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My heart skips a beat. “Today?”
Am I ready to do this? I don’t really feel like I am, but I guess there’s no better time than the present.
Trystan stirs at my waist, lazily rubbing his face against me. “Mm. You smell amazing.”
“Laundry detergent,” I tell him, the heat returning full force to my cheeks. There’s no way he can still smell my momentary flash of desire.
“Yes,” he says, gazing up at me with amusement. “Laundry detergent.” He nips playfully at my side, which tickles so much I squirm and wake up the rest of the bed.
We have breakfast in Archer’s backyard, since the five of us don’t fit well in Archer’s tiny kitchen. It’s shaping up to be a beautiful day, the sun hot and bright and a cool breeze coming in from the mountains. Breakfast is a comfortable, leisurely affair, and it’s the only place I want to be for the next few hours.
Unfortunately, what I want isn’t exactly what I get.
After everyone’s had their fill of sausage and coffee, Archer starts to clear away plates while announcing, “Sable and I are going to go to the training barn today to work on her magic. Who’s coming with us?”
I sink in on myself like a turtle, avoiding looking at any of the shifters so I don’t have to see the disgust in their expressions. None of them are going to want to watch me fail at controlling my magic. Or succeed.
But Ridge says, “I’m in. I wouldn’t miss it.”
Trystan nods, his rich brown hair gleaming in the morning sunlight. “Same. We should all learn as much about Sable’s new powers as we can, honestly. We may not wield the magic ourselves, but if it affects her, it affects us.”
“Good.” Archer beams, looking pleased.
I appreciate their responses more than they’ll ever know, but there’s a notable absence of one voice.
Dare.
I chance a look at him, sitting across the picnic table and staring down at his empty plate. He had a great appetite that morning, and he’s not walking with a limp anymore. Some of his strength seems to have returned, which I’m grateful to Camilla for. But no amount of healing or time is going to change his mind about my witch powers.
“You guys don’t have to go,” I say, my voice barely loud enough to penetrate the sound of Trystan and Archer talking about strengthening the sigil boundaries.
Dare looks up and sees that my gaze is on him as I speak.
He shakes his head, drains the last of his coffee, and then says, “Let’s do it.”
I can’t stop the warmth that floods through me. Even if he’s doing it just to make me feel better, he’s still doing it for me. Maybe that means my bond with him isn’t a lost cause, after all.
The training barn is a large, red A-frame structure with white accents that sits a half-mile outside the village. I’m nervous about coming out here to practice. What if some other East Pack shifters show up wanting to spar or whatever they do in the training barn? But Archer assures me the barn is currently off limits, thanks to the heightened witch threat. His father instituted a ban on venturing outside the village’s limits except to hunt until the danger is over.
Archer unlocks the giant padlock on the sliding barn doors, and the five of us enter the dim, musty interior. He leaves the doors open and heads for the walls, where he cranks open the high windows up near the vaulted ceiling. The other men leap into action to help him until a row of open windows lets in light and a cross-breeze all the way around the building.
The floors are covered in soft, spongy black mats that bounce as I walk across them. Trystan, Dare, and Ridge head toward the side wall and sit on the floor. My heart thuds dully in my chest as I glance over at them. I lick my suddenly dry lips, trying to banish the sudden certainty that this is a horrible idea.
Archer circles me and plants his body firmly between me and the other shifters. “Don’t be nervous,” he murmurs, taking me by both arms as if to hold me on my feet.
“Too late.”
“Okay. Be nervous, but let me help ease your mind. How’s that?” He gives me a crooked smile.
I wrinkle my nose. “That seems impossible.”
“It’s not impossible,” Archer admonishes me gently. “Take a deep breath, then go sit in that chair.”
I follow his gesture to a single folding metal chair placed in the middle of the soft mats. I don’t know if Archer left it there specifically for me, or if it’s been placed in that spot for a while. The latter seems more likely, given the barest hint of dust along the back of it.
The chair is squarely in the view of the three other shifters, who are pretending to be deep in conversation in their seats by the wall—while also keeping their gazes and attention fully on us. I appreciate that they’re attempting to be discreet, but it’s clear they have no interest in whatever subject they’re chatting about. Every one of them is focused on me, which only magnifies my sense of unease.
What if something goes wrong?
