Page 53 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

“Next time, you should try trading for human females, Alroy.” Diantha smirks as if Justus isn’t even there, his wolf rattling his ribs. “They don’t have much of a sense of smell.”

A sharp snarl bursts from Alroy’s chest.

The pup lets out a surprised yelp.

No!

My wolf leaps on top of her, rolling her away from the angry males and into the crowd. Packmates stumble back.

My wolf pops to her feet and crouches over the pup, hiding her, growling and snapping until the circle around her clears.She catches sight of Alroy’s flaming tomato face, and she lets out a snarl so furious that it scrapes her throat.

He frightened the pup. He’s the threat.

Kill him.

I can’t. He’s too big. My wolf looks to Justus expectantly. His eyes are dark with rage, his body tensed and menacing, but my wolf doesn’t flinch. She yaps at him. He’s bigger. He needs to handle this male. She can’t do everything herself.

Justus growls. He’s clearly threatening Alroy, not my wolf, but still, the sound has the force of an alpha’s growl, no matter what he says, and it strikes terror in my human heart.

Shut up, wolf.

Oh, please, shut your mouth.

My wolf ignores us both and yaps at Justus even louder.

Pockets of smothered laughter bubble up from the crowd as if one by one, they can’t hold it in anymore.

Justus steps to Alroy, his aggravation blaring like an air raid siren. Inside my wolf, I scurry back to my corner, huddle, and moan. My wolf bares her teeth at Alroy and rumbles in anticipation.

Alroy doesn’t even notice. He’s steaming mad, glaring daggers at Diantha, screwing up his mouth to say something else.

She smirks, waiting, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“We should tradeyou.” Alroy sneers. “Everyone’s tired of your old ass anyway.”

All laughter dies. Diantha’s jaw drops. The sharp stink of aggression rises from the females. The pup curls into a tighter ball beneath me.

My wolf lifts her muzzle and howls.

“That’s it.” Justus curses and lunges for Alroy.

In the blink of an eye, Alroy shifts and tries to leap away, but Justus is quicker. He snatches Alroy’s full-grown wolf frommidair with his bare hands and spins almost exactly like we were taught in human sport class at Moon Lake Academy when we learned the discus. Then he lets go.

Alroy’s wolf goes flying. The crowd scatters, clearing a runway. He lands a good ten yards away and skids across the ground, tearing up the lush green grass. Eventually, he rolls to a stop with a sad mewl. He stays down.

Justus throws his head back, bares his fangs, and roars. His bellow echoes off the terraces rising around us. Loose pebbles skitter down the rock face. The entire pack crashes to their knees and bares their throats. Pups dart between their dams’ legs to hide. The silence is sudden and absolute.

A breeze whips down from a high peak, ruffling fur like wind across a wheat field. My wolf draws in a steadying breath, bracing for the stench of fear.

The air is clear.

Almostbrisk.

The entire pack is showing neck, and they’re chastened—and wary—but they aren’t afraid.

I don’t understand.

Justus blows out his cheeks, clenches his teeth and glares beseechingly up at the sky for a moment, and then points at Alroy’s wolf and says, “You watch how you talk to females. I’ll skinyouand tradeyour peltto Quarry Pack. Try me. See if I won’t!” He bellows the final words.

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