Dark Wolf (Claimed by Wolves #3) - Callie Rose Page 0,1

to lie down and close my eyes.

I do the next best thing and lower my gaze so that I can’t see all the movement around us. Looking back down at my uncle’s body, I’m surprised—and a little bit horrified—to feel a tiny twinge of sadness.

Maybe I’m not being truthful with myself, I think, realizing as I do that I “spoke” the thought in my head to Archer.

He cocks his head at me. How so?

I feel kind of sad for him. He was my family, you know? I’m glad he can’t hurt me anymore, but it still feels bittersweet. The last of my family. Gone.

I know now, of course, that the dead man at my feet isn’t even my uncle, but there’s still a disconnect in my head, something that mourns the loss of the only family I ever knew, as screwed up as that family was.

That’s understandable, Archer says gently.

Is it though?

But I keep that thought to myself. Clint treated me horribly while I lived with him, and I haven’t forgotten any of that. I remember all of the “accidents.” All the cuts and bruises and torture. All the emotional manipulation. He doesn’t deserve even a scrap of my pity. I was less than a person to him, and I never knew why. Not until tonight, when I found out the truth.

I wasn’t a person to Clint—I was an experiment.

My fake uncle obviously had a purpose in creating me. Before he died, he made it sound like no other witch and wolf hybrid had ever been born before I was, and he had plans for me. It seems clearer now that his torture sessions were purposeful too. When he carved into my skin or pushed me down the stairs or just found any way possible to hurt me, it’s obvious he was trying to force my witch or wolf side to manifest.

It makes sense, in a sick and fucked up way, because I know that strong emotions make my magic come out. Strong emotions finally brought out my wolf too, when I thought my mates were in danger of being attacked.

Thinking back, I can see how Clint’s abuse got worse as I got older, as he channeled his anger over the fact that neither side had manifested into hurting me. The more my two natures refused to reveal themselves, the more furious he got. He kept me alive to see if they would finally materialize, but he considered me a waste of his time, a failure, because neither side appeared like he expected them to.

I wish he’d died without learning his plans had worked.

As if he can sense the swirl of thoughts in my head, Archer stands and pads silently around Clint’s lifeless body to come sit beside me. He bumps into me with his powerful shoulder, then leans in and nuzzles me. Hey. Talk to me. This isn’t just because he’s dead, is it?

I take a deep breath and let it out through my snout. No. It’s not. He… bred me, Archer. He made me. He took a witch and a wolf shifter and, I don’t know, forced them to mate? I am the way I am because of Clint. He deliberately created me to use me as a weapon against the wolves. Lowering my gaze to my white paws, I add, I shouldn’t even exist.

I, for one, am glad you do, Archer says firmly. Warmth radiates through his voice. You’re my mate, and I wouldn’t change a damn thing about you.

I glance up at him but don’t reply. I’m not sure if wolves can cry, but I’m on the verge of it anyway.

His green gaze doesn’t waver as he goes on. Secondly, even though his intention was to weaponize you or use you as some sort of tool in his master plan, you have complete control of your destiny. He’s gone where he can’t hurt you or control you anymore. You are in charge. Not Clint.

He rubs his cheek against mine as if to punctuate his statement.

I appreciate his belief in me, but I don’t have the same belief in myself. Even with Archer’s help, I’ve barely gotten a handle on my witch powers. The magic is like a living thing inside me, constantly moving through my limbs. I’m not certain it doesn’t have a mind of its own. During the three days I spent in the mating cabin transitioning into my magic, I was pretty out of it most of the time, lost in a sort of