Page 4 of The Alpha's Rejected Mate

The poor mousy-haired girl, standing in a ridiculously oversized sweatshirt, blushed to her roots. But with my already sour mood, I was in no temper to soothe her embarrassment and get in between a sisterly fight.

Instead, I strode out the door and picked up my shirt. I stuffed one arm in and then the other. Fury toward my wolf continued to rampage through me.

“You don’t need to go because of Billie,” Catrina whined behind me.

“I’ll see you soon,” I said, trying to hide how impatient I was to get away.

She pouted at me and caught hold of my shirt. I brushed my lips with hers before hurrying down the dirt path away from Hexen Manor.

The truth was that even if I had confided in Catrina, there was no comfort she could offer. Because the fact was, I wouldn’t get my wolf under control until I’d found my fated mate. Catrina and I were having fun, but that was all it was. Somewhere out there was my true fated mate.

We werewolves believed that the goddess, Vana, created us. She was the goddess of the forest, the hunt, the wild, and the moon. Our people said that in the beginning, she’d chosen her own humans to walk with her, instilling in them a love for wild places so great that they’d been blessed with beast forms so as to run with the goddess.

But with their human souls alone, they hadn’t been able to tame their beast. So, the goddess had given them each a fated mate. It was only when they had found and marked their mate that their beast was tamed. Of course, not all wolves suffered from this lack of control before they found their fated mates. I thought it had been the luck of the draw. But some, more academically minded, werewolves had studied the cause. In recent weeks, since losing control so spectacularly, I’d been doing a lot ofdigging as to why this might be happening to me. There had been enough data published to confirm that it was a certain hormone present in those afflicted that caused this instability in some before finding our mates.

Lucky me, pulling the scientific short straw.

This tradition of finding and marking one’s mate still lingered within the werewolf packs. Vana was said to reveal one’s mate in a Moondream. And for me, that moment couldn’t come soon enough.

Agitation coiled through me once again as I marched across the meadow.

If you do anything so obnoxious again, I’ll flay you alive.

I cracked my knuckles as I irrationally tried to negotiate with my wolf.

How much longer was Vana going to make me wait? And what if I lost control before she revealed my mate?

Chapter 3

Billie

It was evening when I put my sandy brown hair up in a tight ponytail and set to work on cutting up the elk meat. As the evening sun cast long shadows across the kitchen, I continued to work.

Earlier, David had skinned and taken away the hide and head of the elk. The Dalesbloom Alpha liked to keep the heads of the best animals the pack killed and mount them around Hexen Manor. Amongst the pack, the manor was known as Hexen Hunting Lodge. No doubt, the glassy-eyed cow would soon be looking down from the gallery wall. The main living room was decorated with the choicest trophies, and the manor’s high ceilings all sported chandeliers made of antlers to complete the hunting aesthetic.

David had taught me many years ago how to butcher the carcass so as to remove the different cuts of meat most effectively. With a sharp knife, I removed the various cuts of meat, splitting up the bigger joints with a cleaver. I packaged them in freezer bags and loaded them into the top-loading freezer. Just as I’d suspected when I’d first caught sight of the decently-sized elk, she was sizeable. This would feed the pack for a couple of months.

As night fell, it wasn’t long before I had to switch on the harsh electric light. The scent of blood and sweat filled my nostrils as I worked, cutting as close to the bone as possible so as not to waste anything. I knew David would check the carcass over and berate me if there was anything substantial left on it. He was a stickler for these things. It took me most of the night to cut and package away the meat.

But finally, the carcass was bare. Sweat slicked my brow and back, and my hands and arms were caked in blood. Having washed up a little at the kitchen sink, I crept upstairs, anxious not to wake my adoptive family. With relief, I stripped and took a much-needed shower. I felt decidedly fresher as I towel-dried and brushed out my clean locks in my bedroom. My hair and skin smelled of ginger and lime from the shower gel. Decidedly better than the iron cloud of blood that had worked itself into my skin over the afternoon.

I got into pajama trousers and a vest top. As usual, being Catrina’s hand-me-downs, they swamped me. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and the bobbly, worn material was at least super soft. The old four-poster bed creaked as I got into it, and the springs of the old mattress dug into me, but I let out a sigh as I snuggled under the duvet.

After stooping over the elk for so long, my shoulders and neck ached. I rotated my shoulders and shook my head from side to side to try to ease the tension. My hands curled into the fabric of the sheet, fidgeting. I pulled the blanket over my head, trying to pretend I was one of the golden-mantled ground squirrels burrowing into its den for the night.

It was really late. I needed to sleep. I focused on my breaths, counting them. I tensed and relaxed my muscles to try to quietthem. I tossed and turned as a sense of expectation built in me. I gritted my jaw, remembering how this prickling excitement had driven me earlier to my lookout spot in the cottonwood tree. But even as I likened this feeling to my desire to watch the pack hunt, I realizedthiswas much stronger.

I sat up in bed, the covers pooling around my waist. A shiver traveled down my spine. Ineededto move. Tiptoeing out of bed, I got out a clean pair of jeans and a hoodie from the wardrobe. Skulking downstairs, past the gallery of beady-eyed elks, I moved to the back door. Pulling on my sneakers, I tied them up and went out into the night.

The moon had risen high, and there was plenty of light by which to see. As I strode away from the manor, my eyes quickly adjusted to the low light of the moon. Vana was the goddess of the moon, and as I stared up at her almost full sphere, I felt as if she were bathing me in her magic and wisdom.

A prickle of anticipation stole through me. The moon couldn’t be more than a few days away from being full. Although werewolves could transform at any time of the lunar cycle, their beasts were much more sensitive when the moon was full. As I ambled through the grasses, I wondered if that was what I was feeling.

I didn’t understand what was urging me on, but it was as if the night was calling to me. The moon’s pale glow illuminated the distant rocks of the canyon beyond the forest. I pictured the Gunnison River flowing through the sweeping structures of ancient rock. The night was alive with a hundred sounds—scurrying insects, birds, and mammals punctuated the air. A shiver wound down my spine, igniting sparks of expectation through me.

I’d reached the edge of the meadow. I knew David’s territory ran for twenty miles through this central area of Gunnison National Park. To the south was the smallest territory, held by the Grandbay Pack, with ten miles of river and surrounding woodland and mountains. Then, farther to the northeast lay Eastpeak Pack lands.

I admired the lilac petals of phlox and the bright white Gunnison lilies shining in the night. Dalesbloom was said to have gotten its name from the beautiful dale, the valley here, that Vana had blessed with her blooms. On this spring night, with the air full of perfume, it really felt as if the goddess were smiling down on the land … and me.

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