Archer puts a hand on my arm. “Now that things have settled down, we’ll return to our training.”
“No.” I meet his gaze, biting my lip. I appreciate everything Archer has helped me learn. Without his guidance, I wouldn’t know any witch magic. The few spells I’m competent with are because of him. But it’s not enough. “Please, Archer. You can’t deny me the only possible answers out there. This woman is a lifeline I need, and maybe she’ll be willing to help us. If she turns out to be a wolf-hater, we leave. Plain and simple.”
“And if she turns out to be a violent wolf-hater and kills you on sight?” Trystan drawls. The wry tone of his voice can’t hide the palpable fear behind it. “We can’t bring you back from the dead.”
“There’s a chance she won’t hate us,” I point out, tension gathering in my muscles as I search for an argument that will convince them. “At the very least, she’s not affiliated with the coven that’s been starting wars with the shifters for years. She’s a lone wolf, so to speak.” I look at Dare, pleading with my eyes for him to understand and agree with me, hoping the lone wolf statement will spark something in him.
Instead, he grunts and says, “Lone wolves are dangerous.”
Ridge returns from the cabinet. “Look, Sable, we know this situation is tough. But after everything that’s happened, our goal now is to protect you. Seeking this witch is too dangerous, and you’ve been in harm’s way too much recently as it is.”
“We’ll find another way,” Archer promises.
All four of my mates watch me with concern, but none of them seem at all willing to back down.
Dammit. There’s a downside to having four mates, I think, frustration bubbling inside me. I’m outnumbered.
8
Sable
I’m alone, walking through a cold, damp cave. I can hear the trickle of water on stone, feel the chill breeze of the underground, but I can hardly see my hand in front of my face. The darkness is so absolute that it feels like a physical entity, watching me, urging me on. My heart races, and I have a strong urge to turn back.
Wake up, Sable, I tell myself.
But I don’t. And something inside me keeps me moving.
The ground beneath my feet is uneven, littered with loose stones that make me slip and slide on even the slightest incline. Considering the path I’m on is steadily sloping downward, I almost fall more than once. So I grip the rock walls on either side of me to stay on my feet, though they’re wet and slippery with algae too.
After a while, the two cliff faces on either side begin to press in on me. It’s too dark to see it happening, but I can feel it when I reach out to balance myself. I had to stretch before, or choose just one wall to break my fall. Then, suddenly, I don’t have to stretch. When I touch the walls, my elbows are bent.
That’s when I hear the voice.
“Attack.”
The whisper seems to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. It drags out the single word into something snake-like and venomous, until the sound crawls across my skin like fingers caressing me.
I freeze and press my back against one wall, shrinking away from the other to give myself room to breathe and get a grip on my emotions.
“Evil creatures,” the voice goes on. The words are right in my ear, and I swear I can feel an invisible breath brushing along the tiny hairs at my nape. “They long for the peace of death. You should give it to them.”
Between the weight of the rocks surrounding me, the darkness, and the insidious whispers, my panic rises in a tidal wave. I worked so hard to get past these emotions, to get past my fear, but all it takes is a dark cave and thick, pressing walls to bring it all back to the forefront of my mind.
My breaths come faster, more ragged. I slide down the wall and curl into a ball, wrapping my arms around my knees as I try to focus on my breathing the way Archer taught me.
Archer. My mate.
My shifters.
I’m a wolf, I remind myself, and the panic starts to dissipate. I’m a shifter. Shift, and keep going. Fight it.
Magic shimmers over me. My body changes, crouching down and growing into my massive, white-and-blonde furred wolf. I take a few experimental steps forward and realize my steps are more sure than they were in human form, and even though I’m larger in wolf form, I don’t feel the immense pressure of the walls pressing in on me.
“Kill them all, witch,” the whisper taunts me. It wraps around me as if the speaker is everywhere, flitting around me, speaking in one ear and then the other.
I ignore it and keep going.
The floor slopes ever downward, and the walls crush closer. I keep my head up, comfortable in my shifter skin and refusing to give in to the panic that still wants to surface.
Until I hear the voice again.
“You cannot run from who you are.”
The voice is more than a whisper now. It’s forceful and clear, growing in power.
I whip around, my snout in the air as I try to sniff out the culprit. Is it the cloud of blackness? That dark, menacing fog that hung over me the night I transitioned? Even with my shifter sight, the cave is too dark to tell.
I pick up the pace, trotting through the narrow tunnel as fast as I can safely go. But the voice follows me.
“Kill them.”
“They all must die.”
“They are the enemy.”
“Abominations do not deserve to live.”
I run faster, my thick shoulders bouncing off the walls as they grow closer on either side of my body. No matter how fast I run, I can’t outrun the voice. It’s in my ears, in my head, part of me.
If I can’t outrun it, I’ll fight it.
I skid to
