That’s understandable, Archer says gently.
Is it though?
But I keep that thought to myself. Clint treated me horribly while I lived with him, and I haven’t forgotten any of that. I remember all of the “accidents.” All the cuts and bruises and torture. All the emotional manipulation. He doesn’t deserve even a scrap of my pity. I was less than a person to him, and I never knew why. Not until tonight, when I found out the truth.
I wasn’t a person to Clint—I was an experiment.
My fake uncle obviously had a purpose in creating me. Before he died, he made it sound like no other witch and wolf hybrid had ever been born before I was, and he had plans for me. It seems clearer now that his torture sessions were purposeful too. When he carved into my skin or pushed me down the stairs or just found any way possible to hurt me, it’s obvious he was trying to force my witch or wolf side to manifest.
It makes sense, in a sick and fucked up way, because I know that strong emotions make my magic come out. Strong emotions finally brought out my wolf too, when I thought my mates were in danger of being attacked.
Thinking back, I can see how Clint’s abuse got worse as I got older, as he channeled his anger over the fact that neither side had manifested into hurting me. The more my two natures refused to reveal themselves, the more furious he got. He kept me alive to see if they would finally materialize, but he considered me a waste of his time, a failure, because neither side appeared like he expected them to.
I wish he’d died without learning his plans had worked.
As if he can sense the swirl of thoughts in my head, Archer stands and pads silently around Clint’s lifeless body to come sit beside me. He bumps into me with his powerful shoulder, then leans in and nuzzles me. Hey. Talk to me. This isn’t just because he’s dead, is it?
I take a deep breath and let it out through my snout. No. It’s not. He… bred me, Archer. He made me. He took a witch and a wolf shifter and, I don’t know, forced them to mate? I am the way I am because of Clint. He deliberately created me to use me as a weapon against the wolves. Lowering my gaze to my white paws, I add, I shouldn’t even exist.
I, for one, am glad you do, Archer says firmly. Warmth radiates through his voice. You’re my mate, and I wouldn’t change a damn thing about you.
I glance up at him but don’t reply. I’m not sure if wolves can cry, but I’m on the verge of it anyway.
His green gaze doesn’t waver as he goes on. Secondly, even though his intention was to weaponize you or use you as some sort of tool in his master plan, you have complete control of your destiny. He’s gone where he can’t hurt you or control you anymore. You are in charge. Not Clint.
He rubs his cheek against mine as if to punctuate his statement.
I appreciate his belief in me, but I don’t have the same belief in myself. Even with Archer’s help, I’ve barely gotten a handle on my witch powers. The magic is like a living thing inside me, constantly moving through my limbs. I’m not certain it doesn’t have a mind of its own. During the three days I spent in the mating cabin transitioning into my magic, I was pretty out of it most of the time, lost in a sort of delirium. But I have a clear memory of fighting off an evil dark cloud that wanted me to kill the shifters.
Was it real? Or did I just dream it?
I don’t have the answer, but if it’s true that the witch part of me has a mind of her own, there’s no telling what she’s capable of.
You’re safe now, Archer goes on when I don’t speak.
Am I? I pull back so that I can meet his gaze. Do you remember what Clint said before he died? ‘You better hope she doesn’t find out about you.’ Who was he talking about? Who’s ‘she’?
Archer shrugs. I wish I knew. But if someone shows up, we’ll protect you. Dare, Ridge, Trystan, me—we’ve got your back. Always.
He leans in again and nuzzles my neck, pressing our bodies together in a semblance of a hug. My heart swells with his attention, even as I worry about this elusive “she” and what my uncle might have told her about his little experiment, if anything.
The past twenty-four hours have been full of ups and downs. I’m still carrying the terrifying weight of my uncle’s revelations about me, about him, and about my past. But despite all that, I finally solidified the bond between me and my mates. I can feel the difference between us and sense the way we’re connected irrevocably. Archer’s right, as usual—the four of them will be beside me, come what may.
We’ll help you. We’ll figure this out together, Archer says. He never stops trying to soothe my nerves, and I love that about him.
I brush my cheek against his, feeling a little awkward about trying the whole “nuzzling” thing out. I’m still learning how to be a wolf in a lot of ways. But the movement feels as natural as a hug or kiss, and I lean into him, relishing the softness of his fur against mine.
Ridge’s voice catches my attention, deep and rumbly even in my mind. We’re done. Bring the body.
Archer’s warmth disappears from my side, and the cool night rushes back in, bursting the small, safe bubble that built up between the two of us.
