Page 103 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

Annie’s gaze darts from pup to pup to pup like she’s keeping a constant count of them. She’s standing guard. I understand. Don’t I do the same all day as I wander the camp and our territory, making sure that all the elders have made their way to their usual spots, that yesterday’s scouts have returned and today’s have left, that no tripwires have been tripped, no signal stones have been knocked over?

You can’t keep watch every minute. Your eyes get blurry and your brain dulls. I won’t nag Annie into joining us, though. No one could stop me from my rounds.

Efa’s wolf is the bold one who tires first of the status quo. She bites Annie’s pants and tugs with all her strength toward the stream, and Annie finally realizes there’s a posse of female pups waiting for her to get wet.

“Oh, you want to swim with me?” she says, and the female pups bay in a chorus of sweet, high-pitched, slightly aggrieved howls. Annie chuckles. “All right then.”

She bends over and rolls her cuffs to her knees. The females zig and zag around her legs as she makes her way to the edge. My wolf immediately shakes himself free of pups and bounds over to meet her, splashing through the water, soaking her in a wave of spray when he skids to a halt.

She laughs like chimes. He slaps the water with his happy tail.

“Hi,” she says softly.

He watches her take one tentative step and then another into the stream. When the water is mid-calf, she exhales and says, “Oh, it’s so cool. That’s so nice.”

The female pups step daintily into the water beside her. Their decorum lasts a solid ten seconds before one of the males—Auggie, I think—bowls into Noctiluna as he chases a tadpole, and the other females set after him for revenge like born huntresses. Efa’s wolf is the only one who stays with Annie, imitating my mate’s watchful supervision of the scene.

Annie will be a wonderful dam.

My wolf is captivated. He stalks over to her, careful to move slowly, and kneels with his forelegs to offer his back.

She laughs. “Oh, no. I’m too big for a ride.”

She’s wrong. My wolf is huge. I crouch as low as I can.

“I couldn’t,” she says, but the pups have taken notice, and they think it’s a brilliant idea. They swarm her, yapping, nudging her forward.

My wolf growls a sharp warning, and they give her a little space, but they still splash and yip and yowl and whine, a frenzy of wet fur, slapping tails, and cold, black noses.

My softhearted mate gives in, flushing even pinker as she mutters, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

She clutches the fur at my shoulders, throws her top half across my back, and swings her leg over my flank until she’s riding my wolf like a horse. Her toes dangle below the stream’s surface, but I was right—there’s plenty of room between her feet and the stream bed.

My wolf strides away from the bank, the pups cavorting alongside us, more excited than I’ve ever seen them.

Annie’s nails dig into my thick hide, her knees gripping my sides like a vise, but she doesn’t smell like fear. Her fresh rain smell mixes with wet fur, cold stream, and sunshine. It’s the kind of scent that somehow makes you remember a time before you were born.

My wolf cranes his head to look back at her and accidentally breaks her grip on his scruff, so she loops her arms around his neck and scoots so she can lie flat on her stomach.

Triumph, pride, and anticipation ignite my wolf’s blood. Our mate trusts us. He stalks further into the stream until he can float and paddle lazily in circles. One by one, the pups lose interest, and we lose our escort as they venture off to chase dragonflies and harass crawfish.

Annie’s breasts and belly press against my wolf’s back with every breath she draws. We’re a pack of two. Gradually, she relaxes. She lowers her cheek to rest on his shoulder and trails her fingers in the water, sighing. Her heat radiates through my wolf’s fur. He splashes her legs gently with his tail to cool her off.

We float around and around while the sun rises higher. In the distance, a hammer rings out. Voices carry from a gathering of males nearby planning a scouting run. Over by the curing hut, a ribbon of musky smoke curls into the blue sky. Annie rests her chin on the folded arms she’s propped on my shoulders. If I twist my ears in the right direction, her breath bathes their ragged edges and rustles the white fur inside.

This is happiness. And peace. It’s a soap bubble, lighter than air and rainbow bright.

She idly kicks her feet in the water by my haunches. Her toes brush my hind paws. I wish we could float here in circles forever.

But already, time is moving on. It’s well past midmorning. The females would leave me to watch their young all day, but their males won’t dare leave me saddled with their pups for too long. My wolf’s nose twitches, and he lifts his head, narrowinghis eyes at the males scrambling toward us down the slope. Murtagh, Redmond, and Griff come to stand at the edge.

“The pups clean yet, Alpha, or do you need another hour or so?” Redmond calls, grinning.

My wolf snorts.

Murtagh whistles at his pups to come. They immediately dive into the current, so they can pretend they didn’t hear him. My wolf grumbles. It’s easier to catch a bird with human hands than a pup when it’s time to get out of the water.

Annie is rousing herself to sit up, but her movements are languid and awkward. My wolf paddles to the shore and lowers himself to his belly so she can climb down safely. She still stumbles before she finds her footing. Her heat is coming on quickly now. I need to get her to the den.

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