Page 47 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

At noon, like he promised, we reach a Last Pack supply cache. I was expecting at least a shed, but it’s not much more than a lean-to made of stripped branches and woven vines, built against the side of a deep gulch.

Inside, there’s a barrel packed tight with tools, clothes, and other supplies, including matches wrapped in oil cloth. Justus builds a fire, and my wolf naps beside it as he hunts down the plump, juicy bird he also promised. He plucks its feathers—and plucks off its head—before he returns, so my wolf is happy to snarf it down after a cursory browning over the flames.Apparently, she’s not too fussy about whether her meat is cooked through.

She shows no concern that she’s leaving none for Justus, but it makes me deeply uneasy. At the lodge, we serve the males first. They cause less trouble when their mouths and hands are full.

Justus doesn’t seem to mind that my wolf is saving none for him. He watches her eat, arms folded, mouth lazily curved as he sits, resting against a tree trunk.

My wolf is pleased to let him watch her eat. I don’t understand that at all. I can’t eat if someone is watching me.

After the meal, my wolf lets Justus carry her again, and she snoozes in the mid-day sunshine. By the time she wakes up, yipping to be let down, the landscape has changed again. The meadows have disappeared, and the fields have turned into rolling hillocks, mossy and deep green. By late afternoon, we’re hiking strictly upward, winding between rocky outcroppings and evergreens at least three stories tall.

The trees cast shadows, and my wolf’s steps slow. She can smell his pack now. We’re on his territory.

No one will find your body. Not out here.

The pecking voice, ever helpful, has found her second wind.

He’ll throw you from one of those outcroppings. Break all your bones. The moss will cover you. No one will ever know what became of you.

Justus must sense my growing wariness. His wolf rumbles at mine to stop, and he squats so we’re closer to eye level.

“All right, pip?” he asks, wiping his brow. It’s not hot, but we have been walking all day, and he did carry my wolf for quite a bit of it.

My wolf yips dramatically and plops on her rump, panting like she’s also carried a grown female wolf for hours and hunted a partridge and went without lunch.

She’s actually more or less fine, but I’m not all right. The stronger the scent of other wolves gets, the tighter my nerves stretch. I want to go home. This has been enough adventure. I want a cup of tea. My room with its locking door. The tire iron that I snuck from Liam’s garage that I keep under my bed.

“I think—” He pauses like he’s searching for words. His expression seems deliberately mild. “I think you should shift to two legs to meet the pack.”

No.

There is no way.

Not ever.

No way.

No how.

I jam myself in a far corner of my psyche. My wolf physically backs away from him.

He blows out a long breath, raising his palms. “They’ll want to talk to you, get to know you, find out how you came to be here. You’ll want to talk to them, right?”

No.

I won’t.

I only ever want to talk to Una, Mari, Kennedy, Old Noreen, and Abertha when she’s in a good mood. There are literally no other people on earth Iwantto talk to.

And they’ll want to know how I came to be here? I was kidnapped.

Well,Iwas. I’m not sure about my wolf anymore. I feel like she went rogue somewhere along the line and decided she wanted to see the world, but I’m a hostage.

I could’ve fought her harder, though. I could have run, even if I didn’t have much of a chance.

Why didn’t I?

And what does “find out how you came to be here” mean? Do I need to say the right thing or else? Orwhat?

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