Broken Bond - Callie Rose Page 0,33

Sable, look at me. It was just a dream.”

The sound of his voice breaks through the paralyzing feeling in my body, and I look up at him, focusing on his rough grasp on my arms. He’s become a kind of touchstone in the midst of my attacks. Just his voice and his face can get to me now, and I cling to his arms, gasping in breath after breath until I feel like I’m surfacing from the panic.

Before I can let his presence soothe me, something even worse than the nightmare draws my attention.

I can see the black marks on my skin.

My scars are painted with magic. Now that I see it, I can feel the energy billowing beneath my skin, obviously awakened by the dream.

The panic I carried over from my nightmare returns full force. I’m being overtaken by the magic inside me. This is it—the moment I lose control and everything I’ve come to love will be destroyed. The East Pack will discover my secret, and they’ll hurt me. Put me to death. Something, I don’t know.

Terror crawls across my skin at the thought of what the shifters would do to me, their enemy.

Ridge is in danger, I realize, my breaths becoming shallower and more ragged. I stare at his face with unblinking eyes, and even though I can see his lips moving and feel his hands on my arms, I can’t hear anything but the whooshing in my ears.

I want to scream at him to let me go before the magic hurts him, but I have no control over my voice. So I just tug against his grasp, trying to break free so that I can fall off the bed onto the floor where he can’t touch me. Where he can’t be hurt. If he would just let me go…

“Sable!” Ridge shouts.

Suddenly, the whooshing in my head stops. I blink up at him, dangling by my arms from his grip.

“Can you hear me?” he asks in a lower voice. His honey eyes gleam in the dim moonlight as his gaze rakes over me, but I can tell he’s not looking at my scars or the magic. He’s just looking at me, a touch of worry in his expression.

I nod.

“Breathe,” he commands. “In, out. In, out.”

I follow his lead, watching his lips form an O as he sucks in air, then releases it. After the first few breaths, I relax against the pillows, and he releases his death grip on my arms. His fingers brush gently over my skin as he continues to coach me through the panic attack using Archer’s usual methods.

His voice is soothing, and his hands on my arms ground me. The calmer I become, the more the black marks fade, until they’re gone entirely. All that’s left is Ridge.

He’s leaning over me, our gazes locked as his hands gently rub up and down my arms. My skin begins to tingle beneath his fingers, and then suddenly, heat rises inside me.

I recognize this heat.

This need.

It’s the same consuming fire that took over me in the cabin, that I felt before the witch transition. But I’m not going into heat this time either—at least, I don’t think so. It’s more like a powerful desire to make Ridge my own.

“Don’t stop touching me,” I murmur, a little breathlessly.

“It’s helping?” His brows pinch together as he puts a little more strength behind his hands.

I close my eyes and focus entirely on the sensation of his hands on my skin. I relish the heat rolling off him, and the hard press of his hip against mine as he leans over me. He’s so close. I silently urge him to widen his playing field. I want his fingers on more parts of my body. I want him to touch everything all at once. I want him over me, between my legs, the way he was in my dreams.

I want to know what it feels like when our bodies merge.

Opening my eyes, I gaze up at him. My lips part as desire and heat roll through me. I can feel when he recognizes the emotions rushing through me. I’m sure he can smell my arousal with his preternatural senses.

His hands slow.

“No. Keep touching me,” I rasp, fisting the front of his t-shirt with my hands. “Ridge… touch me.”

His face darkens, and his gaze drifts to my lips as his hands begin to move again. I can tell he’s fighting his own desires—keeping his motions chaste, soothing, platonic. But he’s losing the