The Wild Wolf’s Rejected Mate (The Five Packs Book 5)

My mate’s name is Annie. She’s beautiful, but she smells bad, and there’s something wrong with her.

She sent my wolf away. That’s not surprising. Colm’s female screamed at him every time he got close to her for moons and moons when he first brought her back from North Border, but she still ate.

Annie wouldn’t eat the squirrel I brought her. She took it out to the backyard and buried it. I thought she was hiding it from the other females so she didn’t have to share, but she just left it there. She did the same with the black snake and the hare.

Maybe she’s picky. I hope so. If she’s sick—

No. I can’t think that.

I drop the dead goose dangling from my maw onto her front porch, spitting out as many bloody feathers as I can. When I’m done, I’ve only got a few still stuck in my teeth.

She should definitely like this. Goose is delicious, and this particular one is plump and juicy. My wolf and I definitely earned our fair share after the hassle of hunting it down, but we decided to settle for a little taste, saving most of it for her. She’s not got enough fat on her for winter, let alone for bearing pups.

My blood heats at the thought. I can’t wait to see my seed dripping from her pussy crack. When I knot her, she’s going to look over her shoulder at me with those big brown eyes, and there won’t be any fear anymore. She’ll know that I can take care of her, and she’ll stop stinking as if I’m about to attack her.

I pad away from the goose and sit further off, angled so that she’ll see the bloody goose bite on my haunch when she comes out. The wily fucker managed to nip a chunk out of my butt cheek before I ripped its throat out. I guess that means I’ve eaten my own ass.

At least no one from the pack saw. I’d never live it down. Annie doesn’t know it was a goose that got the drop on me, though. For all she knows, maybe I fought off a natural wolf for the goose. Or a feral.

I fix my face, trying to look like even though I’m in pain, I’m suffering stoically. Females love fussing over every little injury. At least that’s what I remember from when my dam was alive. It was a long time ago, but I do remember that.

Maybe if Annie sees me injured, she won’t be as afraid. It’s a small scratch, so she won’t think I’m weak, but she’ll see that I’m a wolf like any other.

Or maybe she’ll think that I’m the kind of sad, sorry wolf who gets himself hurt taking down a bird?

Shit. I quickly rotate so my uninjured side is facing the door.

I wish I could just fight someone and take her. I feel like an idiot, skulking around this cabin, bringing her meat she won’t eat, hoping she gets used to me enough to stop smelling like I’m a monster come to murder her.

Mating a female is the least dignified shit I’ve ever done. I should have brought her straight to the dens, but no, I listened to Max. He said if I stole her, she’d cry and make me wait, and it’d be better in the long run to hang around her territory, where she feels safe, until she presents. He said she won’t fight so hard afterward once the bond is in place.

I don’t know about that. It doesn’t smell like she feels safe here, and she’s crying and making me wait now. I’m sleeping outside under the bushes and hiding from the Quarry Pack patrols like I’m scared of them. It’s embarrassing.

She keeps saying that her pack is going to kill me, but they’d have to catch me first, and they’re not going to do that patrolling the same routes every day at the same time. That’s what happens to you when you spend so much time as a man. You start thinking like a human and ignoring your instincts. Wolves don’t follow the same trails day after day. Because it’s dumb.

As soon as I get her back to the dens, that’s the first thing I’m going to teach her. She takes the same paths every day at the same time. She needs to vary her routes. And another thing—someone’s going to steal her if she doesn’t pay more attention to her nose. Every time I approach her, she startles. I haven’t bathed since I got here. My wolf should not be able to sneak up on her.

At least I think she’s close to presenting. She didn’t go to the lodge this morning or up to the witch’s afterward, thank Fate. I hate it when she goes to the witch’s place. I track her there, but I don’t get anywhere near the boundaries of that female’s territory. I like my balls attached, and the witch has been clear. If you trespass without permission, she says she’ll go “collecting nuts.”

What is my mate doing in her cabin now? I know she’s in there. The spicy scent of her heat wafts from the open windows, a dinner bell to a starving male. It makes me hungry to take my skin, and I’m never excited to become the man, not like I crave the wolf when it’s been too long.

My wolf rises to his feet, restless, and trots over to peer inside a window. The large front room is dark. It’s filled with all kinds of human equipment like the stuff we find abandoned in the woods. I press my nose to the glass, teasing out the scents. Plastic. Metal. Chemicals. Teabags left seeping and biscuit crumbs. Traces of the three females she lives with—the hobbled one, the blessed one, and Mari.

Despite whatever’s wrong with Annie, I’m happy that Fate gave her to me. She is the prettiest of the females I’ve seen, either here or back home, and she has the best tits. One is a little bigger than the other so it spills over her bra cup, and it shows through her shirt. I want to bite that little pooch. But gently.

