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

It doesn’t feel exactly like last time. I’m hot. My clothes, my skin, the breeze, the lack of breeze, the brightness of the light—all of it irritates the hell out of me, but this time, the pecking voice doesn’t have much to say, and I’m not shivering.

Last time, I remember shaking so hard that my teeth chattered, but I feel more tipsy than feverish this time. How much of the shaking was heat, and how much was fear?

I’m not afraid now. Nervous, yes. Trying desperately not to think about what happens next, absolutely—but I’m not scared.

This is Justus. He leads me through camp toward the dens, as confident and unhurried as always, with a measured word for anyone who speaks to him. His palm is as sweaty as mine, though.

It’s strange. Justus is nothing like Killian, but he’s every bit an alpha, albeit in his own way. At both Quarry Pack and here, males straighten when their alpha walks past, but at Quarry Pack, males stiffen their spines, and here, the males puff their chests.

At Quarry Pack, until Una, unmated females would do anything for Killian’s attention—tight tops, short skirts, dropping things and picking them up by folding over at the waist. Here, females are just as demanding, but they want Justus to taste their cooking or side with them in an argument or lift something heavy, and the males are just as likely to jockey for his attention.

I trust Killian not to hurt me, but I’ve never been comfortable around him, not even for a second. With Justus, I can forget for whole minutes at a time that he’s a powerful male who could kill me in a single blow.

I am going to let this male mount me. It’s going to happen. And it might be awkward and uncomfortable, but it’ll be okay.

I clutch his hand tighter, and he glances at me, the corners of his mouth sneaking up. He’s pleased that I’m clinging, but he doesn’t want to let on. Another way he’s different than the males back home. I’ve never known so strong a male to be so reserved. I like that about him.

I like everything about him. He’s the most handsome male I’ve ever seen. I feel like his hair and beard are so wild to cut the sweetness of his deep brown eyes. The same with his build—his body is so hard to counteract the softness of his lips.

I want to kiss them.

Because I’m in heat, but also because I want to know what it would be like. How would he look at me afterward? I bet he’d be dazed.

I want him to be dazed.

Justus stops our progress at the bonfire to fetch a bucket of water, and Tarquin gives him a wrapped bundle that smells like smoked meat and dried fruit. Provisions for my heat.

If my face got any hotter, it would burst into flames. Tarquin knows. I scan the folks nearby. Everyone is deliberately going about their business, very careful not to look at us, except for when they dart curious, surreptitious glances our way. I catch Mabli’s eye by accident, and she gives me a thumbs up.

She knows, too. They all do. I yank Justus’s hand, tugging him toward the trail to the dens. He tries to smother a grin and fails. Does he think I’m impatient to mate? Oh, no. I whine, embarrassed and anxious, and my wolf chimes in with her own yip of complaint about his unimpressive lack of urgency.

That’s it. I’m going to self-combust.

“Want to race to the den?” he asks me in a low, laughing voice.

“No!” I hiss.

“I’ll give you a head start.” He winks.

A wave of slick gushes from me. I’m not wearing underwear. Am I soaking my pants? Justus’s light tan pants?

I drop Justus’s hand, clamp my thighs together, and duck walk to the trailhead like my tail is on fire. Somehow reading my mind, he falls in behind me, blocking the packs’ view of my wet butt as I scurry up to his den. Are they thinking I can’t wait to get on all fours for him?

Why does all of this have to be so undignified?

I’m so flustered by the time we reach the top that I don’t know what to do with myself. I lean against the cedar next to Justus’s reading chair, gasping for breath and raising my hot face, desperate to catch a breeze. The sweet scent of resin and pine mixes with Justus’s earthiness as he comes to stand beside me.

“You okay, Scout?” he asks.

I close my eyes and drop my head back. It thumps against the trunk. My stomach swirls, and my heart pounds. My body is running away with me, and I’ve lost my hold on the reins.

Justus’s wolf rumbles. The wolf has never let anything bad happen to me.

And the man? I was left hurt, but did he hurt me?

The past is there. It never goes away.

If I were brave enough, I would crack my memory open and call to mind a much younger Justus. A much, much younger me.

I’d recall how he tried to impress me—or reassure me—by bragging about the quilts he had at home, and his den, and the barrel he had for bathing. I open my eyes, searching for his. They’re already on my face.

“The first time we mated, you said you’d bring me an elk.”

He nods, clearly thrown that I’m bringing it up now, but willing to go along with me. I’ve never met a more patient male.

“I did,” he says. “And I delivered, didn’t I?” He flashes a grin, and it’s wry, but there’s pride in it still.

“You said you’d bring me a cow.” The memories are tumbling out of their box now. Justus’s hands stroking my ass. His fingers inside me. How careful he tried to be, and how futile that was.

