Page 13 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

She races up the hill, down the far side of the ridge, and into the woods. I let her get far enough ahead that I can’t see her through the trees. It’s no trouble tracking her with the scent of terror and the noise she’s making. She must be whacking into every low branch she passes. Thank goodness the patrols are east and west at this time of day. There’s no one between us and the border of Quarry Pack territory.

Of course, she’s going to reach the river first. Will she try to cross it? It’s wide, deep, and fast where she’s heading, and I doubt she swims much. I’ve never seen her without a shirt buttoned up to her chin and a skirt down to her ankles.

If she tries to swim for it, I’ll have to shift. My wolf is an otter in the water, but he can’t very well fish her out of the rapids with his paws. I can only imagine what she’d do if he tried to bite her by the scruff to haul her out.

My pulse races as I think of her neck in my mouth. I can’t wait to mark her. My bite will look perfect on her delicate, willowy neck. I’ll teach her to hold her head high so everyone can see. She doesn’t need to bow down all the time anymore. Now she has me, and I don’t show neck to anyone.

Thankfully, when we reach the river bank, she doesn’t even consider jumping. She whirls to face me, her tits heaving, her eyes wild. Her pupils are pinpricks. Her heat is riding her hard.

Is she gone yet?

She has to be very, very close. She’s finally stopped shivering and shaking and squeezing her hands into little fists. Her gaze is darting around as if she doesn’t know how she got here.

Hell, I feel the same. I never dreamed I’d be lucky enough to find my mate, let alone that she’d be from one of the lost packs. No wonder she’s behaving so strangely. She thinks it’s normal for the air she breathes and the food she eats to come out of machines.

Do her people mate differently, too? Do they have a machine for this, too?

Her wild brown eyes meet mine. She’s needy. I recognize the look. There’s still fear, though.

I hunker down so she doesn’t feel like her back is against a wall. I don’t think she’s going to tell me what she wants like Lelia and Diantha, but I’ll follow her lead.

Her gaze drops, and she sinks to her knees and begins scooping the dry leaves from the maples and oaks overhead into a pile. Shit. She’s making her nest. Right out here in the open. This is not ideal.

I sniff the air. Quarry Pack does keep their territory clear. I don’t even get a stale whiff of four-legged predator. There’s no trace of their males, either. We’re pretty far from their nearest patrol path. They let the river act as a boundary here, which is stupid. Ferals can swim if they’re hungry enough, and so can humans, and they’re worse—they won’t be looking for food.

Annie pauses with an armful of leaves, her eyes clearing for a moment as if she’s woken from a dream. A wave of fear rolls off her. I remind my wolf not to growl. Growling makes it worse.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” she mutters, her lower lip trembling. “I can’t stop it.”

I wish I could take the fear from her, but she has a right to it. This is going to hurt her. The females always make a fuss after their first time and make their males fetch sweets or rub their backs. I’m pretty sure they’re playing it up, but I’ve scented blood in the air after a new mating, so there must be some pain.

I don’t want to hurt Annie. She’s lovely. Like a sparrow. Or a swan with her long, graceful neck. And I sure as hell don’t want her any more scared. Her fear already has my nerves on a hair trigger. My wolf’s, too.

I creep forward. She doesn’t pay me any mind. She’s gone back to piling leaves and plucking twigs from the heap and tossing them over her shoulder. She mutters as she works, but I can’t make out the words.

When I get to the edge of her nest, I stop. I’d never come closer without invitation. Nests are sacred, even a makeshift one made out of leaves.

My paw brushes a leaf, and she casts my wolf a baleful glare. What has displeased her? It could be so many things.

I haven’t brought her home, so she doesn’t know that I have a good, warm den for her. Besides the goose, the squirrel, the snake, and the hare, she has no proof that I can care for her, and females need more than just meat. They like sweets and pretty, soft, clean things, and they need to know that you’re vicious enough to kill any threat so that they can sleep undisturbed. But they also need to know that you’re not so feral or foul-tempered that you’d hurt the pups.

We don’t have many females, so we all watch them closely, and as strange as they act sometimes, they’re not complicated. They just want things to be safe and nice and tidy.

None of this is right. We should be in my den.

I’ve been trespassing on Quarry Pack land for almost two weeks at this point, and it’s making my fur itch. Max said to stay here to see her through her heat, though, and he stole his mate Elspeth from North Border, and she seems happy enough. She lets him sleep in their den, and she never tried to run back home, not that I heard about anyway.

But mating out in the open? When I’m on the verge of rut?

I feel the vicious hunger pulsing inside me. When I shift to human, I’m going to need to focus harder than I ever have before so that I don’t tear into her. I need to do the thing as gently as I can, then shift back, and get her home. Once she’s in my den, she’ll see that I can give her everything she needs, and she’ll calm down.

She’s slowing down with the nesting. She’s flushed bright pink, and her hair has come undone. She looks tired. There are dark circles under her eyes.

“I can’t make it any better,” she says, soft and sad, and lies down on her side, resting her head on her upper arm. Her hand is over the edge of the nest. So close to where I wait.

I roll to my side and wriggle closer, mirroring her position. Her hand is near enough to stroke my belly now if she’d just lift it. I whine to encourage her. She looks at me with bleary eyes.

“You’re not going to go away, are you?” she asks.

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