Fated Magic (Claimed by Wolves #1) - Callie Rose Page 0,54

I don’t feel tired at all. Too many thoughts are whirling around in my mind.

What would have happened if I hadn’t left the cabin tonight? If I hadn’t had the nightmare that forced me to get some fresh air? We never would have known Dare was close by—and I never would have known I had yet another shifter vying for my bond.

God, that’s so confusing.

Instead of three possible mates, I now have to choose between four. Even worse, the feeling inside me that I think might be my own wolf slowly waking from her slumber doesn’t favor any of them over the other. She sees them all as hers.

I don’t understand how I’m supposed to do this. It’s going to be an impossible choice.

The men must not be tired either, because I can hear them speaking in low, soft voices in the living room. I recognize who’s speaking by pitch, happy to hear that even Dare and Trystan are making an effort to be civil. I can’t make out the words, but the rumble is comforting.

After a while, I fall asleep to the sound and drift into better dreams.

When I wake up to late morning sunlight, all four men are already up. I can hear the low murmur of their voices conversing from the back of the cabin. I slide out of bed and fish out one of Amora’s loaned T-shirts and a pair of shorts from my pack, get dressed, then run my fingers through my hair before padding out to join them in the kitchen.

Archer is standing over the wood stove as something delicious sizzles in the cast-iron skillet. He looks up as I enter and offers me a brilliant smile. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

“After the late night interlude, yeah,” I reply, passing him to join the others at the table.

There are already dishes waiting—a plate piled high with pancakes, a pitcher of warmed syrup, a dish of sausage patties, and a smaller bowl of scrambled eggs.

“We’re having a feast,” I observe as I sit between Dare and Trystan. I try to keep my tone teasing and flippant, but I’m dying to eat every last thing on this table. Breakfast at my uncle’s usually ended at cereal or oatmeal—a full-course meal like this is something I’d only ever seen on television.

Archer dumps a few more sausage patties into the bowl. “I felt like we all deserved a nice breakfast.”

After he takes his seat, we all fill our plates and set to work. For a while, I’m too involved in eating—and in enjoying every single bite—to pay attention to the conversation around me. Despite the tension that filled the room last night, the men seem to have settled into a more comfortable arrangement in the light of morning.

I have a mouth full of syrupy, sweet pancakes when there’s a lull in the conversation, and Dare looks right at me and says, “What happened to you the night I almost hit you with my car?”

The kitchen falls silent. As one, the other three men turn to look at me, their gazes just as questioning as Dare’s.

Ridge speaks up first, cocking his head to one side. “You two have met before?”

I finish chewing my bite of pancakes and wash it down with a slurp of coffee, buying me some time. I’ve refrained from telling the shifters much about my past beyond what they’ve already deduced—it’s impossible to hide the scars on my skin, and I know Ridge got an eyeful of them when he changed my clothes.

I definitely haven’t brought up the night I fled from Uncle Clint’s truck though. It isn’t even because I want to keep it from them, exactly. Talking about it just feels… hard.

But I don’t get a sense of pity from Dare when he asks me. In his position, I’d probably want to know why a frightened, wild-eyed woman nearly made me drive off the road in the dark too.

“You were running,” Dare adds, glancing around at the other shifters.

At that, Archer says quickly, “We don’t ask about Sable’s past.”

Trystan shoots Dare a murderous look, and Ridge’s shoulders tense as he grips his fork tightly, like he’s considering whether he’ll need to use it as a weapon or not.

Their protectiveness is sweet, truly. But I can’t keep the pain of my past a secret any longer. I remember vividly Dare’s haunted eyes last night. He knows pain, just like Archer does. Just like they all probably do, to some degree. None of these men will judge