Dark Wolf (Claimed by Wolves #3) - Callie Rose Page 0,2

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. He trots to Clint’s head, and his teeth latch on to the man’s flannel shirt, but before I can join him to help, Trystan appears. The large brown wolf snuffles my ear, which is strangely both soothing and erotic, then bypasses me to latch on to Clint’s other shoulder. The two wolves drag the body to the grave.

The heels of Clint’s heavy boots scrape over the ground, dislodging little pieces of dirt and carrying an inch of forest detritus with him. He’s as limp as a rag doll, his arms splayed at his sides and his head lolling toward Archer’s jaw. The wolves get him quickly to the edge of the long, narrow hole Dare and Ridge have dug and drop him onto the ground next to the opening with little ceremony. Then all four wolves give my uncle a nudge with their noses. He rolls into the grave and hits the fresh earth below with a solid thud.

I step up to the edge of the hole and gaze down into the darkness. My wolf sight has no problem making out my uncle’s placid face, a splash of pale, ghostly color against the dirt. He looks as if he could be sleeping, except for the blood that marks his face and stains his neck and shirt.

My four mates surround the hole and begin to kick soil back into the grave. I watch my uncle’s blood-streaked face until the dirt covers him completely, as if he were never there at all.

2

Sable

It’s well past midnight, probably close to one in the morning, when the five of us slow to a walk on the narrow street that runs through the main part of the North Pack village.

I’m exhausted from the journey—racing to my uncle’s house, finding him and fighting him, then sprinting back home. It’s a lot for one night. Not to mention, we did it all on the heels of Ridge’s fight with Lawson after his brother challenged him, followed by some seriously intense sex.

Honestly, it’s probably a miracle I can even stand on my own at this point. The thought of Ridge’s comfortable bed and fresh, clean sheets sounds better than heaven.

But even though my body is running on fumes and ready to collapse, my mind is wired. Maybe it’s because I have this strange agitation inside me—a niggling feeling that even though the rest of my