Page 25 of Rejected Exile

He hadher.The one. Maybe even theonlyone, a true mate, so rare even in our culture. Only to lose her to the curse.

And she wasn't me.

Unbidden, my mind lurches back in time to an old memory. As it does so, I find my glass empty, and get up to make another drink. If I'm going to spend tonight feeling sorry for myself, I might as well do it with the fog of alcohol in my mind.

Because Kieran wasn't supposed to go through the Mating Ceremony with some random girl whose name I don't even know.

He was supposed to do it withme.

* * *

"Hey, look—it's old lady Francesca." Kieran elbowed me and laughed. "Do you think she's here because she hasn't had any in years, and she can't remember what it looks like?"

"Shut up!" I hissed at him, swaying on the branch we were clinging to. "They'll hear you."

"They will not. They've got better things to pay attention to."

It was the middle of a short summer night, and I was up in a tree with Kieran, staring out towards the Mating Circle. He'd dared me to come with him to watch two intendeds finally complete their bond. I hadn't wanted to go, but the stubborn jut to his jaw and smirk on his mouth made it impossible for me to say no.

He was always goading me to do things I didn't want to do. By the time the fun was underway, I'd always forget that I said no at first. This was something he reminded me of the next time I tried to say no to him.

We were twelve, and we weren't supposed to be anywhere near the Mating Circles during the ceremony. But my father had to officiate them, at least when it was someone important, whose position in the pack demanded his presence. In this case, the daughter of his right-hand man was mating with the son of a rival pack's alpha. He had to be around to make sure things went smoothly, for reasons I didn't fully understand, mostly because I was twelve and the whole thing made me kind of queasy.

"What do you think it'll look like?" Kieran's voice sounded smooth and relaxed, something I envied as my stomach wound tighter and tighter. "I know he puts his penis inside her—I'm not a stupidbaby.I just don't understand how they get it in there."

I eyed him awkwardly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..."

Words failing him, Kieran held up the first two fingers on his left hand, and the index on his right. He made a weird grunting noise and parted his fingers, then jabbed the opposite index in them. It didn't take me long to figure out what he was miming, and I laughed so loud he slapped a hand over my mouth.

"Hush! Now you reallywillget their attention."

But as I turned my eyes back towards the ceremony, I realized Kieran had been right earlier. No one was going to notice us. No one would be looking anywhere else.

Things were underway.

The ancient Mating Circle, a series of stones set in the middle of a clearing in the woods, was full of powerful earth magic. It was here that our pack's connection to the earth was anchored. The tall, carved stones faced inward, runes carved into their surface giving them meanings even our pack only half-understood. Our long-dead ancestors who carved them hadn't left behind many instruction manuals.

What was easy to understand was the way the young couple, standing shyly in the middle of the circle, were looking at each other. Torches burned at a dozen points around the edges of the circle, and firelight flickered on their faces. But the heat of the flames was nothing next to the look in their eyes.

Or the energy I could see coursing between them. Like a dozen strings, a connection formed, coming up from the earth towards their feet, and channeling back and forth between their raised palms as they faced each other. Closer and closer they approached, the strings writhing and knotting, whirling and joining, until the two were close enough to almost touch.

Mating threads.They marked two mates when they were joined. Most formed between intendeds in the four years between their shifting ceremony and the bonding ceremony. Familiarity, friendship, and flirtation fed them. For the few, lucky wolves, the threads were already there from the beginning, marking them as fated mates. The luckiest of the lucky had thick, unbreakable threads that marked themtruemates, the only mates for each other at all.

Any two werewolves could form mating threads with enough years of bonding, but only the truest of mates had fate on their sides from the beginning.

In a loud, deep, booming voice, my father called out, "Eliza and Emmett, your connection is recognized. You are mates, intended and bonded by spirit. Now you will bond in the flesh and complete your connection with each other—and with the sacred ground."

The witnesses to the ceremony all stepped out of the circle, faded into the darkness. Their eyes still watched, though, to make sure nothing went wrong. While violence during the ceremony hadn't been heard of for centuries, it was still a fear of the pack—when mate turned on mate during the joining, mayhem followed.

What we saw that night wasn't violence, though I didn't understand it at the time, as rushed and fervent as it was. When the couple tore their clothes off, hurrying to be naked, I grimaced and scooted closer to Kieran. As the man grabbed the woman to him and brought her to the ground, back on the earth, and rutted inside her—a nauseous feeling rose inside me.

"Oh," Kieran said faintly, "I guessthat'show." Then, as their bodies curved and moans filled the air, "Gross."

"So gross."

As they continued, the male pushing into the female, her legs parted beneath him, I didn't want to watch. But neither could I entirely look away. Instead, I saw bits and pieces of it, little visions that seared in my mind.

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