Still, I manage to catch his eye and shoot him a small smile.
His expression doesn’t change much, but the dark brown of his irises seems to melt like warm chocolate, the flecks of gold glinting in a way that makes my heart flutter.
He knows.
“I am sure you will welcome our sisters and brothers of the North and West packs with open arms,” Malcolm says. There’s a note of warning in his voice, and I take it to mean if anyone doesn’t welcome the other packs, they’ll have hell to pay from their alpha. Even as sickly as his body is, he still exudes an aura of authority that I doubt anyone will want to test.
“Now,” he goes on, his stern gaze sweeping the crowd, “we have another ally with us. Many of you have likely heard the rumors that my son, Archer, has finally taken a mate. And alongside those rumors, I’m sure you’ve also heard that she’s a witch.”
Another burst of noise and movement comes from the crowd, and my heart turns fluttery in my chest. Archer, who stands between his dad and me, puts his arm around my shoulders, his handsome, All-American-Guy face set like stone. I have no doubt if his pack decides not to accept me, he’ll challenge every one of them. And win.
“Those rumors are, in fact, true,” Malcolm says. “However, as is often the case with rumors and gossip, they’re missing half the tale. Sable is a half-witch, half-shifter. As such, that means she is one of us. She intends to fight with us against the witches, which means we will have magic fighting on our side for the first time in our history.”
The low whispers grow louder, and I watch in despair as the crowd shifts in their seats, friends and family exchanging horrified glances.
“Settle down,” Malcolm booms. Even though there’s no anger in his voice, if I can see the hard glint in his eye, I’m sure his pack can too.
The crowd silences immediately.
Malcolm turns to me, and that hard glint disappears, replaced by affection. “Sable? Would you show the pack a spell to calm their concerns?”
Oh fuck.
I swallow hard, despair flooding me and sending heat rising into my cheeks. Malcolm’s putting me on the spot, and I know he means well—but I’m not prepared for this. A few hours of practicing spells from Gwen’s book hasn’t given me that much more control over my magic than I had before.
What if I fail? What if I hurt someone?
Archer leans into me, his lips close to my ear as he murmurs, “It’s all right, Sable. You can do this. Remember to breathe.”
He nudges me forward, and I take a few steps closer to the edge of the podium. My heart’s hammering so hard I feel like it’s going to give out at any moment, and I’ll drop dead of fear right in front of the whole East Pack. But even as I have that thought, something occurs to me.
If this were a couple months ago, I’d be hysterical. I’d probably curl up into a ball on the floor, rocking and cowering as I got lost in my panic attack.
But now… Here I am. Stronger than that girl I used to be. Surrounded by four men who give me strength just by their presence at my back, where I know they’ll stand until the end of time. Bolstered by that thought and the knowledge of how far I’ve come, I swallow hard and gather my focus.
Then I raise a hand and etch a sigil in the air.
Using any kind of offensive or battle magic would just frighten the crowd and make this situation worse—not that I’ve mastered many of those anyway. So I pluck a harmless little charm out of my head, one I only recently learned from Gwen’s book.
Black smoke pours from my hand as I finish out the sigil, then I turn my palm up to the ceiling. My scars darken with magic, and I know it’s going to freak the pack out, but there’s nothing I can do about that. The smoke gathers in my hand, and I strain to contain it, willing the sigil to work, willing myself to remain firmly in control.
Gwen told me the magic isn’t in charge—I am. I refuse to let it get the better of me again.
In my palm, the smoke turns to a sparkling golden light. It’s meant for illuminating dark places when one has no light to guide them, the book told me. For a brief moment, I grin, stunned by how beautiful it is.
Until the darkness flares inside me
.
My skin races cold. The darkness billows like storm clouds beneath my skin, and I tense as I feel it trying to take control. Suddenly, I flash back to Dare by my bedside this morning, and his promise that one day I wouldn’t be a ticking time bomb. Right now, I am. In this moment, I am a bomb waiting to go off and destroy these people.
As if to punctuate my own fear, the pack reacts immediately. Several people leap out of their chairs, their faces twisted in horror, while others shrink away from me and the light I’m producing. Their fear intensifies mine, and I can feel myself losing to the darkness.
No. Dammit, no!
I refuse to let the magic take control.
Tamping down on the billowing darkness running through my limbs, shoving it down deep, deep inside me. Away from the surface, away from my heart, down into the very pit of my stomach where it can do nothing but rumble. Sweat breaks out along my hairline from the strain of trying to rein it in, but I do it.