A mumble of agreement ripples through the crowd, but the sound dies down almost immediately.
“As you can see, I’m still here,” Malcolm goes on, grinning wryly. “Hopefully for a little longer yet. But the subject of my health isn’t why we’re meeting tonight. As many of you are already aware, we are under threat of a witch attack.”
Some people rustle in alarm, but the majority of the crowd nods—Archer spread the news the moment we returned from Gwen’s cabin so that no one would be caught unaware if the witches arrived before the pack was prepared for it.
“Both of our brother packs are on their way to our territory at this very moment,” Malcolm assures the murmuring group. “We must give thanks to Ridge, alpha of the North Pack, and Trystan, alpha of the West Pack, as well as our very own Archer.” Here, he smiles proudly at his son. “These courageous, quick-thinking wolves have brought the three packs together to face the coming threat.”
I steal a glance at Dare’s face, but if he feels any emotion about being left out of the dialogue, he isn’t showing it. I know Malcolm didn’t do it on purpose. His train of thought was about the other two packs coming here to help fight. Dare doesn’t have a pack to come, and as usual, that makes him an outsider. I want to put my arm around him, to reassure him that we’ll be his pack, but Trystan and Ridge are both standing between us.
Still, I manage to catch his eye and shoot him a small smile.
His expression doesn’t change much, but the dark brown of his irises seems to melt like warm chocolate, the flecks of gold glinting in a way that makes my heart flutter.
He knows.
“I am sure you will welcome our sisters and brothers of the North and West packs with open arms,” Malcolm says. There’s a note of warning in his voice, and I take it to mean if anyone doesn’t welcome the other packs, they’ll have hell to pay from their alpha. Even as sickly as his body is, he still exudes an aura of authority that I doubt anyone will want to test.
“Now,” he goes on, his stern gaze sweeping the crowd, “we have another ally with us. Many of you have likely heard the rumors that my son, Archer, has finally taken a mate. And alongside those rumors, I’m sure you’ve also heard that she’s a witch.”
Another burst of noise and movement comes from the crowd, and my heart turns fluttery in my chest. Archer, who stands between his dad and me, puts his arm around my shoulders, his handsome, All-American-Guy face set like stone. I have no doubt if his pack decides not to accept me, he’ll challenge every one of them. And win.
“Those rumors are, in fact, true,” Malcolm says. “However, as is often the case with rumors and gossip, they’re missing half the tale. Sable is a half-witch, half-shifter. As such, that means she is one of us. She intends to fight with us against the witches, which means we will have magic fighting on our side for the first time in our history.”
The low whispers grow louder, and I watch in despair as the crowd shifts in their seats, friends and family exchanging horrified glances.
“Settle down,” Malcolm booms. Even though there’s no anger in his voice, if I can see the hard glint in his eye, I’m sure his pack can too.
The crowd silences immediately.
Malcolm turns to me, and that hard glint disappears, replaced by affection. “Sable? Would you show the pack a spell to calm their concerns?”
Oh fuck.
I swallow hard, despair flooding me and sending heat rising into my cheeks. Malcolm’s putting me on the spot, and I know he means well—but I’m not prepared for this. A few hours of practicing spells from Gwen’s book hasn’t given me that much more control over my magic than I had before.
What if I fail? What if I hurt someone?
Archer leans into me, his lips close to my ear as he murmurs, “It’s all right, Sable. You can do this. Remember to breathe.”
He nudges me forward, and I take a few steps closer to the edge of the podium. My heart’s hammering so hard I feel like it’s going to give out at any moment, and I’ll drop dead of fear right in front of the whole East Pack. But even as I have that thought, something occurs to me.
If this were a couple months ago, I’d be hysterical. I’d probably curl up into a ball on the floor, rocking and cowering as I got lost in my panic attack.
But now… Here I am. Stronger than that girl I used to be. Surrounded by four men who give me strength just by their presence at my back, where I know they’ll stand until the end of time. Bolstered by that thought and the knowledge of how far I’ve come, I swallow hard and gather my focus.
Then I raise a hand and etch a sigil in the air.
Using any kind of offensive or battle magic would just frighten the crowd and make this situation worse—not that I’ve mastered many of those anyway. So I pluck a harmless little charm out of my head, one I only recently learned from Gwen’s book.
Black smoke pours from my hand as I finish out the sigil, then I turn my palm up to the ceiling. My scars darken with magic, and I know it’s going to freak the pack out, but there’s nothing I can do about that. The smoke gathers in my hand, and I strain to contain it, willing the sigil to work, willing myself to remain firmly in control.
Gwen told me the magic isn’t in charge—I am. I refuse to let it get the better of me again.
In my palm, the smoke turns to a sparkling golden light. It’s meant
