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A sharp pang tugs in my chest at the thought, and I rub it away. I’ve had control of my anxiety for years, but baring old wounds threatens my tenuous hold. I don’t want to scare her off with the full details of what the witches did to me. But more than that, I don’t want to re-open the deep wounds in myself by dredging up all those old emotions, either. It’s a dangerous tightrope to walk.
“But you’re not?” Sable regards me with serious eyes.
“No. We aren’t.” I shake my head. “They hate us. For years, they’ve attacked our kind any way they can. We have protections in place, but when they manage to slip past them, they have only one goal—to destroy shifters. They… hurt me. When I was young. For the longest time, I couldn’t sleep without fear. I couldn’t walk down the street without worrying they’d come back for me. I couldn’t roam the woods or hunt. They took a piece of myself away from me.”
“That’s horrible.”
She’s watching me, her expression enigmatic, but despite the lack of visible emotion, I can tell she’s really listening.
“It’s hard to know who to trust,” I say, looking away from her and out over the darkening forest. I knew that eye contact, and people who appear to be looking much too deeply into your soul, can inspire panic. “In a world where people you thought you could count on are the ones who hurt you, trust is hard to come by.”
Sable makes a humming noise, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself to believe me, to trust me, but she can’t quite do it.
I get that.
“I can guarantee you something,” I add carefully, and her eyelids flicker slightly.
“What?”
I turn toward her so that our gazes can meet. Then I put my hands out, palms up, showing her I’m holding nothing.
Hiding nothing.
That I’m not a threat.
“There’s nowhere in this world where you’ll be safer than with me, Trystan, and Ridge. We’ll keep you safe, Sable. We’ll protect you with our lives from whoever hurt you in the past. And we’ll guide you
until your wolf comes out.”
15
Sable
Archer’s golden, boy-next-door good looks are even more devastating in the oranges and purples of sunset. I have to work hard to focus on his words and not get lost in his brilliant green eyes that remind me of fresh cut grass. He’s taller than Ridge, though not by much, but his presence isn’t as imposing. He doesn’t loom like the other wolves. He doesn’t wear his beast as close to the surface.
Despite everything that’s happened, I’m drawn to him. It’s a stupid thing, really. I shouldn’t be drawn to him. I should be drawn to those damn woods and getting the hell away from this mess before I’m too deep to get out. But something about the weight in his voice tells me he’s not lying. He’s not feigning empathy just to keep me from leaping off this ledge and racing away into the sunset.
Archer’s been through some things. Some really heavy things. The same kinds of things I have.
They… hurt me. When I was young.
I can’t help but wonder at his story. What did the witches do to him that made it so easy for him to relate to what I’ve been through? How is it he really seems to understand how I feel? I hate to think someone took this kind, beautiful man as a child and hurt him the way I’ve been hurt. I hate to think of anybody going through the things I’ve gone through.
Even so, I want to know Archer’s story. I want to know all about him, and I almost ask him to keep talking. I’ll stand on this ledge for as many hours as it takes to learn about him.
You don’t have the luxury of getting to know someone, I remind myself, reaching for the protective walls around my heart. I pull them close and shove them into place to keep him out. Allowing someone into my heart—or even into my head—isn’t an option. When you let people in, that’s when they can hurt you the most.
“Sable?”
My name on his lips jolts me from my dark thoughts. I’m already looking at his face, but my vision went unfocused while he spoke. I realize now he must have finished talking without me even noticing, and I was left staring at him like a freaking weirdo. I lock gazes with him and make a sound that I hope indicates I was, in fact, hanging onto his every word.
“I hope you’ll come with us,” he says. “Let us help you.”
There’s nothing in his tone to indicate I’ve irritated him with my inattention, which is a relief. I don’t know him, and I know that means I obviously shouldn’t care what he thinks, but I still don’t want to hurt his feelings. I didn’t ignore what he was saying on purpose.
My mind just hasn’t stopped reeling. It’s hard to collect my thoughts and keep them in any kind of order for more than a few minutes.
I’m determined to no longer be a doormat. If I said no right here, right now, he’d take it for the final answer and let me go. Something about him promises me he would. I have the power and the ability to say no, more than I ever have in my entire life. But… I don’t want to say it.
