Page 40 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

Because she was frozen in fear?

Maybe. She wasn’t quite like she was before, though. Her pupils weren’t blown, and she fidgeted, tucking her hands into her shirt cuffs and biting her sweet bottom lip. I stifle a groan. Her blunt human teeth sank into her lip like they were biting into risen dough. I want to bite that lip, too.

My stomach growls, or maybe it’s my wolf, bitching about how I’m keeping him locked up. The sun is sinking fast, and I didn’t plan any of this. I have no food, nothing to make a shelter or a fire. We’ll need to find a place to camp soon. Ferals hunt at night, and I can take at least two or three on my own, but I wouldn’t risk it with my mate in my arms.

My mate.

I can’t believe I have her. I don’tdare.

Soon enough, she’ll shift to her skin and hate me again. Once we talk and figure things out, I’ll have to let her go back to her pack. But until then, all I need to worry about is food, fire, shelter, and ferals.

And Killian Kelly and Quarry Pack coming after me.

I feel like I’ve dealt with that for now. I cut south once I crossed back over the river, left a few signs, and doubled-back. They’ll likely think we’re heading for the high valley camp. Goodluck to them when they find the black bears that moved into the dens once we left.

For now, the most pressing need is a safe place to stow my mate while I catch her dinner. What I need is a good tree hollow.

I eye her narrow haunches. It won’t need to be very big.

She seems to sense that she’s being examined. Her breath quickens and her lazy tail perks up. She squirms in my arms, twisting her neck to blink up at me with sleepy eyes.

My body tenses. Will there be fear again?

She yawns so wide I can see the back of her pink tongue and every tiny little pointed tooth in her mouth.

I smile. “Good nap, mate?”

Her belly grumbles, and she whines.

“We’ll stop soon, and I’ll get you fresh meat.”

This settles her, and for a few more minutes, she’s content to be held as she surveys her surroundings, shivering and tucking herself to my chest whenever an owl hoots or a leaf rustles overhead. I scan for a good hidey-hole, but the trees are too sparse here to provide decent cover.

I hoist her high over my head as I scramble down a slope choked with waist-high brambles. At the bottom, there’s a dry creek bed that I follow northward. When we’ve been hiking a while, she begins to wriggle.

“You want down?”

She yips. It’s more an order than a request. I grin as I set her on her four short, delicate legs. She happily trips ahead, gets about ten feet, and skids to a halt, looking over her shoulder, accusation in her rich brown eyes. I guess I’m not walking fast enough for her.

Her eyes are the same exact color as when she’s in her skin. So lovely.

The blade that’s been stuck in my chest since our mating twists. They might be the same color, but until now, I’ve neverseen them without fear. My anger rises, and I stamp it down. This wolf wasn’t the one who made me think we were mating when she was just taking my cock so I’d leave.

“Waiting for me?” I ask, my voice catching. I clear my throat. I don’t want my voice to sound bitter with her.

She yips some more, bossy and impatient. I catch up, and she darts ahead again. She’ll only go so far, no further, constantly checking over her shoulder to make sure I’m following even though she must scent that I’m close. She has to hear me, too. I walk softly, but not silently. Her double-checking must be a nervous habit.

Her wolf is more confident than her human, but she’s still twitchier than any other female I know.

No sooner than I have the thought, leaves rustle overhead to our left and wood cracks against wood. A dead branch must’ve fallen. She dashes back to me, burrowing between my legs. I quickly plant my feet so I don’t squash her, and then stand in place as she crouches low to the ground, quivering against my ankle.

I squat and rumble to reassure her, running my palm down her trembling flank. “You’re safe. It was just a falling branch. Pretty far away. No danger to us.”

She barks unhappily, like I ought not have allowed it to happen. I hide a grin. She glares balefully into the woods where the leaves keep rustling.

“It’s just the night wind picking up, sweetling.”

She whines. I press my lips together, hoping my beard hides the fact that I don’t consider a thump in the woods to be as grave a danger as she clearly believes it to be. With the little toothpicks she has for teeth, it’s good she has a healthy respect for possible threats. In reality, a decent-sized branch could hurt her.

---