She’s also clever with her fingers. I snuck up to the porch when the others were at dinner last night and watched her in her rocking chair, knitting. She knew I was there—of course, she did—and she tensed, terrified, but her fingers kept looping and hooking the yarn, despite the shaking. She dropped stitches, but she caught and mended them all. She will make good blankets to keep our pups warm and to trade for the things we can’t get ourselves.

I don’t know how to make her understand that I won’t hurt her. I keep low around her, but I’m a big wolf. I can only make myself but so small. I show her my neck, too. Doesn’t seem to make a difference.

She’ll be calmer after I mount her. Then she’ll know she has nothing to fear and that I know what I’m doing.

I will be very careful to please her. Lelia and Diantha both let me mount them when they’re needy, and they’re the pickiest females in the pack. I must be decent with my cock. It’s thick, but Alroy’s is much thicker, and they won’t let him near them.

Once Alroy asked me why they liked me and not him, and I didn’t want to tell him it was because I do exactly what they say to do when I mount them, so I told him it was because I had a deeper rumble. He spent a month rumbling as deep as he could whenever the females were around, annoying the hell out of everyone.

I pad quietly along the porch and peek in the next window. The room is dark. It belongs to the hobbled one. She’s not old, but she acts like a dam to my mate and the others. They follow her like ducklings up to the witch’s cottage and down to the lodge, slowing their pace to match hers.

My dam died during the wasting sickness that fell during the year of the late frost, not long after my sire passed from injuries he got fighting a feral. My mate’s parents are gone, too. I’m happy that Annie has had a female to care for her.

I don’t remember my dam very well anymore. I can’t recall her face, but I can picture perfectly how one side of her mouth curled higher than the other when she smiled. I remember random things—her ginger cookie smell, her wolf’s rough tongue lapping crumbs from my snout, her gentle yips calling me back when I ventured too far afield.

I was an adventurous pup. For a long time, I thought that’s why Fate took her. Because I didn’t keep a close enough eye on her like my sire asked me to do before he passed.

I’m grown now. I’ve lived eighteen years, and I’ve long since figured out that Fate doesn’t have reasons for what she does.

An owl hoots, and my fur bristles.

Why does Annie not come out? She’s not even creeping to the door to see what I’ve brought her.

I growl softly to let her know that I’m coming closer and then leap over the porch rail, continuing alongside the cabin to her room. Her heat is heavy in the air. I don’t know how she’s held out this long. If I were in human form, I’m sure I would have gone into rut days ago.

I reach her window, peer through the glass, and come eye-to-eye with her peeking through her curtains. She startles, screams, and bolts. Her footsteps pound toward the back of the house. The kitchen door slams.

My wolf sighs. We made noise. We brought a goose. How did she not smell the goose? Its blood is all over my face.

My wolf trots after her. We give her lots of space. Maybe if she runs long enough, she’ll be too exhausted to be so afraid.

She races up the hill, down the far side of the ridge, and into the woods. I let her get far enough ahead that I can’t see her through the trees. It’s no trouble tracking her with the scent of terror and the noise she’s making. She must be whacking into every low branch she passes. Thank goodness the patrols are east and west at this time of day. There’s no one between us and the border of Quarry Pack territory.

Of course, she’s going to reach the river first. Will she try to cross it? It’s wide, deep, and fast where she’s heading, and I doubt she swims much. I’ve never seen her without a shirt buttoned up to her chin and a skirt down to her ankles.

If she tries to swim for it, I’ll have to shift. My wolf is an otter in the water, but he can’t very well fish her out of the rapids with his paws. I can only imagine what she’d do if he tried to bite her by the scruff to haul her out.

My pulse races as I think of her neck in my mouth. I can’t wait to mark her. My bite will look perfect on her delicate, willowy neck. I’ll teach her to hold her head high so everyone can see. She doesn’t need to bow down all the time anymore. Now she has me, and I don’t show neck to anyone.

Thankfully, when we reach the river bank, she doesn’t even consider jumping. She whirls to face me, her tits heaving, her eyes wild. Her pupils are pinpricks. Her heat is riding her hard.

Is she gone yet?

She has to be very, very close. She’s finally stopped shivering and shaking and squeezing her hands into little fists. Her gaze is darting around as if she doesn’t know how she got here.

Hell, I feel the same. I never dreamed I’d be lucky enough to find my mate, let alone that she’d be from one of the lost packs. No wonder she’s behaving so strangely. She thinks it’s normal for the air she breathes and the food she eats to come out of machines.

Do her people mate differently, too? Do they have a machine for this, too?

Her wild brown eyes meet mine. She’s needy. I recognize the look. There’s still fear, though.

I hunker down so she doesn’t feel like her back is against a wall. I don’t think she’s going to tell me what she wants like Lelia and Diantha, but I’ll follow her lead.