“Did I? I still owe you then.” He steps closer to me, reaching for my hands, placing them on his chest. It’s rising and falling as fast as mine.

“You called me pretty.”

His brown eyes crinkle, and he smiles, like I’ve told him something nice. “You have always been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says.

I wasn’t searching for compliments—I don’t do that—but he’s given me one anyway, and I don’t know what to do with it. It feels like I’ve got an egg cupped in my hands with no shelf or surface where I can put it down.

For lack of a better idea, I pass it back. “I think you’re pretty, too,” I say, flushing immediately.

Pretty? I couldn’t have said—

He kisses me. Bends over, braces his hand on the trunk above my shoulder, and steals my breath.

His lips are firm and certain. The bond sparks to life.

He wants this, and he’s not shy. He’s not asking, he’s telling me that we’re doing this, and it’ll be fine, better than fine. I’m beautiful in his eyes, and he’s been waiting. He’d wait longer, but is that really what I want?

I should trust him.

I should trust myself—the evidence of my eyes, my experience. He is a good male. Safe. Such a thing does exist, and it’s here, in my arms.

He tugs my lower lip with the very tips of his teeth. I gasp. His tongue slips inside my mouth, searching, coaxing. He wants me to seek him out, too, because even though he’s bigger and stronger, he wants to belong to me. He wants me to slide my tongue past his lips. Past the points of his incisors.

He wants me to want him back so bad that I dare, so I do. He groans. His wolf rumbles. I melt. He cups my nape, stroking the pulse throbbing in my neck with his rough thumb. My knees wobble. My thighs tremble.

What are we doing out here?

I wrest my head away from his grasp and scan the sky. It’s too wide open.

My wolf grumbles in agreement. There are too many smells out here, and despite our high vantage point, too much territory to defend.

“Come on,” I tell Justus, striding for the den. I don’t bother grabbing his hand. He’ll follow.

I duck into the den and take a deep breath. This is exactly right. There is the apple crate of books, the rag rug that smells like pack, the pallet that will make a fine nest.

Nothing in here smells like a place where I’ve been afraid, and besides, I have a good, strong mate. He won’t let anything get to me.

I go to the willow basket and unpack the sheets and blankets and clean but threadbare clothes that my mate has worn all these years when we were apart. Why was that again? I can’t remember now. My brain isn’t working right.

All of a sudden, my certainty flees. My eyes blur with tears.

“What’s wrong, Annie?” Justus asks from the entranceway. He’s lingering there, waiting to be invited, as he should.

“You left me. Where were you?” I face him, clutching a patchwork quilt to my chest.

His face falls, and he steps forward. My wolf snarls in my throat. He has not been invited. The nest is not ready.

He curls his hands into fists, and for a moment, he seems to fight himself, and I’m not sure who won, but his moment of inner turmoil ends when he falls to his knees. “Never too far away, Annie. At least not for long. I couldn’t leave you. I always came back. You’re here.” He beats his chest once, twice.

My heart twists. I don’t want him to hurt, and even though I don’t remember how, exactly, I know it was my doing, too. Or it was the work of an evil neither of us were old nor wise enough to fight.

Yes, that’s what happened. “We’re safe now,” I tell him.

“Yes,” he softly agrees, sitting back on his heels. The tension ebbs from his broad shoulders, his fierce jaw. “I won’t hurt you. Nothing will hurt you.”

Lies.

“Oh, stuff it,” I snap at the voice, turning to my work. She’s not needed right now.

I prop my hands on my hips and survey the pallet. It’s all wrong. There’s no help for it. I’ll have to start fresh.

I sink to my knees, strip the bed, and pile the linens to the side. I saw a blanket that would make a good foundation, a fuzzy, soft one with a silky hem. I grab it from the stack and bury my nose in it. Yes, this is perfect.

I shake it out over the pallet, lay it flat, and tuck the corners under, humming to myself. Then comes the hard part. The arranging. I fold and fluff and fuss and change, and it’s daunting, like a puzzle with no picture on the box for reference, but it’s also deeply, deeply satisfying.

Everything is falling into place.

My mate watches me make our nest, fascinated and proud. His muscles twitch with anticipation, but he’ll wait until I’m ready. This is how it’s supposed to be. He guards me as I work. His strength and the wolf inside him are mine.

I’m not small and weak and alone. I’m a female, where I’m supposed to be, doing what I was made to do.

I punch a pillow and prop it in place. There. Done. I turn to Justus, smile, and reach out for him.

For a second, he stares at my hand, his brown eyes dark and wide. Poor male. I bend at the waist so I can snag his wrist and pull him to the nest. I know he’s not rejecting me. He’s just overcome. I understand.

I can hear his heartbeat in my ear. Our blood rushes along in our veins at the exact same speed.

