Page 119 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

Anyway, she used to ignore the voice or argue with it, but she’s on friendlier terms with it now. She says it’s quieter now thatitknows thatsheknows it’s trying to keep her safe. I told her to letitknow that keeping her safe ismyjob, so it can take a break, but Annie just laughed and said, “You go ahead and tell it that.”

I’m not talking to the voice in someone else’s head. That’s moon mad.

I smell the town before I see its church spire rising in the distance. Gasoline, trash, frying fat, and myriad attempts to cover up the stench of it all. That’s what human towns smell like.

I remind myself to breathe through my mouth until we’re out of here.

I’ve ventured among humans before, but not often in recent years. There’s always a younger male excited to go when the need arises.

Now that Annie and I are properly mated, I’m going to all kinds of new places. I had to parlay with Killian out at an abandoned shack with a moss roof and a chimney made of mushrooms. We talked about females we’d stolen over the years, and his sire, and the old days that he doesn’t remember when our packs ran together.

Annie made me bring various gifts she’d knitted—scarves for her friends Kennedy, Mari, and Old Noreen, a blanket for Una’s pup, and a shawl for Una. It was such a big package, I had tosling it over my back and travel on two legs, which meant I had to be away from camp longer than I wanted.

It was good, though. Killian and I talked about the hunters who killed Nessa’s brother. Killian didn’t know that males from North Border were their guides. He said he didn’t know what Salt Mountain planned to do the day he came for Annie, either, and I believe him. He seems like the type too sure of himself to bother lying.

For this trip to Chapel Bell, the package Annie has set me to carry is small enough that my wolf can hold it in a bindle from his teeth. When I begin to hear the humans’ cars, I growl at everyone to stop and nose Annie’s wolf behind a tree for privacy.

Annie is still very shy of shifting in front of others. Her wolf is as unconcerned about nudity as the rest of us. This has caused a few moments of consternation, especially since her shifting ability is spotty. Sometimes, she can shift the normal way, like she did when she stabbed the Salt Mountain alpha and took twenty years off of my life, but other times, she shifts like a lost packer, which I swear hurts me more than it hurts her.

Today, her excitement seems to have the upper hand because as soon as her wolf ducks behind a tree, she’s reaching out a graceful bare arm and snapping for her clothes.

I toss her one of the short, baggy dresses she made herself during our first week together. That sewing session was spurred by an unfortunate incident when Alroy trod on the back of her wrapped gown as we walked up the trail to the dens, yanking it clean off of her, and I was not able to keep my usual sense of perspective. She had to shift, bite my wolf’s tail, and try to drag him off of Alroy before he accidentally ripped Alroy’s head off.

I quickly draw on my own pants and shirt, so I’m fully dressed when Annie emerges from behind the tree like a nymph, smoothing her pale pink shift. I hold up the slippers I made fromthe hide of the first elk I bagged for her. She slips her feet into them and grins at me.

“Ready?” I ask.

She nods and grabs my hand.

I carry the half-emptied bindle and swing her arm, playing off my nerves. I don’t like being so close to humans, and if I’m being honest, I’m not entirely comfortable with our visit today. Annie says she’s happy with me and our pack, and she smells happy, but I know she misses her friends.

What if she decides she wants to stay with them?

Then, I guess I’m moving to Quarry Pack. It wouldn’t be the worst life, spending my days kicking the snot out of arrogant wolves who think they’re fighters. Beats hunting down Leon for the hundredth time while his dam loses her mind. He’s much too good a climber for a pup his age. Last time he disappeared, I found him curled up asleep in an eagle nest at the top of a white pine.

Alroy, Diantha, and Griff fall in behind us as we enter town. I have to rumble at Diantha to get her to tuck her ears behind her hair. She’ll wear full skin when she has to, but she refuses to do human ears. I’m not sure if she can anymore.

The humans know about shifters, of course, but there’s no need to draw more attention to us than we already do, as strangers in such a small town. Folks already gawk as Annie leads us to the village commons even though the streets are busy. It’s market day.

As soon as we reach the grassy expanse filled with tables and tents, Alroy and Diantha peel off, heading in opposite directions. Griff seems torn, but when he sees that Diantha is making a beeline for a booth with racks of female clothing, he hurries to follow Alroy.

Annie leads us down the makeshift walkways, smiling when she’s greeted by name. My mate is still shy, but there’s no traceof fear in her scent. I breathe her happiness and excitement in, letting it flush my lungs clean of the oily town air.

She sees her friends before I do and lets go of my hand to run toward them.

My mate. My Annie. Running with a smile lighting her face.

This is a good, good day.

Two females rush around their table, the third making her way more slowly. I know them immediately from Annie’s description.

The female with the limp is Una, Killian Kelly’s mate. She’s a plain female with a quiet confidence, and her mate watches her like she’s charging into battle unarmed, not greeting a friend.

The blonde with curls who looks like a doll is Mari. She’s mated to the Haunt of the Hills. It’s hard to imagine a female so sweet and small would be with such a brute. According to Annie, he’s not as fearsome as the tales would have you believe. I won’t be sharing that with the pack, though. A healthy fear of the Haunt is the only thing currently keeping Leon from venturing even further afield on his adventures.

The short-haired female is Kennedy, the blessed one. She races to meet Annie and wraps her in a hug, swinging her in a circle.

My wolf’s instinctive snarl trails off midway as he tries to wrap his brain around the situation. His eyes and nose tell him a female is spinning his giggling mate, but his sixth sense knows a male when he comes across one. He won’t tolerate a male touching his mate, but the person smacking kisses on Annie’s cheek has breasts, and although they’re slender, a female’s hips.

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