Fated Magic (Claimed by Wolves 1)

I blink. “You’d do that? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not.” He smiles, his blue eyes warm. “We can play that way all night. I don’t think any of us really care.”

I half-expect Trystan to snort at that. I saw the competitive gleam in his eye when Ridge first suggested poker, and I have a feeling he was looking forward to trying to kick the other men’s asses at the game. But no objection comes, and when I glance his way, he pats the seat next to him, inviting me over.

A new wave of feeling rises in my chest. These men are all so patient with me, about big things and little things—and I know it’s not because they’re patient people in general.

It’s because of me.

Because they care about me.

I still don’t quite know how to handle that, and the parts of me that my uncle left battered and broken still don’t quite believe it. But these four shifter men prove it through their actions day after day, and I hope someday I really can trust that this is all real.

Ridge deals the first hand, and the guys talk me through the rules and strategy as we begin to play open-handed. The things Archer and Dare were saying make a lot more sense when I can see them with my own eyes, and I ask a lot of questions, absorbing everything I can.

We play two rounds like that, and I think the men really would be content to play this way all night. They seem to be getting as much enjoyment out of teaching me as they do out of the game itself. Trystan grins widely as he explains what “tells” are and how to look for them, and Dare flips him off when Trystan points out that he has a terrible poker face.

It’s actually kind of true. Dare can be stoic and hard-edged, and I can’t always tell what he’s thinking. But I rarely have a hard time guessing what he’s feeling. He wears his emotions on his sleeve, and they radiate out from him like a palpable aura.

“Okay. I think I’m ready,” I say as Archer shuffles the deck. “We can play a real round if you want.”

“You sure?” He glances up at me, candlelight warming his green eyes.

“Yeah.”

I grin, scooting my chair a little closer to the table. Truthfully, I’m still not sure I understand everything about this game. There are a lot of bits I’m a little fuzzy on, but I want to try playing a regular game.

“All right.” Archer grins at me, then deals the cards face down.

We start to play, and I immediately realize I’ve made a mistake. I thought I had a handle on this game, but now that I’m trying to strategize on my own, I feel a little out of my depth again.

So I focus on what Trystan told me about tells and study each of the men gathered around the table with me, trying to guess whether they’ve got a good hand. I can at least do that, even if I don’t quite remember whether my hand is good or bad.

They look back at me, their gazes just as penetrating as mine, and I realize with a start that this is my favorite part of the game—having an excuse to stare at these men.

The candlelight casts their faces in shadow, making them look beautiful and almost otherworldly. Archer’s blond hair gleams like gold as he runs a hand through it, and Dare presses his full lips together as he contemplates whether to call or fold. Trystan’s gaze slides to mine, and I can practically see the glee dancing behind his turquoise eyes.

He’s having fun.

They all are. And so am I.

It’s a little thing in some ways, just like their willingness to take the time to teach me. But in other ways, it’s everything. For entire years of my life, “fun” was something foreign to me, so far outside the realm of my experience that it might as well be another language.

But right now, sitting around a table with four burly men—four wolf shifters—it feels easy.

It feels right.

I could happily spend months out here in this cabin, with nothing to do all day but cook, eat, talk, and explore the woods. Part of me wishes we could stay here forever, even though I know that’s not possible. I might not have responsibilities beyond these four walls, but the men do. I can tell that all of them, even Dare, worry sometimes about the duties they’re neglecting while they hole up here.

They have packs that rely on them, and once my wolf finally appears and makes her choice, this blissful little bubble will burst and reality will come flooding back in.

It will happen sooner or later. I know it will.

Nothing this good can last forever.

But as I glance around the table at my four companions, narrowing my eyes in mock suspicion as I hold my cards close to my face, I wonder how on earth my wolf will ever choose.

How can she, when I can’t?