Fated Magic (Claimed by Wolves 1)

I don’t add that after spending so much of my life trapped in a single house, I’m developing a craving for open spaces and sunlight—but I don’t need to. It seems like they can all sense my unspoken words anyway, and my suggestion is met with an enthusiastic response.

We clean up from breakfast, then head out the back door toward the stream where Dare found me last night. We turn right, following the edge of the small stream through the woods.

As the cabin disappears amidst the trees behind us, I slow my steps a little to fall in beside Ridge, who’s bringing up the rear of the group.

“Is it safe for us to leave the cabin like this? I mean, I know you guys go out to hunt, but…”

“It’s safe.” He nods, although I don’t miss the way his gaze stays alert as he takes in our surroundings. “As safe as it’s possible to be with witches in the world anyway. We burned sigils into trees in a boundary that encompasses all of the pack lands. It’s possible for witches to get through, but it makes it harder for them to come en masse. Harder for them to attack in numbers. And you’re with four alphas.” He glances down at me with a reassuring smile. “We won’t let anyone hurt you.”

I ignore the tingle that runs down my spine at the way he looks at me, focusing on what he just told me instead. “What do the sigils do? You’ve mentioned them before, but I don’t really get it. Are they magic? I thought the only magic shifters had was… well, shifting.”

“That is the only magic we have.” Archer drops back to join us, ending up on my other side so I’m bookended by him and Ridge. “But sigils themselves hold power. Witches infuse them with magic, which makes them far stronger than any we could ever create. But anyone who knows how to form the proper sigils can wield the inherent power in those runes.”

I blink, trying to process that new piece of information. It’s still sometimes hard to believe I’m having conversations where the word “magic” is said in total seriousness.

“So you use magic against the witches?”

“We use every tool we have against the witches,” Ridge says, a hint of a growl entering his voice as he scans the trees again. Then he nudges me gently. “We use sigils for more than that though. Remember how your arm and ankle were nearly healed af

ter your second night at my house? Our elders use sigils for a variety of purposes, including the creation of healing poultices and tinctures. And it’s also how Elder Jihoon determined that there’s a wolf in you. His dowsing rods are powered by sigils.”

It’s hard to believe that was just over a week ago. It feels like it might as well be another lifetime, and the entirety of my upbringing in my uncle’s house sometimes feels it must be just a very long, very horrible dream. Out here in the woods, with the sun shining and the birds twittering in the trees, it’s hard to believe so much evil can exist in the world.

Of course, it can.

And I’ll never be able to forget that.

I’ll always bear the scars of my past, both the ones on the outside and the ones on the inside.

But right now, I can allow myself to believe that maybe—one day—they might fade.

We walk for several more minutes before the creek widens out into a small pond. Dare and Trystan got ahead of us, deep in a conversation that’s the most civil I’ve seen them manage so far. By the time we catch up to them, Dare is kicking off his jeans. Trystan shoots me a wink before tugging his shirt over his head and shucking his jeans too.

Then magic ripples over both of them as they shift.

They pad toward the shoreline and step in, letting the water ripple around their paws. Beside me, Ridge gives one more scan of our surroundings before nodding to Archer. The two of them strip too, quickly and perfunctorily. Archer told me once that a shifter could make the transition fully clothed, but their clothes don’t tend to survive the process. So to avoid wasting perfectly good clothing, they always undress first unless it’s an emergency.

As I watch the two wolves join the others in the pond, a wave of unexpected longing washes through me.

I wish I could join them.

And I don’t just mean in the water.

I wish I could shift too.

But I want Archer to get his wish. I want today to be a fun day, a lighthearted day, so I push any melancholy feelings aside and step forward, kicking off my shoes and rolling up my borrowed pants so I can wade in the shallows as the wolves splash around.

The water is probably runoff from higher up in the mountains, so it’s just this side of freezing despite the warmth in the early spring air. It’s crystal clear and has that crisp scent I love though, so I hold out as long as I can before my numb toes force me back onto land.

The men seem to take their cue from me, and as soon as I leave the water, they follow after me.

Dare gives a mighty shake, sending water spraying in all directions as his damp fur puffs out from his body. I laugh, holding up a hand to shield myself as the others all shake off too. When magic shimmers over their bodies, I suddenly take a great interest in the birds flitting among the branches above us—although I’d be lying if I said my gaze didn’t slip back downward once or twice, catching on broad shoulders, thick thighs, and perfectly sculpted muscles.

After the men are all dressed again, we walk a little farther around the pond.

I find myself hiking next to Dare, and I can’t stop myself from shooting little glances his way. I’m so curious about him, and I have dozens of questions I’m dying to ask. But even though I told the men my sad life story this morning, I’m hesitant to ask him about his.

I know the basics already—witches attacked his entire pack and sent the survivors scattering to the wind. Asking for more details feels a little like slowing down and gawking at the scene of an accident or something. I don’t want to make him dredge up horrible memories just to satisfy my own morbid curiosity.