My yank gets him moving, and he climbs into my nest with the enthusiasm and grace of a moon-drunk wolf. He manages to undo everything.

My wolf growls, and a little too late, he notices there’s a system of organization. He settles himself in the middle of the nest and gives me a rueful smile. “Sorry about that.”

I shake my head. “Now I have to do it all over again. Stay there. Don’t move.”

He hangs his head, but he’s still smiling as I replace pillows and rearrange sheets. It’s much more difficult with a huge male plopped right in the middle.

Finally, after a few more tugs to make sure my tucks will hold, I sit back and sigh. Perfect again.

And then I see the pillow. Justus is holding it in his lap. It’s supposed to be at the head of the pallet by the apple crate. I frown.

He grins.

He did it on purpose.

I growl.

His wolf growls back deeper, stirring a strange excitement deep inside me.

Unacceptable. I dart forward on my hands and knees to snatch the pillow back, but he holds on tight, and I tip forward and smack into him.

I jerk the pillow, but his grip is too tight. “It’s not funny,” I say.

He laughs low. “Say please.”

My breasts are crushed against his hard chest, and our arms tangle in the narrow space between our bellies. Our legs are a jumble. I struggle for the pillow, but for some reason, my muscles are the kind of weak you get from laughing.

“Give it back,” I pant.

He wrangles the hand holding the pillow free and raises it high over his head. “What will you trade me for it?” he asks. His brown eyes sparkle.

I climb full on top of him, bracing one knee on each thigh, and rise up until we’re face to face. My bare forearm presses against his as I strain to reach. My skin is soft against his hard muscle. Our wrists touch, pulse to pulse.

His pupils blow, and I can make out my reflection in the shine of the black.

“Ask me for it,” he teases, smirking, testing me. He’s not in charge here. This is my nest. I allow him here.

I let my hand fall and turn my head away.

He snarls. He doesn’t like that.

I drop back so I’m sitting on the pallet, lift my chin, and fold my arms. His wolf rumbles unhappily. He shouldn’t have let his man mess with my nest.

He dips his head and looks up at me from his lowered eyes, a wolf playing at a lamb. “I’m sorry, Annie. Here it is.”

He holds the pillow out.

It’s a trap.

Of course it’s a trap. I reach for it anyway. As soon as I grab the pillow, he yanks and falls to his back, dragging me with him. I tumble on top of him. He quickly nips the pillow from my grasp, tucks it behind his head, and grins up at me.

I push up on his chest, struggling upright until I’m straddling his waist. He crosses his arms behind his head.

I lean forward and try to pull the pillow free, but his head is too heavy.

“Just ask nicely, Annie.” There’s a new note in his voice, a gravelly depth that has nothing to do with his wolf.

I prop myself on his folded biceps. They’re hard and velvet and flexing under my palms. He’s doing that on purpose.

I stare down into his face. He winks.

I curl my fingers around the bunched muscle. They’re at least twice, maybe three times, too big for me to wrap my hands around. All of him is huge. My thighs are stretched to aching from sitting on top of him.

He could crush you.

But I’m on top, and he’s lying so patiently underneath me, even as his cock throbs against the seam of my pants. He’s huge there, too. And insistent.

I sit tall and gaze down at the smirk half-hidden by his beard and the need swirling in his dark eyes.

I squeeze my thighs together, just a bit. The need swirls brighter. My lips are curving now.

“Annie,” he groans.

“Ask nicely,” I whisper. I don’t know where my boldness is coming from, but it somehow feels familiar, like this is who I am, too, underneath it all.

“Please, Annie.” He cranes his neck to stare at where I’m straddling him.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper.

This time, when he groans, there is plenty of wolf in it. “Come here. Lie back down.”

He takes my forearms and draws me forward. I lean over until we’re nose to nose. My hair falls in his face. His palms smooth down my sides to rest at my waist.

“Does this feel good?” he asks as he flexes his hips.

I gasp. My eyelids drift closed as all my attention refocuses on the pressure and heat between my legs.

He does it again.

I whimper.

“It feels so good to me,” he says quietly, his lips brushing mine as he speaks.

He pulses his hips, and every time, it feels better and better, until I feel my own hips rocking to meet his thrusts. His grip on my waist tightens, his fingertips pressing into the swell of my bottom. My toes curl.

“Open your eyes,” he whispers.

I don’t hesitate to do what he asks. He knows what he’s doing, and he’s on my side. He wants this, too. I blink, meeting his smoldering gaze. He wants it as badly as I do.

I grind harder, but what I need is just out of reach. “What do I do?” I pant. If I were alone in my bedroom, I’d touch myself to get there, but he’s here, and my brain is fuzzy as hell, but I’m not so far gone that I’d shove my hands down my pants with him watching.

“Trust me?” He’s panting too.

“Yes,” I gasp.