Her gaze drops, and she sinks to her knees and begins scooping the dry leaves from the maples and oaks overhead into a pile. Shit. She’s making her nest. Right out here in the open. This is not ideal.

I sniff the air. Quarry Pack does keep their territory clear. I don’t even get a stale whiff of four-legged predator. There’s no trace of their males, either. We’re pretty far from their nearest patrol path. They let the river act as a boundary here, which is stupid. Ferals can swim if they’re hungry enough, and so can humans, and they’re worse—they won’t be looking for food.

Annie pauses with an armful of leaves, her eyes clearing for a moment as if she’s woken from a dream. A wave of fear rolls off her. I remind my wolf not to growl. Growling makes it worse.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” she mutters, her lower lip trembling. “I can’t stop it.”

I wish I could take the fear from her, but she has a right to it. This is going to hurt her. The females always make a fuss after their first time and make their males fetch sweets or rub their backs. I’m pretty sure they’re playing it up, but I’ve scented blood in the air after a new mating, so there must be some pain.

I don’t want to hurt Annie. She’s lovely. Like a sparrow. Or a swan with her long, graceful neck. And I sure as hell don’t want her any more scared. Her fear already has my nerves on a hair trigger. My wolf’s, too.

I creep forward. She doesn’t pay me any mind. She’s gone back to piling leaves and plucking twigs from the heap and tossing them over her shoulder. She mutters as she works, but I can’t make out the words.

When I get to the edge of her nest, I stop. I’d never come closer without invitation. Nests are sacred, even a makeshift one made out of leaves.

My paw brushes a leaf, and she casts my wolf a baleful glare. What has displeased her? It could be so many things.

I haven’t brought her home, so she doesn’t know that I have a good, warm den for her. Besides the goose, the squirrel, the snake, and the hare, she has no proof that I can care for her, and females need more than just meat. They like sweets and pretty, soft, clean things, and they need to know that you’re vicious enough to kill any threat so that they can sleep undisturbed. But they also need to know that you’re not so feral or foul-tempered that you’d hurt the pups.

We don’t have many females, so we all watch them closely, and as strange as they act sometimes, they’re not complicated. They just want things to be safe and nice and tidy.

None of this is right. We should be in my den.

I’ve been trespassing on Quarry Pack land for almost two weeks at this point, and it’s making my fur itch. Max said to stay here to see her through her heat, though, and he stole his mate Elspeth from North Border, and she seems happy enough. She lets him sleep in their den, and she never tried to run back home, not that I heard about anyway.

But mating out in the open? When I’m on the verge of rut?

I feel the vicious hunger pulsing inside me. When I shift to human, I’m going to need to focus harder than I ever have before so that I don’t tear into her. I need to do the thing as gently as I can, then shift back, and get her home. Once she’s in my den, she’ll see that I can give her everything she needs, and she’ll calm down.

She’s slowing down with the nesting. She’s flushed bright pink, and her hair has come undone. She looks tired. There are dark circles under her eyes.

“I can’t make it any better,” she says, soft and sad, and lies down on her side, resting her head on her upper arm. Her hand is over the edge of the nest. So close to where I wait.

I roll to my side and wriggle closer, mirroring her position. Her hand is near enough to stroke my belly now if she’d just lift it. I whine to encourage her. She looks at me with bleary eyes.

“You’re not going to go away, are you?” she asks.

Never. At least, not without her. We’re mates. She’s safe now. Whatever is frightening her, I’ll kill. If I can’t, I know places where we’ll never be found. We’re going to be a family.

I don’t know much about how it works—I was so young when I lost my sire and dam—but I remember a crackling fire and thick venison steaks sizzling on the grilling grate, my sire in his fur, pretending to snatch one away, and my dam giggling. I can figure out how to make that for Annie. I can’t wait.

I scooch forward until my stomach brushes the tips of her fingers. She sighs, but thank Fate, she takes the hint and pets my belly. Her touch is hesitant. I can barely feel it through my fur, but still, it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt. My blood surges through my veins, dosing me with adrenaline. If I were in my human skin, I’d have her on her knees and be sinking into her now.

“Can you be quick?” she asks.

I don’t think I’ll have any choice in the matter. Lelia taught me tricks to last long enough to please her, but I don’t see them working with Annie. I’m too excited. Annie is mine to keep. I won’t be alone anymore. I’ve wanted this my entire life. I’ll be lucky if I last three strokes.

I bend my neck so I can nuzzle her fingers with my nose.

“When it’s done, you’ll go. It’ll be over.” She sounds so hopeless.

Why does she worry that I’ll leave her here? Can’t she feel that this is real? We’ll both go together. This is just the beginning.

