Filed to story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
On purpose.
He ran a circle around me. In silence. In no time at all.
I’m no match for him.
Scream. Drop. Cover your belly. Cover your head.
I cannot be in this body, on the ground, small and powerless. I reach into myself and fling my wolf into existence.
I’m a quicker shifter than I used to be, but the pain is still searing, and if he wanted, there’s more than enough time for him to rend me to pieces while my bones are knitting back together. The pain and the risk are worth it, though. Anything to not be small and cowering on the ground.
I brace myself for an attack. His hands have fisted, and his arms are drawn back, but he doesn’t lunge for us. His face is darkening, though.
Rage.
“Shift back!” he booms, shaking the buds in the tree above his head.
There is no way on earth.
“Shift back now!”
My wolf plops onto her butt and peers up at him.
“You can’t avoid this,” he says, quieter, through gritted teeth.
My wolf’s nose quivers. He smells like fresh-turned earth, mulling spices, and river water. She wants to wallow in the scent. Lick it. Rub her face in it. The lingering aches and tension from the shift dissolve, and she stretches, arching her back, yawning as big as her jaws will go.
Run. Run!
I add my voice. Run! You idiot, run!
“You will talk to me,” Justus growls. “You’ve had it your way. Time is up. You’re done turning up your nose at me and turning your back.” His words drip with contempt. It’s clear he’s not saying what he really wants to say. The rumble in his chest gives him away. It’s the same sound Quarry Pack males make in the ring when they’re pummeling their opponent’s face.
Why isn’t my wolf scared?
She’s just sitting there, blinking up at him, sniffing the air for traces of his scent.
“I’ve done what you wanted, Annie. Do you think I would choose to come here? You’re a grown female. You can’t speak to your mate?” His voice grows louder and louder. “You owe me this,” he spits. “Shift! Back!”
My wolf licks her chops, trying to taste his scent.
“Are you even listening to me?” he bellows. The question rings through the woods, echoing in the crisp evening air. My wolf is still trying to catch his scent on her tongue until his wolf snarls in his throat.
That does it. My wolf panics, drops to her belly, and scrambles backward until her butt runs smack into a tree trunk. She got about three feet. She trembles and stares up as Justus closes the distance between us.
Run!
Run!
The voice is still trying, but I know my wolf is frozen in place, even more stuck than I would have been. She’s all animal, and she recognizes him as the alpha she needs to placate to get out of this alive.
My wolf and I watch, mesmerized by fear, as the anger seeps from his face, leaving his brown eyes unaccountably sad.
He sinks to his knees, sits on his heels, and sighs. His shoulders drop, and he hangs his head, his beard bunching against his chest. For a long time, he stares at the dirt. My wolf stops shaking, distracted by his silence.
Finally, he lifts his chin to look her in the eyes, and he says, “Annie, I would give anything for you not to be afraid of me. Your fear is the greatest shame of my life.” He straightens, collecting a breath. “But we can’t stay here if you won’t shift. I’m sorry.”
He rises to his feet and scoops her up, too quickly for her to do anything but stiffen into a plank. He tucks her to his chest, his forearm supporting her belly, her rump in the crook of his elbow. She presses her nose to his damp skin.
“I won’t hurt you, sweetling,” he says, his voice bitter and tired.
My wolf nuzzles him with her snout and inhales. All four of her limbs relax and dangle, swinging as he takes off toward the river.
He’s going to drown us. Bite him! Fight!
The voice is fighting her corner alone. My wolf begins to whack Justus’s bicep with her wagging tail as if she can’t even hear it. Maybe she can’t. The elders say the wolf and the man are one, but I can’t imagine ever letting a male carry me like a football.
I should be panicking. He’s heading toward the river, strolling smoothly through the thick brush like it isn’t basically booby-trapped with vines, gnarled roots, and hidden ditches.
I’ve run out of adrenaline, though. I’m oversaturated. And also, for some reason, I can’t stop picturing his sad brown eyes.
He’s nothing like what I know, tattooed and long haired and walking on two legs through the woods as deftly as a wolf, but those eyes are familiar.
They’re very much like the ones I see in the mirror.
6
JUSTUS
She’s sleeping.
My mate is sleeping in my arms.
My anger is soot in my mouth. The bond is a knife stuck in my chest. Yet, somehow, my heart is soaring.
This time, her wolf knew me at once. I was furious and bellowing like an idiot, and she sat her ass down and tried to scent me. Why does she respond to me now when she fought me after we mated?
She was probably traumatized from the pain of that awful first shift, and her head was filled with Annie’s revulsion. No wonder her instincts told her to fight.
I snuggle her closer, summoning a gentle rumble, the one I use with the little pups when they have their moments. I don’t want Annie’s wolf to think I bear her a grudge. She’s too sweet. Her cream underbelly is soft as feathers, and her clean coat shines with health. Even her ears are silky and smooth.
It wasn’t my plan to take her away, but I don’t have an ounce of regret. I’m not prepared, though.
I’m going to need more blankets. And maybe some pretty pillows like Max found for his mate’s den. Annie’s wolf probably won’t like lying on the ground either, even if it is cool. Her fur is so well-kept, she must be fussy about it.
Will she want all those soaps like Max’s mate? Elspeth has a different one for every part of her body, and they create so much suds that Max has to fill two troughs with water when she bathes—one for lathering, the other for rinsing.
I won’t mind fetching water, but I will have to find another oak barrel. I only have the one.
Does Annie’s wolf still have those small fangs, or have they grown?
I reach over, and rumbling louder to keep her lulled, I gently push her lip up with my index finger. Oh, they’re so tiny. I’ve seen rats with longer and sharper teeth.
Can she even hunt with fangs that short? Maybe smaller prey. Rats and such.
I bet she doesn’t know how to hunt. Lost pack males make their females stay back in their camps; we never see them when we track their hunting parties. They probably want to keep them weak and dependent so they don’t run.
I’d run if I was kept in a box and forced to be thankful for what I’m given.
Of course, a female should never have to catch her own meat, but she should also never be in a position where she’s hungry because she was never taught to hunt. It seems like common sense to me. It is common sense if you want your females to have the best chance at survival, but I get the sense it’s more important to the lost packs that they keep their females—not that they keep them alive.
Didn’t Lilliwen say as much? After we took her from the human males who’d stolen her, she wouldn’t eat because she thought we’d expect to mount her in exchange for food like they do in Moon Lake. She said in that pack, low-ranked females have to trade themselves for food if they have no money. When we asked who had the money, she said the high-ranking males. When we asked why they didn’t give the females money for food then, she cried. We stopped asking questions and had Elspeth feed her.
My mate is never going to have to trade anything to eat, but when I teach her to hunt, I’m going to have to catch the critters beforehand and hobble them. Slice an ankle tendon or something. She’ll never catch them otherwise. She has the shortest legs I’ve ever seen on a full-grown female wolf.
I can’t wait to run beside her. I’ll have to trot. She won’t be able to keep up. She’s so low to the ground, I don’t think she’ll be able to see over the meadow grass we have to pass through at the base of the evergreen camp.
I won’t mind going slow for her. Inside my chest, my wolf howls in agreement. He wants out, and he’ll walk if he has to, even though he longs to chase her.
Catch her.
Take her.
I can’t let him out. He’s waited so long, and she smells so good. If I let him take our body, he’d be on her in a second. Annie would hate us even more, then, even though I don’t think her wolf would mind—not with the way she’s draped over my forearm, her tail swishing lazily across my abs as she snoozes. Her wolf recognizes me now, and she doesn’t smell like fear.