Page 91 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

“So these dens—they used to belong to one of the packs?”

Justus nods. “This was Salt Mountain’s. Our winter camp belonged to North Border. Moon Lake and Quarry Pack kept their dens.”

Little pieces are clicking together. “And this is the way we used to live?”

“Mostly. When we joined together, our ways kind of mixed.”

“Is that why you steal females? Because they’re descended from the same pack?”

“Sometimes.” He grins. “Sometimes a male sees a female with a piece of shit for a mate and figures he can do better.”

“And the females don’t waste away, separated from their mates?”

He shakes his head. “Why would they? We feed and care for them well. They aren’t left alone.”

Everyone knows that the loss of a mate is devastating. I’ve seen elders who’ve lost their mates refuse to eat, bathe, leave the house. On occasion, Old Noreen has sent Mari or me to their cabins to coax them out, and sometimes, they come, and they sit in the lodge, staring blankly into the fire or nodding off. Alone.

Because we were busy in the kitchen, and everyone else was occupied with keeping or improving their rank. No one was keeping them company. There were no rocking chair circles gathered around small fires, no pups running wild among them, no dance parties breaking out and weaving among them.

“Why don’t we know all this?” It takes a second for me to realize that I spoke the thought out loud.

Justus shrugs. “If I had to guess, a male who thinks he knows best isn’t keen on people learning there are other ways. A male with a plan doesn’t want to hear about how it was done before. If he thinks his way is better, he doesn’t appreciate evidence that it’s not.”

I think about this and swing, letting the breeze cool my face. The sycamore leaves are a dark umbrella above us, rustling while the camp quiets. High overhead, pinprick stars dot the sky.

Is that why this place feels strange, but also like a long-lost memory? Females didn’t sit together and chat while they worked when I was little—they wouldn’t have dared look idle or like they were telling tales about the males. But sitting with Elspeth and the others did feel familiar, didn’t it?

When I was young, weren’t there stolen minutes—in the laundry or on the porch behind the lodge—when my mother and her friends would gather to fold linens or shuck corn or shell peas, and they’d murmur to each other and giggle behind their hands?

What would it have been like if I’d grown up here? What wouldIbe like?

My thoughts float back to stealing females. “Were your people Quarry Pack, then?”

“My dam was. My sire was a wanderer from parts unknown.”

“He didn’t steal her?”

He chuckles. “The way Max tells it, he hung around like a stray, bringing her geese and rabbit and frogs and piling them up in front of her den until my dam took pity on him and let him sleep inside.”

A smile tugs at my mouth. “Like your wolf. He brought me a goose.”

I glance over. In the shadows, it’s hard to read his eyes, but his voice is low and raspy when he says, “He did. And he only took a bite or two before he left it for you, and that was revenge.”

“Revenge for what?”

“For the bites the goose took from him.”

I giggle, and a grin breaks across Justus’s face, bright in the dark. “I like that sound, pretty Annie. Sounds like bells.”

My face heats. Out of some kind of synchrony, we both swing our legs slower and ease to a gentle back and forth.

The clearing is calm now, and silent, except for a few males sitting way over by the bonfire, keeping it stoked.

A question bursts to the front of my mind, like a wolf pup busting free from a thicket, all forward momentum, no caution, slipping my good sense and leaping out of my mouth without looking.

“Why did you steal me?” I whisper.

The swing stops. I force myself to look over. Justus meets my gaze, calm but confused.

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