Page 33 of Claimed By the Feral Wolves

The feral next to me turns, looking me up and down, before turning back to the ultimas.

“I am called Maverick, and my friend, here…”

“Xander,” I grunt out, hearing how it sounds, the word gruff and uneven. My eyes skip back to her’s—to my mate’s—and I hope she doesn’t judge me too harshly for it.

“…Xander, right. We are both just here to find our mates, like everyone else, and would gratefully accept the chance to do so.”

When I glance at the ultimas again, they’re regarding us differently. I don’t know why this stranger pulled me into his speech, but I’m glad he did. I would not have been able to say it the way he did.

“Fine,” Brock finally says, “but remind yourselves that omegas are our most cherished asset, and they aredelicate. If you act in a way that she doesn’t like—if you’re not gentle or you cause her any harm—itwill notbe tolerated. Is that clear?”

Not tolerated for ferals, they mean.

“As a mountain spring,” Maverick agrees, and when the ultima looks to me, I nod. I don’t care about these people or their ridiculous rules—I just want to get close to my woman, show myself to her in a way I feel she can understand.

Even from this distance, I’m painfully aware of her, the scent of her skin, the scent of the two alphas on her, the rustle of fabric against her when she moves, each time she twists a tendril ofhair between her fingers. Unlike the others, I sense that she and I are kindred spirits. There’s a great loneliness in her that’s only starting to abate. I’m ravenous for that kind of relief from my own isolation, and I’m certain she’s the answer to finding it.

I just hope she, and these alphas, let me explore our connection. Because one way or another, I’m not leaving The Selection without her.

I just hope that when she learns my secret, it won’t ruin everything.

13

Faye

The forest is positively gorgeous,the golden late morning light slanting through the trees, small animals running underfoot, and the soft chirping of birds from above floating through the air all creating an ethereal, timeless quality to the place. But I’m not calm or enjoying this walk, because two more men have claimed me as their omega, leaving me unnerved.How do I even go about explaining to these ferals that I’m not in the market for mates?I truly don’t know where to begin. Not only are my treacherous feelings bothering me, it’s the men walking with me that shatter the calm morning, their disdain for one another coming through clearly, now that the ultimas aren’t here to pacify them.

Cayson moves closer to me and flicks his gaze toward the ferals. “Riding up like a bunch of war heroes,” he says with a laugh, shaking his head. “Ridiculous.”

One of Maverick’s bright green eyes twitches. “We didn’t choose when we were permitted to join The Selection,” he says. “Unlike you, they didn’t care to schedule us to come here. Wewere given next to no time for preparation. They told us to come, and we took off. Just the way it is every year, for ferals.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” Ezra mutters, which earns him a sharp look from Xander, the other feral.

I can’t keep my eyes from trailing to the two of them, Xander and Maverick, so wild-looking. Their long hair and rough skin is a contrast to Cayson and Ezra’s refined features and sharp attention to their appearances. Looking at the two new men, I truly understand why they’re called “ferals.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Maverick asks, his tone light, but a warning underneath it.

“I’m just saying,” Ezra says, turning to the side as he steps over a fallen log, “either you were never in a pack to begin with, or you were thrown out…”

“I was never in a pack,” Maverick says with a wry, easy grin he aims at Ezra, “so I had the unique experience of growing up with humans.”

“You don’t look like you grew up with humans,” Cayson remarks, and it sounds like an insult.

Maverick stares down at his clothes. Or at his lack of a shirt. “These are basically our uniforms for The Selection. The council has us dress this way, because of tradition, but only half of us grew up on the outskirts of the cities and had to fight to survive. The rest of us grew up amongst humans.”

“Interesting,” Ezra says, but the word is tight.

The feral smiles. “Growing up amongst humans has its benefits. You ever played football against a human? Like playing with babies. I was the captain of the football team, even had a Division I scholarship.”

He glances over at me, and even though I have no idea what that means, it does spark a feeling of pride. Whatever he did, it must be good. And as our eyes lock, it’s impossible to look away. He’s incredibly handsome, his green eyes sharp and piercing.His pale auburn hair is long, but clean and untangled. Some part of me can’t imagine something as wild as him growing up with humans. I feel like he’d stand out like a sore thumb.Or is there some other side of him?

“Surviving in a human world sounds easy,” Cayson mutters. “You like taking the easy route?”

“Not sure anyone would call being born to ferals easy,” Maverick says, his voice never losing that easy, charismatic edge, but there’s something underneath now, a sort of bitterness emanating from him that I didn’t sense before. “But there were definitely perks to it.”

It’s weird. I kind of want to ask more. Know more. But when I see Xander watching me, his expression so openly fascinated by me, I speak without thinking. “What about you?” I say, turning to face Xander, who looks startled.

He seems surprised that I’ve addressed him directly, and his eyes meet mine for only a second before darting back to the others. He clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair, then kicks at a rock, sending it out into the forest. We all watch it hit a tree with a resoundingthunk.

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