Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
My wolf is captivated. He stalks over to her, careful to move slowly, and kneels with his forelegs to offer his back.
She laughs. “Oh, no. I’m too big for a ride.”
She’s wrong. My wolf is huge. I crouch as low as I can.
“I couldn’t,” she says, but the pups have taken notice, and they think it’s a brilliant idea. They swarm her, yapping, nudging her forward.
My wolf growls a sharp warning, and they give her a little space, but they still splash and yip and yowl and whine, a frenzy of wet fur, slapping tails, and cold, black noses.
My softhearted mate gives in, flushing even pinker as she mutters, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
She clutches the fur at my shoulders, throws her top half across my back, and swings her leg over my flank until she’s riding my wolf like a horse. Her toes dangle below the stream’s surface, but I was right—there’s plenty of room between her feet and the stream bed.
My wolf strides away from the bank, the pups cavorting alongside us, more excited than I’ve ever seen them.
Annie’s nails dig into my thick hide, her knees gripping my sides like a vise, but she doesn’t smell like fear. Her fresh rain smell mixes with wet fur, cold stream, and sunshine. It’s the kind of scent that somehow makes you remember a time before you were born.
My wolf cranes his head to look back at her and accidentally breaks her grip on his scruff, so she loops her arms around his neck and scoots so she can lie flat on her stomach.
Triumph, pride, and anticipation ignite my wolf’s blood. Our mate trusts us. He stalks further into the stream until he can float and paddle lazily in circles. One by one, the pups lose interest, and we lose our escort as they venture off to chase dragonflies and harass crawfish.
Annie’s breasts and belly press against my wolf’s back with every breath she draws. We’re a pack of two. Gradually, she relaxes. She lowers her cheek to rest on his shoulder and trails her fingers in the water, sighing. Her heat radiates through my wolf’s fur. He splashes her legs gently with his tail to cool her off.
We float around and around while the sun rises higher. In the distance, a hammer rings out. Voices carry from a gathering of males nearby planning a scouting run. Over by the curing hut, a ribbon of musky smoke curls into the blue sky. Annie rests her chin on the folded arms she’s propped on my shoulders. If I twist my ears in the right direction, her breath bathes their ragged edges and rustles the white fur inside.
This is happiness. And peace. It’s a soap bubble, lighter than air and rainbow bright.
She idly kicks her feet in the water by my haunches. Her toes brush my hind paws. I wish we could float here in circles forever.
But already, time is moving on. It’s well past midmorning. The females would leave me to watch their young all day, but their males won’t dare leave me saddled with their pups for too long. My wolf’s nose twitches, and he lifts his head, narrowing his eyes at the males scrambling toward us down the slope. Murtagh, Redmond, and Griff come to stand at the edge.
“The pups clean yet, Alpha, or do you need another hour or so?” Redmond calls, grinning.
My wolf snorts.
Murtagh whistles at his pups to come. They immediately dive into the current, so they can pretend they didn’t hear him. My wolf grumbles. It’s easier to catch a bird with human hands than a pup when it’s time to get out of the water.
Annie is rousing herself to sit up, but her movements are languid and awkward. My wolf paddles to the shore and lowers himself to his belly so she can climb down safely. She still stumbles before she finds her footing. Her heat is coming on quickly now. I need to get her to the den.
I leave her for a second to shift and snag my pants before one of the males sees them and tosses them into the stream.
“Sit and rest,” I tell her when I come back. She’s trying to coax the pups out of the water, standing at the edge on wobbly legs. Her face is rosy red.
She isn’t behaving like other females entering their heat. She isn’t shooting me sidelong glances, and her wolf is silent in her chest. She sure as hell isn’t grabbing my hand and dragging me away like Elspeth has been known to do with Max.
She’s not running from me, though, and she doesn’t smell like fear. In fact, she ignored my order to sit and waded back into the water to scoop out a wriggling, splashing Auggie. She tucks him in the crook of her arm and whispers in his ear. His tail starts wagging, and he licks her cheek. She smiles and hands him over to Murtagh.
“What did you say to him?” I ask her.
“To be good, and we’ll play later.”
I want that. With every fiber of my being. I want to take my mate to our den. I want us to lose ourselves in each other, and in a day or two or three, when her heat breaks, I want to walk my rounds with her, feed her breakfast, play with the pups, and then watch her while I work, counting the hours until I can take her to our den again.
I want to do it every day while her belly grows round with our young, until the pup we play with is our own, until we’re too old to work and walk, and we spend our days instead together by the fire, talking for hours about nothing, happy because we’re not alone and never will be again, not in this life, not in the next.
And I promised her that I’d take her home.
I swore.
The males lead the pups back toward the sycamore, and when the last straggler is gone, I offer Annie my hand. She takes it.
“Should we go to the den?” I ask.
She glances down, her cheeks flaming.
“Okay,” she says. Her voice trembles, but her steps are sure as we climb the grassy slope.
It feels like everything I’ve ever wanted.
It feels like the end of the world.
14
ANNIE
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.