Page 106 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

His lips are firm and certain. The bond sparks to life.

He wants this, and he’s not shy. He’s not asking, he’stellingme that we’re doing this, and it’ll be fine, better than fine. I’mbeautiful in his eyes, and he’s been waiting. He’d wait longer, but is that really what I want?

I should trust him.

I should trustmyself—the evidence of my eyes, my experience. He is a good male. Safe. Such a thing does exist, and it’s here, in my arms.

He tugs my lower lip with the very tips of his teeth. I gasp. His tongue slips inside my mouth, searching, coaxing. He wants me to seek him out, too, because even though he’s bigger and stronger, he wants to belong to me. He wants me to slide my tongue past his lips. Past the points of his incisors.

He wants me to want him back so bad that I dare, so I do. He groans. His wolf rumbles. I melt. He cups my nape, stroking the pulse throbbing in my neck with his rough thumb. My knees wobble. My thighs tremble.

What are we doing out here?

I wrest my head away from his grasp and scan the sky. It’s too wide open.

My wolf grumbles in agreement. There are too many smells out here, and despite our high vantage point, too much territory to defend.

“Come on,” I tell Justus, striding for the den. I don’t bother grabbing his hand. He’ll follow.

I duck into the den and take a deep breath. This is exactly right. There is the apple crate of books, the rag rug that smells like pack, the pallet that will make a fine nest.

Nothing in here smells like a place where I’ve been afraid, and besides, I have a good, strong mate. He won’t let anything get to me.

I go to the willow basket and unpack the sheets and blankets and clean but threadbare clothes that my mate has worn all these years when we were apart. Why was that again? I can’t remember now. My brain isn’t working right.

All of a sudden, my certainty flees. My eyes blur with tears.

“What’s wrong, Annie?” Justus asks from the entranceway. He’s lingering there, waiting to be invited, as he should.

“You left me. Where were you?” I face him, clutching a patchwork quilt to my chest.

His face falls, and he steps forward. My wolf snarls in my throat. He has not been invited. The nest is not ready.

He curls his hands into fists, and for a moment, he seems to fight himself, and I’m not sure who won, but his moment of inner turmoil ends when he falls to his knees. “Never too far away, Annie. At least not for long. I couldn’t leave you. I always came back. You’re here.” He beats his chest once, twice.

My heart twists. I don’t want him to hurt, and even though I don’t remember how, exactly, I know it was my doing, too. Or it was the work of an evil neither of us were old nor wise enough to fight.

Yes, that’s what happened. “We’re safe now,” I tell him.

“Yes,” he softly agrees, sitting back on his heels. The tension ebbs from his broad shoulders, his fierce jaw. “I won’t hurt you. Nothing will hurt you.”

Lies.

“Oh, stuff it,” I snap at the voice, turning to my work. She’s not needed right now.

I prop my hands on my hips and survey the pallet. It’s all wrong. There’s no help for it. I’ll have to start fresh.

I sink to my knees, strip the bed, and pile the linens to the side. I saw a blanket that would make a good foundation, a fuzzy, soft one with a silky hem. I grab it from the stack and bury my nose in it. Yes, this is perfect.

I shake it out over the pallet, lay it flat, and tuck the corners under, humming to myself. Then comes the hard part. The arranging. I fold and fluff and fuss and change, and it’s daunting,like a puzzle with no picture on the box for reference, but it’s also deeply, deeply satisfying.

Everything is falling into place.

My mate watches me make our nest, fascinated and proud. His muscles twitch with anticipation, but he’ll wait until I’m ready. This is how it’s supposed to be. He guards me as I work. His strength and the wolf inside him are mine.

I’m not small and weak and alone. I’m a female, where I’m supposed to be, doing what I was made to do.

I punch a pillow and prop it in place. There. Done. I turn to Justus, smile, and reach out for him.

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