I roll all the way onto my back so she understands that between us, she ranks. She doesn’t need to worry. Whatever is wrong, I can fix. I can do anything for her.

Her fingers graze my sternum, hesitating at a clump of fur caked with dried goose blood. She must realize what she’s touched because she grimaces and snatches her hand away. My wolf whines.

“Will you bathe first? Please?”

Yes. Of course. Females like their males clean. I know this. I clamber to my feet. She startles. Her fear scent thickens. Even though I hate leaving her even for a few minutes, it’s good that the air will have time to clear by the time I get back. I really can’t wait until we’re bonded, so she stops going skunk on me.

My wolf races to the bank and flings himself into the rushing stream. The frigid water sharpens my mind. When I shift to human, I’m going to have to be quick. Rut is riding me, but I’m strong enough to hold it back and fuck her with care. I have to be. She’s already so skittish.

I paddle in a few circles, letting the current rinse my pelt. I’m about as dirty as I’ve ever been. I mudded myself up real good before I crossed into Quarry Pack territory to hide my scent, and I haven’t bathed since. I’ll be keeping my fur squeaky clean from here on out, though. I want her to stroke me with those clever fingers all the time. All over.

My wolf’s dick swells, which is impressive, considering that there’s already a film of ice at the river’s edge.

I need to do this before I lose the ability to control myself.

I paddle for shore, scramble out, and give myself a good, hardy shake. I’m only a few yards downstream, and I can see Annie’s nest, but with the incline, I can’t see her. She’s buried in the middle of a huge leaf pile. I trot back, careful to keep my pace nice and slow. I make lots of noise so she can’t possibly be startled again.

And then her scent hits me. It straight up punches me in the face. Full-blown heat. Spicy and yeasty and musky like a pussy that hasn’t been washed in a while. Delicious. My wolf’s throat rumbles. He yearns to taste her. Desperately.

I don’t want to let him get near her like this, but I need to see the lay of the land before I shift, and very possibly, tumble into rut. I let him creep closer and lift himself onto his hindquarters to peer over the wall of leaves.

Fuck.

She’s naked.

Mostly.

Her skirt and panties are gone. She’s got her shirt on, but it’s unbuttoned and hanging open. She’s sitting up with her butt propped on her heels. Her belly and thighs are flushed. She has a dark, wiry bush, and along her slit, the curls are wet and matted from her slick.

My wolf growls. I muscle him down, reminding him of his limits. I am not like some in the pack. I rule him. He snuffs down the deepest breath he can manage. She still smells like fear, but the scent is overpowered by the rich tang of her wet pussy. She’s getting herself ready to take my knot.

This is the best thing that’s ever happened in my entire life.

My mate is the most beautiful female in the world.

I am the luckiest male.

A little pink tongue peeks out from the top of her slit like the meat of a clam. I can’t tear my eyes away. My mouth waters.

She’s making a strange sound, a low, hungry moan. I have to do this now.

Please, Fate, don’t let me fuck this up.

I screw my eyes shut and become a man. Instantly, I recognize that my body is different. I’m bigger, swollen with muscle all over. Even my cock is thicker.

I feel like I’ve stepped out of a lake. That kind of unfamiliar heaviness. I shake out my arms and draw down a deep breath.

There’s no need to freak out. I’m fine. It’s normal. Mated males fill out. Max said he gained twenty pounds of muscle and an inch in girth overnight when he caught Elspeth.

I step forward and trip on a clump of leaves. Annie cries out.

Shit. My feet are bigger, too.

I steady myself on her shoulder. She cowers, ducking away, her neck bent so far that her chin is tucked to her chest. My wolf rumbles in my chest to reassure her, but instead of consoling her, it freaks her out even more. She wraps her arms tightly around herself and whimpers.

“It won’t hurt much,” I tell her, my wolf raspy in my throat. I pray that’s true. If she cries in pain, I’ll puke. I can hardly bear the scent of her fear with my human nose. My wolf doesn’t like it, but he also kind of takes her fear as his due. He’s huge, and he’s got really sharp fangs. Fear is a natural response from a smaller wolf.

But my mate shouldn’t be afraid around me. I’m not weak. I can protect her. And she must know I don’t want to hurt her. “Don’t cry, okay?” I say.

She moans louder.

“I’ll be quick.” It’s the best I can promise, but again, it doesn’t soothe her. She rocks, curling her shoulders forward as if to protect herself.

I don’t know what to do. I crouch, my cock pointing due north like a flagpole. I still tower over her, but I can’t make myself smaller, not in any way that’d make a difference.

I show her my throat, angling my gaze toward her knees. They’re pretty. I don’t know why. They’re smooth and round, but really no different than most female’s knees. But still. I like the look of them.

