into the street and walk a little way down the road to put more space between me and the shifters we brought with us. They’re out of sight, supposedly inside Shawn’s house, resting up, eating, hydrating, and whatever else wolves do after a long run. But I’m highly aware of their presence here in the village, and most particularly conscious that the house they’re staying in is well within sight of where Ridge indicates we should set up shop.
Gwen’s book almost feels like it’s vibrating in my hands, but I know it’s just my heart racing like mad, adrenaline flooding my system. I’ve used magic before. Effectively, even, in the recent battle against the witches. But that was in the heat of battle when I had to if I wanted to save the people I cared about. That was mostly raw magic too, only summoned up by my need to defend my mates and their packs. There was no strategy or control behind the power that poured out of me that day—only desperation and fury.
This, though? This book represents the control I need to have.
It means delving into more complex spells and trying to fill them with the same amount of magic I used that day. I don’t even want to think about what doors I’m going to be opening.
Or whether I’ll be able to close them if I don’t like what’s on the other side.
I open the book between my hands, my throat tight. All I can think about is how I could lose control. What if I hurt one of my mates just by trying a simple levitation spell?
“Sable,” Archer murmurs, sensing my distress. “It’s going to be okay.”
My mates have formed a four-person semi-circle before me, placing themselves close enough to reach me if the need warrants, but far enough away that if I fail miserably, nobody will get burned. I hate that they have to think like that and balance the two sides of me no differently than I’m constantly forced to. At least they’re smart enough to do so. They don’t pretend I’m not a ticking time bomb.
Archer smiles at me reassuringly, his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Take it slow and don’t be afraid to fail.”
Easy for him to say. Failing could mean hurting someone I love.
I want to do what Dare said. I want to be brave, to embrace all of myself.
But how the hell am I supposed to do that?
11
Sable
The next afternoon, I stand in front of a card table we’ve unfolded in the street with half a pound of shattered glass on the ground at my feet.
I suck at this.
I’ve been at it non-stop for more than a day—minus the roughly six hours I managed to sleep last night. No matter how hard I push myself, I just can’t seem to get past my own mental blocks. I’m getting nowhere.
For what feels like the sixth hundredth time, I trace a sigil in the air, and the empty glass soda bottle on the table shudders before lifting ever-so-slightly off the tabletop. I focus on that dark glass and reach for my magic to channel more of it into the spell, but it feels wispy and out of reach.
Lifting this soda bottle only two inches feels like I’m lifting a boulder off a damn mountain. I could lift it with my hand for a fraction of the effort it takes to do this.
Frustrated, I release the bottle and watch as it slams back into the table. It swivels a few times and almost falls over, but manages to stay upright and unbroken, which is more than I can say for the first twenty bottles. I need a moment to gather myself, to breathe, and then I’ll try again.
Across the street, my mates have set up a little man cave, making me feel like I’m a fucking spectator sport. They’ve set up chairs and are watching me so intently that it makes me feel a little like a sideshow freak. I know that’s not how they see me, and I’m glad to have them observing in case anything goes wrong, but that doesn’t help me feel less self-conscious. I just hope the shifters who came with us as extra guards aren’t watching from the house down the street.
I shove the thought away. It’s not helpful to my state of mind.
“You okay?” Ridge calls from the yard.
I wave at him to indicate I’m fine, then square back up to the soda bottle. The thing