Page 97 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

“I would never have chosenthat,” he says. The pain and shame, thedamage, in his voice are jagged claws, and they snag my heart and slice me open. I wouldn’t have, either. I wish I could have saved us both.

“What do we do?” I ask.

He’s quiet for a moment, wrapping his arms around his knees and staring into the distance. His bicep brushes my upper arm. Some kind of gravity urges me to lean into him, but I don’t dare.

Eventually, he clears his throat and meets my eyes again. “When we scout, we go in pairs,” he says. “We could do that. We could be scouts together.”

I understand what he’s saying. If we’re going to do this—and wehaveto do this—it can’t be like before. There can’t be a bad guy. So we’ll be in it together. “Okay. How do scouts work?”

Some tension leaves his body. “Well, usually, one of us keeps an eye out for threats while the other looks for signs of prey.”

“Dibs on being the one who keeps an eye out for danger,” I say.

He smiles. The tightness in my chest lightens. I made a joke, and he got it. This is good.

“Good. I’m really good at tracking.”

“Elspeth told me.”

“She did?”

“She said when you were little, and Max was teaching the pups to hunt, he had to put out a decoy trail for you so you’d leave some animals for the others.”

He smiles, bashful but clearly pleased. “I wasn’t that good. I was just a bad listener. Max probably figured I’d learn better on my own and out of his hair.”

His arms loop loosely around his knees now as the atmosphere has eased. He is so unlike Quarry Pack males. They take compliments as their due—or at least they act that way. Modesty is weakness.

And no Quarry Pack would sit beside a female in a field of wildflowers, not unless he was about to mount her.

My face catches fire, and I catch a whiff of my slick in the air. I immediately clamp my thighs together, my gaze darting over to Justus to see if he noticed.

He is very obviously pretending that he didn’t. His pupils are blown, the gold only a thin ring, and his muscles strain again, his cheekbones coloring. He makes a great show of sifting through the tall grasses at his side, humming under his breath.

“Here’s a good one,” he says, plucks a geranium, and passes it to me. “See, I’m a good tracker. You don’t have that one yet.”

“It’s a wild geranium.”

“Yes, he was. Very wild. He was a very wily foe. Don’t expect me to bag you one of those every day, now.”

“I’ll keep my expectations low.” I struggle against a smile.

He leans over, plucks another, and gives it to me. “Not too low,” he says.

I stop fighting and grin at him. His mouth curves, mirroring mine. “Okay, mighty hunter,” I say.

“Now we’re in accord,” he says, rising to his feet, brushing bits of grass off his hairy, bare thighs. I quickly avert my eyes.

“Ready to go back to camp, Scout?” he asks, low and gentle. “We don’t have to decide anything tonight. It’ll keep for tomorrow.”

I guess it will. I clutch my bouquet in one hand, hold my gown closed with the other, and let Justus help me up by the elbow.

“Okay,” I say.

I let my mate lead me back to his den, and I am bad at my job because the entire way, despite the pecking voice’s best efforts, I don’t dwell on any dangers.

I hold my flowers, and I walk beside my mate in the moonlight.

13

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