We sit in silence for a long time while the sun fades and the breeze grows brisker, picking off leaves from the top of the pile and flicking them along the ground. Every so often, I sneak a glance at her face. She’s lovely, but she’s also bright red. Like a beefsteak tomato. Her eyes are vague and wild, like she’s eaten full moon mushrooms.

Finally, her breathing speeds and shallows, and the pitch of her whine changes, dropping deeper with more of her wolf coming through. Her rocking becomes less frantic, more intentional. She grinds her pussy against her heel.

“Let me make you feel better,” I say, careful to keep my voice calm and even. My wolf is smart enough to keep his trap shut. The last thing either of us wants is to frighten her now.

She groans, and finally—finally—she reaches for me. She falls forward, her small hands landing on my chest. She doesn’t weigh much, average for a female, I guess, but nothing a male my size can’t handle. I press her hand to my heart. It’s warm. And perfect.

She whimpers and blood rushes to my cock.

“Please,” she whines.

I help her turn and settle herself on her forearms, and without me saying anything, she lifts her ass into the air and sidles her knees apart.

Fuck.

I can see everything now.

Her pussy is watermelon pink, and the inner flaps are kind of frilled like a tulip bud. Her slick is the dew. Her little clit is popped from its hood, swollen and shiny. It even looks needy.

She works her knees further apart and arches her back, moaning low in her throat, urging me on. I shuffle forward on my knees.

Her hole is really small, and when I spread her lips with my fingers, I see it’s not fully open. It’s kind of divided by a thin strip of skin. That’s got to be her maidenhead. Why the hell do they call it a head? It’s more like a seal.

What am I going to do with it?

I stroke her ass and rumble while I consider my next move. I don’t want her to feel neglected or worried that I don’t know what to do. Neither Lelia nor Diantha were virgins when they invited me to bed down with them. What do I know about maidenheads? They’ve got a dumb name. That’s it.

If it were me, I’d want it gone quickly. Rip the bandage right off. But I’m male, and I’m not skittish like Annie. Whatever I do, I better give her fair warning.

She raises her hips and rocks into my hand, growling her impatience. Yeah. Her heat is on her. She’s ready.

I trail my fingers along her folds. I don’t need to spread her slick around. She’s already soaked. I slip my index finger into her hole and watch as the strip of flesh stretches to accommodate me. She snarls and bucks, trying to fuck herself with my finger. She likes it. Good, good.

My heart thuds in my chest. I’m fucking terrified. I can’t afford to hurt her too much. Not when she doesn’t know yet that I can care for her. She could decide she only wants me for heat, and that’d kill me.

I stroke her curving spine with my free hand. I can feel each vertebra. She’s so delicate. Definitely like a young doe, gentle and wary and sweet.

Regret claws at my heart. Her bare knees are in the dirt, and when she comes back to her senses, they’ll probably be rubbed raw from digging into the hard ground with only a layer of dried leaves for a cushion. She’ll be angry, and she’ll have every right to be. I’m the one who chose to wait here for her to go into heat. I should have taken her home to the dens.

“I have quilts at home,” I murmur as I work her with my finger. “A half dozen of them at least, and a snug den with a good pallet, and a nice oak barrel for bathing.”

She groans, grinding against my hand. I slip another finger inside her. She’s slippery and spongy, and I want to feel her gripping my cock so fucking bad, but the maidenhead has to be dealt with first, and I haven’t figured it out yet.

“Do you like elk?” I ask her, finding her little swollen pearl and circling it with my thumb. “We’ve got a herd up by the camp. I’ll bring you a nice fat cow.”

She moans, and her thighs quiver. She’s about to come. I hope she forgives me for what I’ve got to do next.

“You won’t even have to skin it. I’ll do everything,” I promise her. “This next part might hurt, but don’t be scared. It’ll be quick.” I give her time to complain, but she only grinds harder, so I slide another finger into her and scissor them, breaking that thin band of flesh.

She shrieks, bucking her hips, and then she groans again, loud and long, as her pussy squeezes my fingers. She’s coming. Holy shit. My chest lightens. I’m doing okay.

“You’re so pretty. Be easy.” I hush her, running my palms down her back. Her skin is as soft as a baby rabbit’s belly. I grab her waist and line my cock up with her plump, rosy slit. “I’m going to fuck you now,” I warn her, giving her another second in case she wants to tell me to wait.

Thank Fate, she drops her head to the ground, raises her hips, and says, “Do it.”

My heart soars. I sink into her, and it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt. I wish I could stop time and live here, in this moment, with my mate’s pussy gripping my cock as the power of her wolf’s growls makes her ass vibrate against my thighs.

This isn’t for me, though. This is so that she knows I can give her what she needs. I focus. I want to feel her come again.

Her channel doesn’t give easy and strangles my cock. If she weren’t so wet, I’d have to fight to get inside.

