Page 3 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

A long skirt with thick tights can get in a male’s way long enough to give you a chance to escape.

Run and hide. Run and hide. Run and hide. My wolf chants her mantra as she dashes along the border between us. She’s really amped up, even for her. She’s noticed the scent, too, and she’s on alert, but she’s not terrified and pissing herself in some corner of my subconscious, which is usually her M.O.

I don’t hate my wolf—not like I hate the voice—but she’s kind of a bummer. On the one hand, I want to meet her, but on the other, I’m so scared that she’s going to be scrawny and weak. One of my worst nightmares is being stuck inside a runt of a wolf who is incapable of protecting herself.

Just the thought of it makes my panic rise.

I take a deep breath, and that earthy scent hits me again. I scan the wildflowers and trees on either side of the path, but I don’t see anyone or anything out of place.

Because it’s behind you. Somewhere you can’t see. Better run while you still can.

I check over my shoulder, but there’s nothing but the empty, winding path. Down the hill, everything appears peaceful—the cabins clustered around the commons and pups playing in the grassy park in the center of it all. The young males wrestle and chase each other around the females sitting in a circle, their heads bent together, intent on some game.

What if it goes after them?The voice rises to a scream.Go! Now! Warn them! They need to run!

I force myself to calmly turn away. The pups are safe. Their dams are on their porches, watching them. There are males close by. There are always at least a few training in the gym for the shifter fights, and besides, the patrols would have raised an alarm if something had encroached on our territory.

The danger isn’t real. It’s in my head.

Always in my head.

I trudge the final few feet to the steps to our cabin and peel my damp shirt from my back to let air reach my skin. Maybe the weird smellisme. I give my pits a quick sniff. Mari wasn’t lying. I am rank.

Per usual, Mari leads the way inside, hollering, “Kennedy!”

“In the kitchen,” Kennedy calls back.

She’s a year older than Mari and me, so she doesn’t have to go to the Academy anymore. She works in the kitchens with us at breakfast and dinner. During the day, she goes up to Abertha’s with Una to work on our super-secret mushrooms, jams, herbs, and honey business that we run under the alpha’s nose.

Instead of weird smells, I should be worried about how we’re inevitably going to get busted selling our wares at the human farmers’ market in Chapel Bell. But that’s a real fear. I don’t worry about those.

Mari and I drop our bookbags on the floor and traipse down the hall. Kennedy is bellied up to the kitchen counter, eating cheese. She’s using its plastic wrapper as a plate and a butter knife to cut slices and ferry them to her mouth. With her free hand, she’s scrolling on her phone.

Mari goes directly to the refrigerator and throws the door open. I grab the tea kettle from the stove and fill it at the sink. My crampy stomach eases a little more. It’s tea time. The best time.

“Is that all the cheese we’ve got?” Mari asks Kennedy.

Kennedy hums a cheerful affirmative around a mouthful of cheddar.

“Can I have some?” Mari sounds tetchy, but we all know that she rips through the cheese the quickest. Kennedy’s lucky there was any left.

Kennedy slides the cheese closer to her own chest, and her wolf rumbles a warning. My wolf yelps and drops to her belly inside me, baring her neck and burying her head in her forelegs.

“My bad,” Kennedy says, wincing.

I smile ruefully. Everyone in the house is used to my skittish wolf. We’ve lived together for a long time now. I know that Kennedy’s wolf would never hurt mine, but there is nothing in the world that will convince my wolf of that fact. Kennedy’s wolf is male. Males are killers. End of story.

Frowning, Mari sticks her nose deeper into the fridge. “Who ate the summer sausage?”

Kennedy and I grimace at each other behind her back. I left half. Kennedy must’ve finished it.

“There are Slim Jims left,” I suggest.

Mari turns up her nose, but she still snakes past me to fetch them from the cabinet over my head. Her big blue eyes shine with anticipation as she upends the box, expecting a windfall.

A single Jim drops onto the counter.

“Really?” She scowls at me. “You left one Jim?”

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