Page 105 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

I want him to be dazed.

Justus stops our progress at the bonfire to fetch a bucket of water, and Tarquin gives him a wrapped bundle that smells like smoked meat and dried fruit. Provisions for my heat.

If my face got any hotter, it would burst into flames. Tarquin knows. I scan the folks nearby. Everyone is deliberately going about their business, very careful not to look at us, except for when they dart curious, surreptitious glances our way. I catch Mabli’s eye by accident, and she gives me a thumbs up.

She knows, too. They all do. I yank Justus’s hand, tugging him toward the trail to the dens. He tries to smother a grin and fails. Does he think I’m impatient to mate? Oh, no. I whine, embarrassed and anxious, and my wolf chimes in with her own yip of complaint about his unimpressive lack of urgency.

That’s it. I’m going to self-combust.

“Want to race to the den?” he asks me in a low, laughing voice.

“No!” I hiss.

“I’ll give you a head start.” He winks.

A wave of slick gushes from me. I’m not wearing underwear. Am I soaking my pants? Justus’s light tan pants?

I drop Justus’s hand, clamp my thighs together, and duck walk to the trailhead like my tail is on fire. Somehow reading my mind, he falls in behind me, blocking the packs’ view of my wet butt as I scurry up to his den. Are they thinking I can’t wait to get on all fours for him?

Why does all of this have to be so undignified?

I’m so flustered by the time we reach the top that I don’t know what to do with myself. I lean against the cedar next to Justus’s reading chair, gasping for breath and raising my hot face, desperate to catch a breeze. The sweet scent of resin and pine mixes with Justus’s earthiness as he comes to stand beside me.

“You okay, Scout?” he asks.

I close my eyes and drop my head back. It thumps against the trunk. My stomach swirls, and my heart pounds. My body is running away with me, and I’ve lost my hold on the reins.

Justus’s wolf rumbles. The wolf has never let anything bad happen to me.

And the man? I was left hurt, but did he hurt me?

The past is there. It never goes away.

If I were brave enough, I would crack my memory open and call to mind a much younger Justus. A much, much younger me.

I’d recall how he tried to impress me—or reassure me—by bragging about the quilts he had at home, and his den, and the barrel he had for bathing. I open my eyes, searching for his. They’re already on my face.

“The first time we mated, you said you’d bring me an elk.”

He nods, clearly thrown that I’m bringing it up now, but willing to go along with me. I’ve never met a more patient male.

“I did,” he says. “And I delivered, didn’t I?” He flashes a grin, and it’s wry, but there’s pride in it still.

“You said you’d bring me a cow.” The memories are tumbling out of their box now. Justus’s hands stroking my ass. His fingers inside me. How careful he tried to be, and how futile that was.

“Did I? I still owe you then.” He steps closer to me, reaching for my hands, placing them on his chest. It’s rising and falling as fast as mine.

“You called me pretty.”

His brown eyes crinkle, and he smiles, like I’ve told him something nice. “You have always been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says.

I wasn’t searching for compliments—I don’t do that—but he’s given me one anyway, and I don’t know what to do with it. It feels like I’ve got an egg cupped in my hands with no shelf or surface where I can put it down.

For lack of a better idea, I pass it back. “I think you’re pretty, too,” I say, flushing immediately.

Pretty? I couldn’t have said—

He kisses me. Bends over, braces his hand on the trunk above my shoulder, and steals my breath.

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