Page 69 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

I cover my absolute dismay with a yawn. Although it starts out fake, it soon becomes real. I am exhausted. I can’t sort through all of this now.

His gaze softens. “I’ll sleep out front. If you need something, call. I’ll hear you.”

Before I can argue about stealing his bed, he flashes a real, fond smile, and whistling softly through his front teeth, heleans forward and presses his forehead to mine. He stays there a moment, his nose bumping mine, our breath mingling. His beard tickles my chin.

His scent fills my lungs, and every muscle in my body relaxes as every inch of my skin comes alive.

My fingers itch, and suddenly, my ma’s fudge comes to mind. She made it from scratch, and it was my pa’s favorite. It took so long, she’d only make it for his birthday and winter solstice. You had to stir it continuously as you brought it to a boil, and then once it reached a certain temperature, you had to beat it with a heavy wooden spoon until it lost its gloss.

I was her helper, but I wasn’t allowed to taste it until it cooled, and she cut it into squares. She’d always go sit on the porch to find a breeze, and I’d be left alone in the kitchen, watching the fudge like I was stalking my prey, its sweetness thick in the air. I remember the want, thelonging, the fear of losing control, gobbling it up, and getting into deep, deep trouble. That’s what I feel now.

I don’t dare focus on the bond to see if he feels the same.

Would it be scary if he felt the same as me?

What if it felt good?

“Good night, Annie,” he says, rising to his feet.

He leaves without looking back.

I lie down, pulling the quilt over me, and roll onto my side so I can see the den entrance. I see where he lays his quilt, and until I fall asleep, I keep my eyes on his shadowed form.

And I don’t know if I’m watching to make sure he doesn’t move from that place—or to make sure that he stays.

9

JUSTUS

I’m goingto have to build a small fire pit outside the den. I’m walking as fast as I can back from the center of camp with a pot of boiling water, praying I get there before Annie wakes up and finds me gone, and I’ve managed to burn my hand twice.

She woke up a dozen times last night, and each time, she immediately looked for me, and I pretended I was asleep while she watched me until she drifted off again.

She’s scared of me and also scared that I’ll abandon her here alone. I don’t need the bond to tell me. I can read it clear as day on her face.

She didn’t insist I take her home last night, though, and she liked the gifts. Her fingers petted the yarn and the leather case like she was stroking a baby’s cheek. She didn’t care much for the plastic thing. Can’t blame her. Still not sure exactly what it does, but it smells like human male in the worst possible way.

Things could be going a lot worse. Meeting the pack didn’t go as smoothly as it could, what with Alroy being a dumbass, and Diantha not helping matters, but Annie’s wolf was more or less steady, and she really took to Nessa’s youngest.

Annie’s wolf leaped into action when she thought the pup was in danger, crouched over her and bared those toothpick fangs and everything. And then she yapped at me to handle my dumbass packmates. My chest warms at the memory. My mate’s wolf is a brave, bossy little cuss. She would be happy here.

And my shortsighted ass panicked when she got upset and promised I’d take her home when she asks. Iswore.

The warmth inside me ebbs as dread trickles through my veins, and I force myself to focus on right now. I don’t know what frame of mind Annie will be in, or how sharp she is in the morning, so I make sure to whistle and tread heavily as I approach the den.

She’s just sitting up and scrubbing her eyes when I duck inside. The quilt is tucked firmly under her arms, covering her from her breasts to her toes. I keep my distance. Her fear scent reserves are probably full again after a good night’s sleep—or whatever you’d call it with us waking and checking on each other every hour.

When I met her, I thought we had nothing in common, but now, I don’t know—take away her anxiety, and we have a similar temperament. She’s reserved like me, and more of a watcher than a talker. She’s watching me now as I unpack my hamper yet again to get out the box with her tea. This time, I’ll leave the box out and return things properly so I don’t have to squash the top back on like an idiot.

I borrowed two strainers and cups from Elspeth. She said a lot of the folks in the lost packs put sugar and milk in their tea, but we’re low on both at the moment, so Annie will have to do without until I get the chance to send Alroy out to get some. And itwillbe him who makes the run after what he said to Diantha yesterday. You can’t talk to a female like that, even if you are more or less right.

My gaze slides over to where Annie huddles on the pallet, eyeing me with no less suspicion than she did yesterday.

Is she going to make me take her back today?

I bat the thought away. She won’t. Not yet.

But what if she does?

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