“Did you guys hear that?” I ask over the beat of my heart in my ears.
Dare nods. “Mind speak.”
And we’re not in wolf form, I add, thinking the thought as loudly as possible.
Their gazes move from Sable to me, indicating that they all heard me.
My mate’s eyes widen. “Did you just… talk in my head?”
“I did. And you talked in ours,” I tell her. Excitement and shock are buzzing through my veins, and I shake my head in amazement.
Ridge rubs his hand over the dark scruff on his jaw, studying Sable with interest. “It must be a byproduct of our connection changing. Deepening.”
“Transforming,” I correct him. “I have a feeling it’s only the beginning of what we’ll discover between the five of us. So much of our mate bond breaks all the established norms. There’s no reason to think it’ll stop here.”
A brief silence falls over us, and I know they’re each taking the time to absorb this new development. It’s incredible, and it could give us yet another advantage in the fight against Cleo and her coven.
More than that, it makes me feel closer to all four of the people in this room with me. Not just to Sable, but to the other three alphas too. Being able to share my thoughts with them doesn’t feel weird or uncomfortable. It feels right.
But before any of us can speak again, in our minds or otherwise, howls rise up outside the cabin.
Ridge stands abruptly, motioning for us to follow. “Amora’s back.”
24
Sable
We make it down Archer’s street and onto the main road that bisects the village before we find Amora and her team.
Thankfully, they all look well—no blood, no injuries, so they clearly weren’t ambushed, though they do all look exhausted on their feet. They’re already in human form, bedraggled and dusty from the long journey while they tug clothes over their naked bodies. The rush to dress isn’t something shifters usually worry about. Nudity’s just a fact of life around here.
It doesn’t take long for me to see the reason why they’re pulling on clothes though. They’re not alone. Gwen’s walking with them.
Gwen.
Seeing the mountain witch sends a rush of memories cascading through me. I’m surprisingly happy to see her, and not just because I hope she’ll help us. I was intrigued by Gwen when we met her, and even though she’s a bit strange, I like her.
Actually, maybe I like her because she’s strange. She’s different than any other witch I know.
The lone witch is tall and willowy, but her lean body boasts the kind of muscles a woman can only get farming the land and taking care of her homestead alone. Every single muscle has a purpose and was earned by hours outside working the land. Her pale red hair is pulled into a long ponytail at the back of her head, and she’s dressed for travel—hiking boots, blue jeans, a fitted t-shirt in hunter green that only intensifies the spring grass color of her eyes.
She reminds me of an older, paler Amora. Self-sufficient, a bit of a tomboy, and with a look of steely determination lining her face. She has sunglasses shoved up on top of her head and a backpack draped around her shoulders. The corded strength in her biceps looks almost as deadly as Amora’s. All those years chopping firewood, I’d guess. I’ve tried it. It’s hard work.
My footsteps slow a little as I near the group of them, and the members of the recon team hang back as Gwen and I approach one another.
The witch rakes her gaze over me, then offers me a hand. She narrows her eyes a little before cocking an eyebrow. “You look less like a frightened deer now. You’ve been practicing?”
Embarrassed, I duck my head to hide the blush I can feel heating my cheeks, but take her hand in mine. “Almost every day. I’ve made progress.”
“Good. I knew you had it in you,” she says approvingly. That hint of a southern drawl colors her tone and makes her words slow and easy. Her palm is dry and rough with calluses as we shake, then she releases me and looks around.
Faces are appearing in the windows and doors around us, and I can feel the discomfort radiating from her. When was the last time the hermit witch saw people en masse? Much less an entire village of them. The packs have come a long way toward accepting me as their own personal witch, but a stranger is a whole other story. More than a few shifters cast suspicious glances her way, and a few more look just freaked out enough to do something stupid, if given half the chance.
“Archer,” I say, turning to find him behind me, standing side by side with my other mates. “Could we maybe take Gwen to the meeting house? Get her off the road?”
Relief touches the witch’s gaze, and she nods her thanks at me.
“Of course,” Archer replies without pause. He shifts his gaze to the redheaded witch. “Please follow us.”