Page 39 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

JUSTUS

She’s sleeping.

My mate is sleeping in my arms.

My anger is soot in my mouth. The bond is a knife stuck in my chest. Yet, somehow, my heart is soaring.

This time, her wolf knew me at once. I was furious and bellowing like an idiot, and she sat her ass down and tried to scent me. Why does she respond to me now when she fought me after we mated?

She was probably traumatized from the pain of that awful first shift, and her head was filled with Annie’s revulsion. No wonder her instincts told her to fight.

I snuggle her closer, summoning a gentle rumble, the one I use with the little pups when they have their moments. I don’t want Annie’s wolf to think I bear her a grudge. She’s too sweet. Her cream underbelly is soft as feathers, and her clean coat shines with health. Even her ears are silky and smooth.

It wasn’t my plan to take her away, but I don’t have an ounce of regret. I’m not prepared, though.

I’m going to need more blankets. And maybe some pretty pillows like Max found for his mate’s den. Annie’s wolf probablywon’t like lying on the ground either, even if it is cool. Her fur is so well-kept, she must be fussy about it.

Will she want all those soaps like Max’s mate? Elspeth has a different one for every part of her body, and they create so much suds that Max has to fill two troughs with water when she bathes—one for lathering, the other for rinsing.

I won’t mind fetching water, but I will have to find another oak barrel. I only have the one.

Does Annie’s wolf still have those small fangs, or have they grown?

I reach over, and rumbling louder to keep her lulled, I gently push her lip up with my index finger. Oh, they’re so tiny. I’ve seen rats with longer and sharper teeth.

Can she even hunt with fangs that short? Maybe smaller prey. Rats and such.

I bet she doesn’t know how to hunt. Lost pack males make their females stay back in their camps; we never see them when we track their hunting parties. They probably want to keep them weak and dependent so they don’t run.

I’d run if I was kept in a box and forced to be thankful for what I’m given.

Of course, a female should neverhave tocatch her own meat, but she should also never be in a position where she’s hungry because she was never taught to hunt. It seems like common sense to me. Itiscommon sense if you want your females to have the best chance at survival, but I get the sense it’s more important to the lost packs that theykeeptheir females—not that they keep them alive.

Didn’t Lilliwen say as much? After we took her from the human males who’d stolen her, she wouldn’t eat because she thought we’d expect to mount her in exchange for food like they do in Moon Lake. She said in that pack, low-ranked females have to trade themselves for food if they have no money. Whenwe asked who had the money, she said the high-ranking males. When we asked why they didn’t give the females money for food then, she cried. We stopped asking questions and had Elspeth feed her.

My mate is never going to have to trade anything to eat, but when I teach her to hunt, I’m going to have to catch the critters beforehand and hobble them. Slice an ankle tendon or something. She’ll never catch them otherwise. She has the shortest legs I’ve ever seen on a full-grown female wolf.

I can’t wait to run beside her. I’ll have to trot. She won’t be able to keep up. She’s so low to the ground, I don’t think she’ll be able to see over the meadow grass we have to pass through at the base of the evergreen camp.

I won’t mind going slow for her. Inside my chest, my wolf howls in agreement. He wants out, and he’ll walk if he has to, even though he longs to chase her.

Catch her.

Take her.

I can’t let him out. He’s waited so long, and she smells so good. If I let him take our body, he’d be on her in a second. Annie would hate us even more, then, even though I don’t think her wolf would mind—not with the way she’s draped over my forearm, her tail swishing lazily across my abs as she snoozes. Her wolf recognizes me now, and she doesn’t smell like fear.

She smells like rain on dry earth—like petrichor, my favorite scent, ever since I was a pup. I always loved thunderstorms.

I hike her a little higher in my arms so she’s closer to my nose. Her scent is subtle, easily overpowered when we walk past a pine or a rotting log. I breathe her in until my lungs ache. Her scent teases my memory, reminding me of how the world smelled when I was a pup.

My wolf crowds the boundary between us. He wants a sniff, too. He wants to bury his snout in her fur as he mounts her.

He can’t. Lost pack shifters don’t fuck as their wolves. When Max’s wolf first tried to mount Elspeth’s, her wolf ripped a hunk out of his shoulder. When she was in her skin again, she yelled at him for hours about how it was wrong and dirty. When he asked her how she thought natural wolves had babies, she threw a piece of firewood at his head. I see their wolves sneaking off now during runs, but it took her a while.

Even if Annie’s wolf wanted mine, I couldn’t do it. Annie herself is still terrified of me. Her fear stench was so strong that I caught it while I was still on the far side of the river.

But she didn’t run, though. Not at first.

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