains behind the structure. A little old man peers out at us from dark, almond-shaped eyes that I doubt miss anything at all. He’s small and wizened with long gray hair bound in a loose bun at the back of his head.

He lifts one graying brow, taking us all in with a sweep of his gaze. “Yes?” His focus lands on me last, and his eyes narrow. “Who is this?”

“This is Sable, Elder Jihoon. Sable…” Ridge turns to me, trailing off with a question in his gaze.

“Sable Maddock,” I supply. I can’t see any benefit to trying to keep my identity a secret from these people. The situation has spiraled so far out of my control that questions of whether they’ll call the cops or alert my uncle seem almost like the least of my worries now.

“We need your help determining whether Sable is a shifter,” Ridge continues. “We believe she is, but it would be helpful to know for certain.”

“Well, nothing in life is ever certain, Alpha.” The little man chuckles. “You know that. But I’ll do what I can. Come in, come in.”

By the time we’ve gained entrance to Elder Jihoon’s hut and are scattered around the living room, the first elder—Elder Barton, I deduce from conversation—has caught the older man up on the high drama we seem to have built on the council floor.

Elder Jihoon stares at me for a very long, very uncomfortable moment, his fingers stroking his short, scruffy beard.

“Quite interesting. You know nothing of any of this?” He directs the question at me, leaning forward as if he wants to hear me better.

I jolt, unprepared to be put on the spot like this. Then I swallow and shrug helplessly. “No, sir. I grew up in a small town. I’m not a shifter or a witch. There’s nothing special about me.”

“I’d hardly say that,” Ridge offers with a little smile.

Elder Jihoon stares at me for a long moment, barely seeming to notice that Ridge has spoken. Finally, he gets to his feet and shuffles away, disappearing through the only other open door in the shack. He reappears a moment later carrying two metal rods.

“Stand, please,” he says, motioning at me with one of the rods.