Page 76 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

Max laughs. “Youwishyou had what I have.”

They can’t say anything because we all know that yes, yes they do.

Finally, a strong wind gusts down from Salt Mountain, and I catch a faint whiff of bull. We instantly fall silent, our noses quivering.

Alroy jerks his head to the north, and I nod. We head off in that direction, careful to stay downwind. Alroy shifts and runs ahead to scout.

Khalil slides me a glance. “Winner gets the backstrap?”

I grin. “Loser gets the shank?”

He nods.

We bolt, Max’s long-suffering sigh in our ears. We race between the towering pines, our steps silent, our breath ragged. The sun is so high that the sky above us is a blue wash, not a cloud in sight. The tension and dread seep from my body as the clean mountain air fills my lungs.

My wolf wants out, but he knows this moment is mine. I need it—to remind myself that I am sure of my step and my direction.

The elk’s scent grows stronger. Khalil harnesses a second wind and pulls ahead, raising his bow. He’s got the bull in his sights. I’m not going to outrun him.

A ridge rises to my left. I cut over, scramble up the steep incline on all fours, and then sprint along the crest, loose stones and dirt rolling under my feet, skittering down the sides. I see the elk in a stand of trees. He lifts his head, alerting at the ruckus I’m making.

His eyes darken, recognizing my wolf.

My wolf howls.

The elk’s haunches flex.

Max’s voice floats to me on the wind. “Idiot. He’s gonna scare him off.”

No, I’m not. I’m quicker than that. I raise my bow, notch my arrow, aim, and let it fly.

The elk’s pupils blow wide. My arrow hits home, seconds before Khalil’s splits mine in half and Alroy’s wolf leaps from the brush, slitting the bull’s throat with his claws. The animal falls to his knees and then collapses, eyes open, staring sightlessly at the perfect sky.

I jog down the ridge, joining Khalil. We go to crouch by our kill, resting our hands on his warm, motionless flank. Alroy’s wolf comes to sit silently beside us.

Needles rustle in the limbs above us. We breathe in pine and sap, earth and air, our lungs fueling the muscles that his flesh will feed.

“Go in peace,” I say.

“May I have so good a death,” Khalil murmurs the words we were taught to say when we were pups by males whose faces we can hardly remember.

We’re silent on the walk back, except for Alroy’s muted muttering whenever it’s his turn to help haul the carcass.

I haven’t figured anything out.

I am still walking back to a mate who doesn’t want me. I’m still going to have to let her go again, and somehow, keep living.

Unless I can find the words to convince her to give me a chance.

To stay.

To leave my heart where it is—beating in my chest. For her.

10

ANNIE

Male!Approaching from your left!

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