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With my heart crawling into my throat, I close my eyes briefly and open my mind to see if I can sense her presence nearby.
When shifters transform from human to wolf or vice versa, I can feel their magic in the air. So I can only hope that if she uses her powers, I’ll be able to feel it happening. If I can get ahead of her blasts, maybe I can get enough barriers up to keep us safe and figure out where she is and how to stop her.
And it works. I sense her next attack before it even pops into view and sketch my sigil in the air an instant earlier than I had before. That extra perception makes my sigil stronger, and after the witch’s magic slams into it, it remains up, strong and unwavering.
“Get behind me!” I yell to my mates, who are still gathered defensively around me.
Another wave of black smoke lances out from the hills behind me, and I etch out a new sigil, forming a second, slightly less corporeal barrier. Clearly, I’m not skilled enough to hold two at once, while the witch attacking us is definitely skilled enough to do more than one attack at a time.
She attacks again from a different direction. I’m ready this time, because I’m listening to my innate magic sense rather than relying on my sight. But my hands are already full with the first two barriers, and now the third is hardly more than a gust of wind between us and the witch. Her magic tears through my paltry shield as if it isn’t even real, and the smoky tendril flings past me and narrowly misses Ridge’s snout.
My panic and terror are joined by anger as I watch Ridge’s rust-colored wolf dart out of the way. His tail trails too close to the black smoke for my comfort.
If I don’t do something, we’ll all be killed. This witch clearly holds a vendetta—maybe not necessarily against wolves, but at the very least against anyone who encroaches on her territory. She won’t stop until we’re vanquished, whether that means we run away or we’re dead. I’ll be damned if I let her kill us.
But we can’t run either. This witch is my only option. She might hold the key to understanding everything that I am, and to gaining control over my witch side. I just have to figure out how to get past her defenses and convince her to listen.
There’s a slight lull in her attacks, and I take my chance to try another sigil I recall from my practices: this one meant to amplify sound. I etch it quickly over my throat and scream, “We come in peace! Please! We don’t want to fight!”
Before I even finish speaking, another blast of smoky magic snaps out from the cliffs around us. It passes by my head so fast it sounds like the crack of a bullet. I leap away from it as more chunks of rock and dirt explode into the air. Archer yelps as the force of the blow throws him out of range. He lands on his big paws and skids to a stop, shaking his head as if trying to recover from a hard punch.
I have to stop this. My mates are still surrounding me, but they can’t do anything against magic. The only thing they can do between me and this witch is get themselves killed, and I refuse for that to happen.
What I need is a shock factor, like the night of Lawson’s challenge when I revealed myself to the pack as a hybrid wolf and witch. That’s what the witch needs—to see something so shocking that she’ll stop her assault and listen because she wants to know more.
So I drop my shitty magical barriers, and I shift into my wolf form.
The witch deep inside me steps aside to make way for the wolf, thank God, but magic continues to run over my skin. Once my fur has grown in and I’m standing on four legs facing the threat, blackness still races through my fur, rippling over me.
The valley goes deathly silent.
Shoving my way past Ridge and Dare, I drop my pack and put myself front and center so that I can gaze around us, doing my best to spot the witch. Her defenses are so secure that I can’t even sense the magic that’s hiding her.
I realize with a thrill of fear and excitement that maybe this means she’s smart. That she knows what she’s doing. And that she can teach me how.
Suddenly, energy shimmers over the valley just ahead of me. Black smoke tilts and swirls from the air as if being blown away by the breeze, dissipating into nothing.
Like a mirage coming into being, a small cabin forms out of the space between two cliffs. A puff of chimney smoke curves up from a stone chimney, and a pile of cut logs sits against one wall in a perfect pyramid. An axe is planted in a nearby tree stump next to an old well.
As the magic lifts, a woman appears standing several yards away from the rustic cabin. Black smoke still curls from her fingertips, but her hands are at her sides—not raised in a threatening gesture.
She’s older than me. Late thirties or early forties, tall and willowy with pale red hair and vivid green eyes. Her face is white with shock, and her jaw hangs open.
“No.” Her voice is clear as a bell as it cuts through the valley. “This can’t be possible.”
15
Sable
The silence that falls over the valley after her declaration is deafening, especially in the wake of the violence, when her magic was zinging through the air and ripping up chunks of the ground. Not even a bird sings or an insect chirps. It’s so quiet that I can hear my own heartbeat and the breaths flowing in and out of my companions.
In wolf form, the silence is so amplified it’s almost painful.
Now that I have her attention and my point is made, I shift back to human. The moment I’m back on two feet, I put my hands out to my sides so she can see them clearly. The last thing I need is for her to imagine she sees black smoke coming from my fingertips and attack us again while my guard is down.
My heart pounds as I approach her. I keep my steps short and only close some of the distance between us—not so much that it will put her back on her guard, but enough so that we can easily see each other’s faces and hear each other speak. All four of my mates remain as wolves, gathering around me protectively but letting me take the lead. It’s a small thing, but it proves they trust my judgment.
Which is good, since I’m really questioning it right now.
