Taken by the Outcast Alpha (Whispers of Fate)

11. Finn

Chapter eleven

Finn

I slide out of bed carefully, not wanting to disturb Sage. My mind's still racing as I quickly pull on my clothes and head outside to check on my bike and the Fate Weaver. The cool morning air hits me, clearing my head a little.

As I'm inspecting the saddlebag, my hand slips on a sharp edge. "Damn it," I hiss, watching blood well up from a deep gash across my palm. It's bleeding pretty badly. I head back to the room, hoping to clean it up before Sage wakes.

No such luck. As I enter, Sage is sitting up in bed, her hair tousled from sleep. Her eyes widen when she sees my hand.

"Finn! What happened?" She's out of bed. Her oversized t-shirt sliding down her curves.

"It's nothing, just a cut—" I start, but she's already reaching for my hand.

"Let me see," she insists, her voice soft but firm.

Before I can protest, she's holding my injured hand in both of hers. I feel a strange warmth spreading from her touch, and to my astonishment, the cut begins to close before my eyes. In seconds, it's completely healed, leaving only a faint pink line.

I stare at my hand, then at Sage. Her face is a mix of surprise and... fear?

"I think it's time you tell me what the hell is going on," I say, my voice low.

Sage blinks, looking as shocked as I feel. "I—I've never healed anyone that fast," she whispers. Then she locks eyes with me, a challenge in her gaze. "How about you go first?"

"You just healed me in an instant, and you think I need to explain?"

"That spell should've only taken away your pain, not healed you instantly! That means something about you makes healing different."

I stare at Sage, my mind reeling. Her words hang in the air between us, heavy with implications. A witch. Of course. It explains so much, yet raises a thousand more questions.

"Spell?" I repeat, cocking an eyebrow. "You're a witch?"

Sage's eyes widen, realizing her slip. She slaps a hand over her mouth. It's adorable, but it's too late. The truth is out.

"I'm not saying anything else." She crosses her arms and glares at me defiantly.

I study her for a long moment, taking in the fierce set of her jaw, the green fire in her hazel eyes. Despite her stubbornness, I admire her strength. It's clear she's used to protecting herself, guarding her secrets closely.

Slowly, I reach out with my newly healed hand, brushing my palm against her cheek. She tenses at first but doesn't pull away. The warmth of her skin against mine sends a jolt through me, reminding me of our connection last night.

"What do you know about shifters?" I ask softly, breaking the tense silence. I wait patiently, my hand still cupping her cheek. I can feel her pulse quickening under my touch, smell the subtle changes in her scent as she processes my question. It's a heady mix of fear, curiosity, and something else... something that makes my wolf stir with interest.

Sage's eyes widen as she says my name. "Silverclaw." She pronounces it slowly, carefully, as if tasting each syllable. "I knew I'd heard that name before."

My body tenses, every muscle coiled tight.

Then she flinches and steps away from my hand, her face contorting as if the next words physically pain her. "Damien is a witch-shifter." Witch-shifter. One parent witch, one parent shifter. An animal form and an entirely different sort of magic.

My blood runs cold. That name. The very sound of it ignites a fury deep in my core, my wolf snarling and pacing just beneath the surface of my skin. Not to fucking mention that her Damien is part witch, part shifter.

Something tells me we’re on the lookout for the same damn guy.

"Damien?" I prompt, fighting to keep my voice steady.

Sage's eyes are distant, haunted. "He was the man following us. He said he was getting something from Silverclaw and then I'd be useful to him."

The growl that escapes me is low and feral. I thought I couldn't hate Damien any more than I already did. I was wrong.

My hands are shaking, claws threatening to emerge. I take a deep breath, struggling to maintain control. "What else did he say?" I ask, my voice rough with barely contained rage.

Sage shakes her head, wrapping her arms around herself. "Not much. He was always... vague. Said it was better if I knew less. But he seemed obsessed with some kind of powerful artifact. And your family name came up when he talked about it."

The Fate Weaver.

The pieces are starting to fall into place, and the picture they're forming is ugly.

I reach out, gently taking Sage's hand in mine. "Sage, I need you to tell me everything you know about Damien. Every detail, no matter how small."