“So sweet,” I mumble, doing everything I can to keep myself from shooting my seed inside her. I tense my abs and clench my ass and think about Max’s gray pubes and his limp, saggy dick while he squats at the fire to stir the embers. Still, the base of my spine begins to tingle.

No. It’s too soon.

That dead moose we found floating in the pond.

Spoiled milk.

Latrine duty.

“Shit. I’m going to come, Annie.” No. Scratch that. I’m already coming. My cum explodes from my cock with so much force behind it that if my knot weren’t already swelling, I would’ve unseated myself. As it is, my knot swells with blood so quickly that I get a head rush.

Annie grows very, very still. We’re in a weird position. I’m bent over her, propping myself up on one hand so I don’t put weight on her. I don’t know what to do with my other hand.

I clear my throat. “Are you, uh, are you comfortable?”

She doesn’t answer. She’s trembling. Shit. She’s probably freezing cold, naked and sweaty outside in the middle of November.

I can do better than this. “I’m going to sit us up, okay?”

Again, she doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t protest when I wrap an arm around her waist and lift her as I sit back on my heels. She’s cradled on my lap now. Well, it’s more like she’s stuck to my lap, nailed in place by my dick, but at least she’s upright, and I can wrap my arms around her.

She’s stiff as a board, and she’s shaking so hard her teeth clatter. I lean us both to the side so I can pluck her shirt from the scattered leaves. As soon as it’s in reach, she snatches it from my hand.

I try to help her out by leaning back so she can get it on, but with the knot fusing us together, I can only give her so much room. She elbows me in the kidney as she shoves an arm into a sleeve.

I grunt, and she freezes. The insides of her thighs quiver helplessly against the outsides of mine like her muscles are about to give out. She’s exhausted.

She needs water. Why didn’t I bring any? I’m an idiot.

I rest my chin on her shoulder and rumble in her ear, breathing through my mouth so the fresh burst of her fear scent isn’t quite as bad.

“Everything will be okay,” I promise her. “The knot will go down soon, and I’ll get you something to drink, and then we’ll go to my den. You can sleep as long as you want, and I’ll throw a few elk steaks on the fire, and you can take all the time you want to make your nest.”

She doesn’t react. She just shakes, fear rolling off her in waves.

How do I make it stop?

“I know where I can get chocolate.” It’ll cost me, but Diantha has a stash, and she’ll probably trade me for a nice shank steak. I hope I can get an elk so late in the season. The more I run my mouth, the more I’ve got riding on this bull I haven’t even bagged yet.

Annie doesn’t answer. She must be worn out. I stop running my mouth and focus on holding her and soaking in the amazing feeling of my knot pulsing against her warm, spongy walls.

As time ticks by, I become aware of the bond in my chest. It’s a strange sensation that burns more than I thought it would, but I probably just need to get accustomed to it. Max never mentions his. He doesn’t seem to notice it at all except when he wants to check and make sure that Elspeth is close to the dens. Then, he’ll give it a yank and grunt when he’s reassured that she’s where she always is.

I can’t wait to take Annie home and fuck her again when there aren’t so many worries buzzing around in my brain. If her wolf has enough stamina, we can make it to the camp by tomorrow evening, and we can do this as many times as we want, in a warm, safe nest. Inside.

I’ll feed her, and I’ll show her off to the worthy males, and I’ll find some excuse to fight a few of the unworthy ones, so she knows that I’m the strongest in the pack.

Maybe there is a pup taking root in her now. Warmth spreads through my chest. I don’t care that I’m kneeling in the dirt far from home, freezing cold and baring my naked ass to anyone in Quarry Pack who happens along. This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

Too soon, my knot slips free. Cooling seed seeps out of Annie’s pussy and drips onto my thighs. I sigh. I don’t want to let her go, but we need to go.

I open my mouth to say so.

She heaves herself away from me, scrabbles onto her back, and crab crawls out of the nest, scattering leaves in her wake.

“Get away from me!” she shouts, staggering to her feet.

I keep very still, painfully aware of my size and how wild my long hair and beard must look after so long in my fur. I must look frighteningly different from the Quarry Pack males with my tattoos and wolf-tipped ears and canines. I’d smooth them into human ears and teeth, but I’ve never bothered to before, and it’s too late in this moment to figure it out now.

Her scent has taken on an acrid note, and her eyes are wild, the pupils hardly even pinpricks. I slowly raise my hands in the air.

“Stay away.” She raises her palms to fend me off, even though I’m standing stock-still. She glances wildly over her shoulder at the river. “Don’t come any closer.”

Her gaze careens left and right. She’s searching for the best way out. She’s going to run. The intention blares through the bond.

