SableI don’t know if Archer is surprised by my kiss, but he certainly doesn’t seem to have any objections.His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer as his lips move over mine. His tongue darts out to taste my lips as a soft noise spills from me. The air is growing cool as the fire starts to dwindle, but Archer’s bare skin is warm against mine.I’m starting to like the fact that we have to strip before shifting. It allows moments like this to happen easily.Our kiss starts out deep and slow. Archer’s hands move up and down my back as his tongue strokes gently against mine, as if he’s trying to comfort and reassure me through his touch. But it doesn’t take long for the pressure of our lips to become more urgent, our hands groping each other shamelessly.As I slide my fingers through his blond hair, scraping my nails over his scalp, I realize that the voices of my other mates have died out. The world around us has gone quiet except for the soft sound of insects humming in the distance

TrystanI’m on watch as dawn breaks over the mountains. It sheds rosy light on Sable’s pale wolf where she sleeps curled up with the other alphas. They’re a massive pile of fur and limbs, sleeping quietly except for the intermittent snuffle that tells me they’re dreaming.I took third watch after Archer and Ridge, the latter of whom lay awake for a long time before he finally fell asleep. I’ve never wanted to read minds as much as I did watching him stare up at the stars in the dark, because I thought maybe we were both thinking the same things. Worrying over the same possibilities. Ridge didn’t seem like he wanted to chat, and I don’t always know how to start hard conversations, so I stayed silent and kept my thoughts to myself. I’m getting better at the communication thing, especially with Sable, but it’s a work in progress with the other guys.Dare will probably get out of doing watch tonight, since I’m assuming we’ll get moving in another hour or so when the sun’s finally over the

SableThe space around us seems to crackle with power. I feel the magic coming before I see it, but I’m not fast enough to stop it. I’m still getting used to the feeling of magic in the air, to the way it calls to my own power and sets it humming beneath my skin.So my reaction time is shoddy, to say the least.Black smoke shoots past my line of sight like a whip cracking, and several spiky tendrils hit Trystan in the hip. He yips in pain, a sound that sends terror surging through my heart, and his back legs give out beneath him. He trips sideways and sinks onto his back haunches, whining and growling.My heart drops into my stomach, and I leap forward, desperately rifling through the sigils I learned from Archer.They’re really all I know, which unfortunately means I don’t know much. The ones I do know have been practiced relentlessly, over and over, until I could recall those sigils in my sleep. But faced with a very real threat, I freeze. Suddenly, I’m useless. Every sigil I ever s

SableI don’t have any expectations of what a witch’s home should look like, but the moment I set foot inside the small cabin, I know I’ve stepped into a place of magic.Bundles of dried herbs hang from the rafters, creating a forest of fragrant leaves that spreads out over the room. Some of them hang low enough that I have to brush away long branches of sage and rosemary with my fingers as I head toward Gwen.A small fire burns in the hearth, making the cabin feel stiflingly warm and intensifying the herbal scent. The mantel above the stone fireplace is laden with a number of glass jars full of strange liquids and other things I don’t even want to guess at.The cabin is simple enough that it’s just one big room with two doors, and Gwen’s small bed sits in one corner, the blankets neatly made up and a number of quilted pillows perched against the headboard. Other than the bed, there’s a storage chest and an armoire, plus a small kitchenette area equipped with a wood stove, a hand-pump

sableThe woman waves a hand at the two witch men, who dutifully walk away. Then she steps forward and puts a hand on Lawson’s shoulder. She doesn’t even cringe at the blood that soaks his shirt. “That’s a good dog. Now, I want to know all about the packs. But especially their protections. Tell me about those stolen sigils that mark the territory. Howl for me, wolf.”Lawson begins to speak. Haltingly at first, as if he hurts too much to talk, but then the words come faster, more wild and desperate. He barely seems in his right mind anymore, and I wonder if she’s using more than just physical abuse and torture to get him to speak. Is her magic somehow creeping into his mind too?However she managed to break him, Lawson doesn’t hold anything back. I know without having to be told that he’s spilling privileged information about the packs—secrets nobody should know, but especially not the witches.“Sable, come back to me,” Gwen whispers in my head.The sound of her voice startles me, break