Page 73 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

Tarquin has the best sense after Max, and he’s better than all of us at soothing tempers. He’ll listen to each side and ask so many questions, that by the time each person has had their chance to speak, everyone’s either too tired, hungry, or bored to stay mad.

“Well, let’s go get us an elk,” I say, slapping Khalil on the back, snorting when his wolf whimpers. Must be one hell of a hangover if his wolf is feeling it.

I lead the way to the den that serves as our armory and help myself to the best bow and arrow, strapping a quiver across my back. I feel a twinge of guilt as Max grabs the second best, but I know he’d leave the best one behind rather than take it when I’m around. My sire taught me to respect my elders. He couldn’t have imagined a world where they’d defer to me.

I didn’t have my sire long, but I’m one to listen the first time I’m told, so his voice is still clear in my head. That’s why I slow my pace as our hunting band leaves the camp, so we can walk side-by-side, and Max doesn’t have to struggle to keep up.

I vividly remember traveling from our summer to winter camps one year, and how the alpha at that time took the lead of our long line. My sire hung back to bring up the rear, and I was impatient. I didn’t want to be last.

Of course, I whined about it, and my sire said, “Would you rather be in the front with your nose up Alpha’s ass or back here where we can actuallyseeit if a feral snatches a straggling female?” It made sense to me then, and it makes sense to me now, although I think moving as a herd is safer than a line. Much quicker to form a defensive phalanx when you’re already bunched together.

The way to the lake grows more difficult as the hours pass. At first, we travel through familiar woods, but soon enough the terrain gets steeper and rockier as we approach Salt Mountain territory, and I have to attend more closely to my surroundings.

I’m not worried about running into Salt Mountain wolves, but I am worried about the ferals and humans and other predators who’ve taken advantage of the land that Salt Mountain’s left unprotected.

In reality, Salt Mountain doesn’t have a territory beyond their town. The pack only ventures out to the woods to hunt. No patrols, fences, or anything. Our younger males have a game to see who can piss the closest to their front gate, and it’s been doused a few times, and no one’s been caught.

For a long time, all the shifter scents we come across are stale, and we don’t see anything bigger than a possum. The sun is bright, but there’s a breeze, and Alroy keeps his mouth shut. It should be a pleasant hike, but with every mile that passes, my nerves jangle more and more. I’m twitching at everything—twigs cracking, toads honking, birds casting shadows.

My wolf is torn. He loves hunting, but he hates that we’re getting farther and farther from Annie. I don’t like it much either.

He’s comforting himself with the absolutely unfounded belief that he could run back to her in five—ten—minutes flat.

I calm myself with facts.

She’s fine. No one in the pack would let any harm come to her, and the land around the camp was clear of strange scents or disturbance. I hunt or scout all the time. This is no different. If she was my mate for real, I’d hunt. Probably more often than I do now if we had pups. Pups caneat.

But she’s not my mate for real.

Don’t I want her to be? Isn’t that why I kept traveling to Quarry Pack and hanging out in the woods outside their border, sulking and stewing and pissing off the local wildlife?

What am I doing out here?

I should be home, tending to her. Making her more gifts. Listening to her talk, if she has something to say. Feeding her. Coming up with more excuses to sit next to her on my pallet.

It’s not that I don’twantto be doing that—I want it so badly that if I think about it, my chest will get so tight I’ll start huffing and puffing worse than Max.

Shit. Max. I glance behind me. He’s a good yard behind me. I force myself to slow down.

“Do we even want to get there before the sun goes down?” Alroy bitches when he realizes the pace has changed, and he has to wait for us to catch up.

“Sorry,” I say. “Is there a specific time you have to be back to jack off alone in your tent?”

“Where’d you sleep last night?” Alroy asks. “Bet it wasn’t in your den, was it?”

I leap for him, shifting my top half so he thinks I’m letting my whole wolf out, and just like I knew he would, he shifts all the way, and his wolf scurries away like his tail is on fire. I take my skin right back and grab the pants his wolf left behind.

“It’s just too easy.” Khalil snickers.

“Embarrassing.” I shake my head. That’s a prank we played as pups. He always fell for it then, too.

Alroy shifts and strides back, dick swinging, no shame. “If you wanted to watch my fine bare ass, you could’ve asked,” he says, strutting ahead.

Khalil speeds up so he’s ahead of us all. Max lets out a long-suffering sigh.

What am I doing?

Am I such a coward that I’ll go this far to avoid a conversation?

---