Reaching down, I slide my fingers into Ridge’s thick fur, and he follows me across the floor of the cabin without a sound. None of my men shift to human form, which makes sense. Even though those forms would be less of a threat to Gwen, they want to stay in their strongest forms, ready to attack if the witch puts even one toe out of line. I know that being in this cabin surrounded by witch magic goes against every instinct my mates have, and I’m infinitely grateful they came with me.
As Ridge said the night I ran off on my own, they’ll follow me even if I walk through hell.
I halt just beyond the kitchen table. It too is covered in black sigils that seem to waver with smoke when I look at them sideways. My heart thunders in my chest, and as if he can sense my rapid pulse, Ridge leans closer to me.
Gwen slides a thick copper kettle into the flames in the fireplace. “Tea?”
“No, thank you.”
She looks up from behind her curtain of red hair, an amused smile crossing her face. “I wouldn’t poison you, wolf witch. It’s not my style.” She straightens and pulled two mugs from the dish drainer on the counter behind her. “I promise you sanctuary while you are here in my home.”
Ridge nudges me with his nose, then glances pointedly at the kitchen table with his eerily human eyes. It’s clear he wants me to sit down and start a dialogue with Gwen.
His silent encouragement helps, but I’m still scared. As much as I want this, as much as I fought for it, I’m afraid of what will happen next. Whether she helps me or not, I have a feeling that nothing will be the same from this moment on.
But I nod and walk forward, choosing the seat farthest from the fire.
Gwen watches the flames lick at the bottom of the kettle as she says, “Sable, you said your name was?”
I nod, but she isn’t looking at me. The flames reflect off her green eyes as if they live inside her. “Yes,” I say. “My name is Sable.”
“It’s an animal, you know. The sable. Cute little fluffy thing, looks kind of like a cross between a fox and a ferret. The fur is a precious commodity in Russia, used to make sable fur coats that can net a hundred thousand dollars, easily. A symbol of status.” Gwen scoffs and tosses me a look. “They’re commercially farmed, you know. Sables. The Russians breed and raise them only to slaughter them and make a profit off their beautiful coats.”
I don’t know why she’s bringing this up. Is bringing up this atrocity against animals her version of small talk? Maybe she’s been alone too long and lacks normal people skills. But something about the way she said “breed and raise them only to slaughter them” sends a chill down my spine. I think of Clint, spilling his life’s blood onto the ground even as he congratulated himself on a job well done. On breeding me from a wolf and a witch. Boasting how I was to be his great weapon.
“That’s horrific,” I murmur, though what I really want to say is, I empathize with the sables.
“It is.” Gwen snatches a pot holder off the mantel and reaches into the fireplace to remove the copper kettle. Then she turns to the counter and fills both mugs with steaming water. “Humans are the cruelest race on this planet.”
I nod emphatically. “You and I agree on that point.”
Gwen picks up both mugs and joins me at the table, sliding one my way. “So what is it you want, Sable?”
I accept the mug from her, wrapping my hands around it and letting the warmth seep into my skin. She takes a sip of hers, and I consider doing the same to be a polite guest, but I can’t quite bring myself to do it. Logic tells me that if she wanted to kill me, she could’ve done it outside the cabin rather than inviting me in and tricking me into drinking poisoned tea.
But still, I’m not quite ready to hand over complete trust yet.
Rather than taking a drink, I meet her gaze and answer her question as bluntly and honestly as I can. “I can’t control the magic in me, and I need help.”
Gwen brings her mug to her lips again, watching me intently. “Explain.”
Taking a deep breath, I give her a brief explanation of what’s been happening to me. The way my magic seems to have a mind of its own, the way it gets out of my control and tries to push me into doing things I don’t want to do. I stop short of telling her about the voice that comes from the dark cloud, the one that keeps whispering insidious commands for me to hurt or kill my mates.
A disembodied voice telling someone to do bad things isn’t normal, no matter who they are or what magic they carry.
“I just need someone who understands how witch magic works to teach me how to use it,” I finish. “How to rein it in when it gets out of control so I don’t accidentally hurt someone.”
Gwen’s long fingers tap against the side of her mug as she stares at me, an odd look on her face. For a moment, I expect her to say she won’t help us. That she has no interest in dealing with the mess of trouble we’ve brought to her doorstep. That none of this is her problem.
But instead, she looks almost concerned as she speaks.
“Sable, what you’re experiencing isn’t normal for witches. Your magic should be a part of you, as easy to control as your very thoughts. Yes, you’ll need to