“Don’t run,” I warn her. If she runs, my wolf will take our body and chase her. Normally, I could keep him reined in, no problem, but the mating exhausted me too, and honestly, it’s a fifty-fifty chance whether I could stop him from taking our skin. I don’t want to know what Annie will smell like if my wolf runs her to ground.

Shit. Is that the burning feeling in the bond? Her fear? I need to make it stop.

“My wolf won’t hurt you,” I tell her, just in case it comes down to it, and she does bolt, and my wolf goes after her. He’ll tackle her, and he might bite her to hold her still, but he won’t maul her or anything. “I won’t either,” I add.

She should know that, but clearly, she doesn’t. She’s acting like she’s been attacked.

“Get away from me! Now!” Her voice is stronger than I’ve heard it yet.

I rise to my feet and take a small step backward. I’m not going anywhere, but I need her to breathe. My wolf is working himself up into a lather, priming himself to attack whatever’s frightening our mate, and it doesn’t even occur to him that it’s me.

“Annie, please. Calm down.”

She bolts, breaking right. My wolf surges forward to take our skin. I race to intercept her, and at the same time, I wrestle the wolf back, somehow navigating through inner and outer space in the same split second.

My head spins as my arms wrap around my mate. Her heel cracks against my shinbone. Her arms turn into windmills. She’s silent as the grave while her fists and elbows drive into my shoulders and side and chest, anywhere she can land a blow. The back of her skull clunks against my jaw. I grunt. I can’t stop her without hurting her. I have to let her go.

I drop her as gently as I can, but she’s fighting so hard, she staggers and falls on her butt. I immediately sink to my knees and reach out my hands. Gasping in terror, she crawls from me. On all fours. In her human form. She’s only got her shirt on. Her dirt-caked knees are cut. They’re bleeding.

“Please stop,” I beg. “What are you doing?”

In her panic, she’s heading toward the river bank. Is she going to jump? Am I such a terrible mate that she would risk death to escape me?

“What’s wrong?” If she’d only explain, I could fix it.

“You’re wrong,” she cries, scrambling to her feet. “This is wrong.” She waves her hands wildly between us. “I don’t want this. Why won’t you go away? Just leave me alone. You got what you wanted.”

No, I didn’t. I don’t want a mate who stinks like fear and crawls away from me like I’m a monster.

I want a mate. A family. What other males have. What everyone wants.

For the first time in these long, wretched weeks since I scented my mate on the wind, I let my temper flare. She’s acting like I’m unworthy. Feral. Like I took her without care.

“You presented. You said ‘do it.’” I heard her clear as day. She can’t deny it.

She tugs her shirt tightly around herself. Her knees are knocking. “We had to get it over with, and we did. You can go now.”

“We are mates.”

She understands what that means. Even Quarry Pack males—with their pulley machines that they work at for hours and make nothing, their constant sparring, and their hoisting weights for no reason, over and over while they admire each other—even they haven’t ventured so far from their roots that they don’t bond with their fated female. Why does she say I can go? She knows I can’t.

“You come with me.” I reach out my hand again. “We’ll go to our den now.” I try to make my voice ring with authority like Max does when us younger males get out of line, but I only manage to snarl and scare her more.

I hate her fear stench. It accuses me, and I did nothing to her that I didn’t have to do.

“N-no.” She whips her head back and forth. Her breath comes harder. She’s almost wheezing, her lungs working like she’s run a mile. “D-don’t c-come any closer. Don’t t-touch me.”

I take one step closer. That’s all. I’m still six feet away, at least, but I might as well have lunged for her.

She shifts.

And it’s carnage.

Her human body basically pitches her wolf out of her skin, and it’s all wrong. Her wolf thrashes into being, bones cracking, tendons snapping, and muscles tearing. The shift goes on forever.

I reach for her, but there’s nothing I can do to help, no part of her I can hold as her body rips itself to pieces, so my hands hover in the air, useless. My wolf gapes in horror as our mate seizes and writhes on the ground while her animal stitches herself together.

My gorge rises. It’s a scene from a nightmare.

I know the lost packs have forgotten how to shift the right way, but I’ve never seen them do it up close. It’s torture. Annie’s screams morph into her wolf’s agonized howls, and I’m powerless to help. I sink to my knees again, pounding my chest so that my wolf will rumble louder. It’s all the comfort I can offer.

How can they do this to themselves? This must be why they spend so much time in their skin. To avoid this agony.

Finally, after what feels like an entire minute, her wolf staggers to her wobbling feet. Despite the horror, my heart warms. She’s lovely, just as pretty as her human self, slender and shiny with a white topcoat, a light gray underbelly, and light gray socks. I can’t make out her eye color. They’re narrowed into slits.

“Welcome, beautiful,” I say softly, offering her my fingers to sniff.

Her lips peel back.

She comes for me.

