Page 7 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

Run and hide. Run and hide. Run and hide.

I force myself to move the hamper back where it belongs, unlock the door, and walk at a steady pace to the back of the cabin. I’m not going to run. I’m just going to look out the storm door and remind myself that I can leave at any time. I’m not trapped.

Your mate can smell you. Once he mounts you, he can track you by the bond. Pull you by the leash. You’ll never get away.

My trembling hand grabs the knob, and I can’t stop myself from pushing the door open. I’m not going to run away. I don’t do that anymore. The last time, Una had to trek all the way up to the blackberry bramble in the west woods before she found me, and her bad leg was so sore the next day, she couldn’t make itup to Abertha’s cottage. I’ve outgrown running away. Years ago. I can control myself.

I venture to the edge of the deck and lower myself to sit at the top of the steps that lead to the small yard. The earthy smell is stronger now. I breathe it in, and for some reason, it slows my thudding heart. My wolf drops to her haunches and peeks out at the physical world, eyes narrowing, ears perking.

Someone is out there.

I steel myself for another round of run and hide, but she’s quiet. She cocks her head.

I scan the yard, the beds of purple phlox and salvia—not long for the world now that the first frost is coming any day—the sunflowers and pink panicle hydrangeas, the yellow strawflowers on the slope leading up to the ridge above our cabin.

The sun is sinking in the west, but it’s not reached that angle yet where the rays are blinding. There aren’t stark shadows cast on the grass. It’s like someone’s turned down the dimmer on the world, so the outside seems mellow and lovely and close and safe.

I take another deep breath. It feels amazing. Like my lungs can suddenly hold more.

It’s a trick. There’s something out there. Lurking. You just can’t see it.

It’s stupid to feel safe. It’s a delusion. I know that. No female is ever really safe. The reminder should spur my wolf back to her pacing, but she stays still, listening. Her nose quivers.

I take another look around, slower this time. Blades of grass flutter in the faint breeze, and so do the flower petals.

And so does the fur on the strange wolf hiding in the strawflowers.

Watching.

With gold eyes.

Every muscle in my body freezes.

Inside my head, I scream, but my throat has choked off my air. My lungs have seized mid-inhalation.

Don’t make a sound. Don’t move an inch. Don’t breathe.

No, no, no—this is the moment to run. I need torun.

I can’t. I don’t have the strength to stand. My legs are weak from terror. A droplet of warm pee dribbles down the crease of my thigh.

The wolf in the strawflowers rises to his four feet, up and up and up. He’s huge. A full-grown male. I can’t see his teeth, but they’ll be razor sharp. His ears are up and canted forward, like he’s listening for something.

My lungs seize.

My heart pounds louder, too loud. It thunders in my ears, ready to burst into mangled, meaty chunks.

The wolf lifts himself even higher, his head swiveling on his neck, scanning the horizon. He’s scouting for danger. Are there others?

I track his gaze, but I don’t see anything except flowers and shrubs and the shed where we keep the mower.

He lifts his snout in the air, his nostrils flaring. His furry brow knits. He’s confused.

He strides forward. I shrink in my skin. I want to squeeze my eyes closed, drop to the ground, and curl into a ball, but I can’t move, and besides, I need to see it coming for me.

It’s worse if you don’t see it coming.

I brace myself, pulse pounding, as he bulldozes his way through the bed of phlox and salvia, his huge paws trampling tender stems into the dirt. I cower in place, frozen and quaking at the same time. At any second, he’ll be on me. His teeth. His claws.

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