He slides a hand between us so he’s cupping my butt with his thumb pressing right over my clit. The fabric dulls the sensation, but it’s still exactly right. My gaze darts from his fingers to his face and back again while my lungs constrict and a knot coils tighter and tighter in my belly.

“Come now,” he growls, and I shatter, throwing my head back, a wolfish howl ripped from my throat.

I’m bathed in the absolute best feeling on earth—better than a warm bath, an electric fan on sweaty skin on a summer night, a mixing bowl with lots of batter left to lick.

I gaze down at Justus in wonder. I’ve made myself come before, but that was nothing like this. This is magic.

“All right, Scout?” His eyes twinkle.

I smile. “Yes. All right.”

He tugs me to his chest again and holds me close, stroking my spine as his wolf rumbles and my heat comes over me again as gently as a blanket.

I am so hot. Why am I still wearing clothes?

I wrestle free from Justus’s hold, peel off my shift, and kick off my pants, toeing them out of the nest.

Yes. I can breathe better now. I stretch my arms over my head and roll out my shoulders.

Justus growls. He’s on his knees, and his pants are gone. Good. I’m ready. It’s time.

He strokes his thick cock as he stares at my breasts.

I cup them and squeeze as my nipples tighten. It aches so, so good.

“Are you showing me your beautiful tits, Annie?” he asks, his voice gruff and scratchy.

I hum, hefting them in my palms so he can see them better. Of course he wants to admire me. I’m his mate.

“I want your mouth,” I whine. What is he waiting for?

He shuffles forward and lowers his head to suckle me, his tongue winding around the aching tip, his beard and sharp teeth scratching and nipping my exquisitely sensitive skin. I whine louder, arching my back. I want more.

He switches his attention to my other breast, and I glance down, admiring the red rash he’s left and the glistening, swollen nub. I thread my fingers through his wild hair, holding him close to the place where our bond flows between us like an electrical current.

This male was made for me. The pressure of his hands, the temperature of his breath, the tension and tremble of his muscles against my skin—it’s all exactly right.

I want him inside me.

I want him to ease this gnawing ache, but also, I want him to come back to me. We belong together. Like thread through a needle. I’m delicate, and he’s sharp, and that’s how we’re made. Exactly how we’re supposed to be. Built for purpose.

“Justus,” I sigh, longing, demanding.

“Yes, Annie. Yes,” he murmurs, low and rough, as he hoists me onto his lap, urging my legs around his waist.

This isn’t the way it’s done. Shouldn’t I present?

“Justus?”

“Trust me,” he shushes, the hot head of his cock already notching at my entrance. He flexes his hips and sinks into me, a groan of pure relief torn from his throat. He fills me so completely that I ache where I take him, but I love it.

I pant through the strain, and he gathers me close as he thrusts, cradling me to his chest, kissing my lips, my brow, my cheeks, the tip of my nose. I start to rock my hips in time.

“You’re so beautiful, Annie,” he rumbles in my ear. “So perfect for me. My Annie. Mine.”

I sigh and ride his bucking hips, his cock stretching me until I feel like a glove made for him.

“Come for me, now,” he growls. “Now, Annie.”

Hot cum floods my womb, and his knot catches and swells, tearing a raw shout from my throat. His fingers find my clit while his fangs sink into my shoulder.

I scream, bucking against him, but I’m caught, so he moves with me, hushing me.

I hover another second on the edge, somehow above myself, watching his strong arms tremble as they wrap around me and listening to his strong heart race as he fights for air. And then, like the world is tipped on its side, I’m knocked over, shattered, coming apart in a million, billion beautiful jagged pieces, and when I land, deliciously boneless, I’m whole again and safe in his arms.

He nuzzles my shoulder, mouthing his bite mark clean, mumbling words I can’t quite make out that sound like promises. Like vows.

I burrow into his chest, tuck my head into the crook of his neck, and murmur back at him. I don’t know what I’m saying, but I know what I mean.

Yes, the wait was too long.

Yes, this is where we belong.

Yes, Fate was right all along.

I wake up sometime in the wee hours, tucked between Justus and the blankets and pillows bunched against the den wall. It’s the same position we slept in on the trip here in the gully under the oak.

It’s toasty warm, but my heat has broken. I’m flat on my back, and I couldn’t roll over or move a muscle if I tried. I’m a limp noodle. I can’t even open my eyes. I orient myself by the smell of earth, the pressure of Justus’s arm around my waist, and the ghosting of his breath on my cheek.

Justus is on his side, facing me.

When he speaks—so very, very quietly that he must think I’m still asleep—his beard tickles my jaw.

“Stay with me,” he whispers. “Please, Annie. Please. Stay with me.”

I’m searching for my words when I slip-slide back into a deep, dark, dreamless sleep.