She launches herself at my neck, claws unsheathed, an unholy howl rising from her chest. She’s coming for blood.

I snatch her from mid-air, pinning her forelegs to her sides, holding her away from my face to avoid her gnashing fangs. If I was a slower male, she’d have ripped my throat out. She still will if I let her go.

She hates me.

“What did I do?” I ask and shake her, just a little, just to calm her down.

Her wolf bucks and flails. The whites of her rolling eyes flash. Her teeth snap.

“Is there a male of your own pack that you want? Is that it?” I’ll kill him. He doesn’t deserve her. She lives in fear. No worthy male would allow it.

She struggles, all claws and teeth, fighting with every ounce of her strength while I try to keep her from hurting either of us.

It can’t be another male. She was so afraid of me, if she had another male, she would have certainly gone to him.

She doesn’t want someone else. She just doesn’t want me.

Because she believes what her people say about us?

Of course. She must. And because I’ve always been honest with myself, at least, I have to admit that a lot of what her people think is true. We steal their females, and their pups, too, if the females can’t bear to be parted from them. We live as Fate intended, and we don’t do human shit like have an alpha who makes decisions for folks whose brains work perfectly fine.

The lost packs think we’re a step away from feral, but ferals don’t come from the camps. They were all born in packs who live in houses with walls and doors and locks.

Annie’s wolf doesn’t respond to my words. She’s losing energy, but she doesn’t give up and grazes my forearm with her small, sharp canines. I hiss. Fear floods her wolf’s eyes.

My temper roars again. I’ve done nothing to deserve such a look. I’m not unworthy. I’m a good hunter, and I have never harmed a female or pup, nor would I. But she hated me from the first moment she saw me. She never gave me a chance. I didn’t want a female from a lost pack for a mate, but I didn’t try to fight Fate. I courted her, even when she scorned me.

She stunk and cowered, but I didn’t treat her with contempt. Not like she treats me.

“Stop fighting, and I’ll put you down,” I grunt, grappling with her legs, so weak, but somehow as slippery as butter. She struggles harder, lunging at my face.

I can’t bring her home with me. She won’t come willingly.

There will be no family. No fire, no steak, no sweet giggles.

My heart is sick. I can’t bear it. I toss her from me as far as I can. I try to be gentle. She lands in a heap, but she’s on four feet in seconds. She bolts, but she’s disoriented and picks the wrong direction. Almost immediately, she has to skid to a stop at the edge of the river bank.

She scrambles backward and wheels to face me, her crazed gaze darting left and right, searching for a way to escape as if she’s trapped between me and the water. I guess she can’t swim.

My cock shrivels. My mouth tastes like ashes. I disgust her. She thinks I’m nothing but an animal.

She let me mount her even though she didn’t want me. I touched her, and the whole time, she hated it. Hated me.

I’m going to puke.

I take a step back. She whimpers.

Every move I make is a threat. I’ve done nothing to hurt her, nothing that I didn’t have to do, and she looks at me with horror in her eyes.

Everything I never dared to dream of until a few weeks ago—running with my own female under a full moon, cuddling our pups in our warm nest, a family, a real home—it will never happen. She doesn’t want me. This scrawny, cowardly female thinks I’m not good enough.

“Tell me why,” I growl, my voice deeper than it was even minutes ago. I sound like my sire. I haven’t heard his voice in years, but here it is, coming from my mouth.

My mate’s wolf cringes, her thin legs shaking. She tucks her chin. She’s not going to shift and answer me. I’m not even worth her breath.

A spiteful rage rises in me like dust in a whipping wind, burning my eyes. What did I do to deserve this? To be left alone, over and over again?

“You’ve got nothing to say for yourself, do you? What a sad female you are. I don’t want such a pathetic coward for a mate. What would my pack say if I brought you back?” My forced laugh scrapes my throat. “You smell more like food than female. You stink like prey.”

I glare at the small, huddled ball, willing her to show a spark of life, to care, but all she does is quiver. She is food. She’s a cowering mound of jelly.

I scoff at her, that gritty, dusty rage egging me on, drowning out my wolf. He’s whining, urging me to calm her. He doesn’t understand. She’s turned the best moment of our life into something ugly and shameful. She rejected us. She’s made us into the kind of foul, craven male who fucks unwilling females. She’s trampled everything we’ve ever wanted under her foot. She’s ruined our life.

I take a purposeful step toward her. She whines in fear, and I am glad.

“I will pray to Fate that I did not get a whelp on you.” I sneer down at her. “A female like you would make weak, spindly young.”

I stand over her. I want to pick her up and shake her. I want to give her something to be afraid of.

But I don’t. My righteous rage deserts me in a sudden rush, and all I feel is cold and lost and far from home.

I square my shoulders, turn my back, and walk away.

With no pride.

No consolation.

And no mate.