Page 41 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

“Let’s keep going,” I say. “I know a place a mile or so ahead that might do for tonight.”

I wait for her to venture out of the bolt-hole she’s made between my feet. It takes her a minute, but she eventually creeps forward, nose high in the air and working overtime.

She sticks close for the rest of the journey, weaving figure eights around my ankles, boldly venturing a few feet away on occasion when her energetic sniffing catches out a particularly interesting scent.

My mate’s wolf is definitely braver than her human self, but she’s still skittish as hell. Elis is a lot like that since Killian Kelly unzipped his belly. Both Elis and his wolf alert to everything now, and half the time, I swear, he’s alerting to his own loud thoughts.

Before the debacle at the Quarry Pack dens, Elis was a typical young male—happy to tussle over nothing, up all night, venturing far afield by himself. When he deigned to show himself at the dens, he’d stroll around with his dick out as if that were enough to entice a female to let him mount. To be fair, I did the same when I had nothing else to recommend me except size and enthusiasm.

Then Elis took that claw to the belly. The wound healed, but he hasn’t been the same since. Some days, his dam can hardly get him out of his blankets, let alone the den.

A picture flashes in my head—Annie almost slamming her cabin door shut, throwing the bolt home, and then peeking out between the curtains.

The hairs on my neck prickle.

When Elis is in his skin now, he covers himself head to toe with baggy sweats and long sleeves, even in summer. I figured he wants to hide the scar, so the females don’t see it and think him weak, but now I wonder—why long sleeves? Clothes protect against claws worse than fur, but I suppose he thinks any layer of protection is better than nothing.

Annie doesn’t dress any different than the other unmated females in her pack. They all wear long skirts and sleeves.

But weren’t her thick flannel shirts always buttoned at the wrists? The sleeves were never rolled. The buttons were never undone at the neck.

And doesn’t she hold herself like Elis? So carefully. Like she could tip over and pour out.

Like she’d been ripped open before.

I stop in my tracks.

Immediately, my mate dashes to hide between my legs, ears pricking, nostrils flaring. Hyperalert. Just like Elis.

My heart shatters.

Why didn’t I see it?

I scoop her up, hold her in place with one arm, and comb my fingers through her fur. She yelps and wriggles, nipping my fingers, but she’s as easy to handle as a squirmy pup. I don’t see any scars. I gently squeeze up and down her legs. They’re straight. If they were ever broken, they healed well.

“Where were you hurt?” I mutter, combing her fur one more time against the grain, feeling for puckered, jagged skin.

Now that the idea is in my head, I know I’m right. I feel it in my gut.

When Max first brought Elspeth from North Border, she startled whenever a male raised his voice or a wolf snarled. I was too young to remember, but folks still tell stories about how Max would thrash any male who shouted or growled around her, so to this day, whenever she’s around, we all lower our voices out of habit like she’s a sleeping babe.

Why didn’t I make the connection before?

My pride.

That’s why.

Annie mauled my pride, and I was a dumb pup, so I decided to be mad for the rest of my life rather thanthink aboutwhy shewas acting that way for a single second. I assumed her fear was her fault because it couldn’t bemine. I’m a good, decent male.

She must not want me because something is wrong withher. She’s from a lost pack, after all, and there’s something wrong with all of them. She was raised to hate my pack and isn’t smart enough to see past the bigotry. Her fear was intolerance. An insult.

I haven’t been a dumb, eighteen-year-old male in years, but I never revisited my reasoning, never tried to make sense of it as a grown male.

Because of my hurt pride. Fucking pride.

Shit. Did I shout or growl at her back then? Maybe, yes, maybe I did. Afterward. When she told me she didn’t really want me, and I was disgusted at myself and angry at her. What did I say?

Horrible things. I can’t remember my exact words, but I wanted to hurt her, and after I swore I wouldn’t.

---