Page 17 of Rust the Rejected
Undecided, I sniff the air for a scent that piques my tastebuds. Then stand gobsmacked.
Is it possible? Or a vestige from my carnal wet dream?
I spin in a slow circle with my head tilted back, nostrils flared.
Real or fake?
But damned if my wolf senses detect a faint trace of earth, ferns, and fir trees mix with a hint of vanilla carried on the cool ocean breeze. The unique scent of my fated mate on a she-wolf. Here. In the hospital’s cafeteria???
Serum coats my canines as they extend to sharp fangs. The beat of my heart quickens and pulses in my ears. I stifle a groan as my cock grows down my inner thigh. Seed beads at the swollen tip. Fists form at my sides to restrain myself from throwing my head back and issuing a call to my fated mate.
Where is she?!
I scan the room. My eyes linger on each female. But none respond to the low rumble in my chest detectable by a she-wolf. She must have come and gone! I dash for the doors, ignoring the doctor’s calls of my name. Carnal hunger for my fated mate supplants any need for mere food. My sole intent to find my fated mate. Now.
My wolf takes the lead to track her. The unique scent leads us to the elevators. As I growl in frustration, staring at the eight cars moving between twenty floors and the multitude of people, my wolf yips. I cock my head, then move towards the front doors of the hospital. Again, the scent picks up. Unfortunately, once outside, it dissipates in the wind. I stride back inside and pause, allowing my wolf to search for even the slightest whiff. Only the same trail back to the elevators.
I spend the next ten minutes popping my head into each elevator when it arrives on the ground floor. The humans stare at me, surprised by my unusual behavior. I ignore them.
A quick sniff finds nothing until the last car. The subtle combination of earth, ferns, and fir trees mixed with vanilla lingers in the air. I hurry inside and stand at the front. On each floor, I poke my head out for a quick whiff. Bingo!
Thirteen isn’t an unlucky number!
I throw myself off the elevator and rush to the corridor. It branches in two directions. A few feet down, one proves she didn’t pass this way. I retrace my steps and jog to the other wing. The scent increases. And my urge to claim my fated mate rises with it.
My vision tunnels. The rumble in my chest returns. Every female I pass gets an inconspicuous sniff. None in the hallway bears my fated mate’s unique scent. I double back and enter the offices. The process repeats. I close the door of a supply closet, then turn to the last door at the end of the corridor.
As I near it, a familiar voice reaches my enhanced ears.
“Are you sure the medicines will arrive this afternoon? I mean, their delivery keeps getting delayed. Is there a way for you to confirm now?”
Natalie? In the dispensary asking about medicines again? An odd assortment of medicines typically not used by OB-GYNs?
The niggling I had the first time I saw her in the dispensary speaking to the pharmacist returns. What the hell would she need them for? Not a patient. And she’s not ill. It’s highly inappropriate for doctors to use the hospital’s dispensary for personal use. What is she up to? That reminds me of the quick recovery of her fractured arm and the glint in her eyes. None of it makes sense. Unless—
I’m so distracted by my thoughts, I don’t notice her backing out the door until she bumps into me and yelps. Automatically, my hands reach out to steady her. The moment we connect, a bolt of electricity zings from my fingertips, up my arms, and straight to my pounding heart. A sharp intake of air carries the scent of my fated mate deep into my lungs. My cock twitches and leaks with seed. I growl.
She jerks her head around. Her wide onyx eyes meet my glowing hazel orbs. She gasps and tries to pull away. I tighten my grip and rumble in my chest. Her eyes flutter closed as she sags against me, mouth slack.
I ache to cover it with mine. Instead, I scoop her up and carry her to the empty supply closet. Her eyes pop open, and she protests. I silence her with a low growl. She shivers and glances away. Color suffuses her cheeks. Again, I fight the urge to kiss her and open the door, then flick on the overhead light. I continue to hold her close to my chest even after the door closes behind us.
“Natalie.”
Her name comes out rough as my voice thickens with desire. She shivers and squirms. I bury my face in her hair. Then it hits me. Waist-long midnight hair with a snow-white widow’s peak, just like the she-wolf in my wet dream. Except it wasn’t a dream.
Fated mates often visit the other in dreams before they meet. The frequency and intensity increase the closer to them meeting in real life. A sort of bonding before the actual mate bonding ceremony occurs. In the dreams’ vividness, the pair appear to be together in reality, not a dream—wet or otherwise. Sometimes they recognize one another. Often, they’re not revealed, somehow shrouded or in wolf form, as with Natalie and me.
Dr. Natalie Moore. My fated mate. Fuck. Who knew? And how did I not detect her all this time?
“Put me down. Now!”
Her shriek rouses me from my musings.
“No!” I growl in response. “Tell me how you’re an undetectable she-wolf. Now!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about! Let me go!”
“I will never let you go, Natalie. You are my fated mate. We belong together. You feel it as much as I do. I scent your arousal and hear the fast beat of your heart. The sooner you tell me what you’ve done, the sooner we can complete our mate bonding ceremony.”
