Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
So that’s why Last Pack looks so different from each other, like they could be from all the packs. They are.
“So these dens—they used to belong to one of the packs?”
Justus nods. “This was Salt Mountain’s. Our winter camp belonged to North Border. Moon Lake and Quarry Pack kept their dens.”
Little pieces are clicking together. “And this is the way we used to live?”
“Mostly. When we joined together, our ways kind of mixed.”
“Is that why you steal females? Because they’re descended from the same pack?”
“Sometimes.” He grins. “Sometimes a male sees a female with a piece of shit for a mate and figures he can do better.”
“And the females don’t waste away, separated from their mates?”
He shakes his head. “Why would they? We feed and care for them well. They aren’t left alone.”
Everyone knows that the loss of a mate is devastating. I’ve seen elders who’ve lost their mates refuse to eat, bathe, leave the house. On occasion, Old Noreen has sent Mari or me to their cabins to coax them out, and sometimes, they come, and they sit in the lodge, staring blankly into the fire or nodding off. Alone.
Because we were busy in the kitchen, and everyone else was occupied with keeping or improving their rank. No one was keeping them company. There were no rocking chair circles gathered around small fires, no pups running wild among them, no dance parties breaking out and weaving among them.
“Why don’t we know all this?” It takes a second for me to realize that I spoke the thought out loud.
Justus shrugs. “If I had to guess, a male who thinks he knows best isn’t keen on people learning there are other ways. A male with a plan doesn’t want to hear about how it was done before. If he thinks his way is better, he doesn’t appreciate evidence that it’s not.”
I think about this and swing, letting the breeze cool my face. The sycamore leaves are a dark umbrella above us, rustling while the camp quiets. High overhead, pinprick stars dot the sky.
Is that why this place feels strange, but also like a long-lost memory? Females didn’t sit together and chat while they worked when I was little—they wouldn’t have dared look idle or like they were telling tales about the males. But sitting with Elspeth and the others did feel familiar, didn’t it?
When I was young, weren’t there stolen minutes—in the laundry or on the porch behind the lodge—when my mother and her friends would gather to fold linens or shuck corn or shell peas, and they’d murmur to each other and giggle behind their hands?
What would it have been like if I’d grown up here? What would
I be like?
My thoughts float back to stealing females. “Were your people Quarry Pack, then?”
“My dam was. My sire was a wanderer from parts unknown.”
“He didn’t steal her?”
He chuckles. “The way Max tells it, he hung around like a stray, bringing her geese and rabbit and frogs and piling them up in front of her den until my dam took pity on him and let him sleep inside.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. “Like your wolf. He brought me a goose.”
I glance over. In the shadows, it’s hard to read his eyes, but his voice is low and raspy when he says, “He did. And he only took a bite or two before he left it for you, and that was revenge.”
“Revenge for what?”
“For the bites the goose took from him.”
I giggle, and a grin breaks across Justus’s face, bright in the dark. “I like that sound, pretty Annie. Sounds like bells.”
My face heats. Out of some kind of synchrony, we both swing our legs slower and ease to a gentle back and forth.
The clearing is calm now, and silent, except for a few males sitting way over by the bonfire, keeping it stoked.
A question bursts to the front of my mind, like a wolf pup busting free from a thicket, all forward momentum, no caution, slipping my good sense and leaping out of my mouth without looking.
“Why did you steal me?” I whisper.
The swing stops. I force myself to look over. Justus meets my gaze, calm but confused.
“You don’t feel it?” he asks. “You’re going into heat again.”
12
ANNIE
Run!
Yes. Don’t need to tell me twice. I’m already gone.
I leap from the swing, landing hard, jarring my ankles, and I bolt, sprinting past the banked ashes of the females’ fire, deaf from the blood rushing in my ears.
Heat.
No.
Hell no.
Faster!
I cut across the packs’ curving, worn paths, making a beeline for the exit, pushing harder and harder until every muscle in my legs screams. As I pass the bonfire, I hear a male say, “Alpha?” But by the time the sound reaches me, I’m yards away.
Don’t look back!
I won’t. I feel Justus on my heel, his breath hot on the back of my neck.
My gown comes untucked, so I gather the fabric and clutch it to my chest, freeing my legs to pump faster. The pecking voice shrieks in my brain, dragging memories from the back of my brain to flog me with so I’ll go faster.
My brown flannel shirt, sweat soaked and reeking of cum.
A sad nest of dry leaves.
The cold, rushing river.
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?
You smell more like food than female.
You stink like prey.
A female like you would make weak, spindly young.
I want to puke, but I don’t dare slow down, not even a little so I can bend over and retch. Justus’s steps thud behind me.
I reach the narrow camp entrance and burst through, instantly losing my footing on the steep, rocky trail that leads down to the woods below. My arms windmill as I desperately try to find my balance. Justus growls.
“Easy, easy,” he says, so close, too close.
I don’t have time for balance, so I lurch forward, surfing the loose pebbles down the slope, keeping upright by staggering from tree trunk to boulder. Almost at the bottom, I trip on an exposed root and crash to a knee. I cry out, scrambling forward on all fours until I can scrabble back to my feet.
I’m out of my mind, and I can’t stop.
Sightless eyes.
Green and white checkered tiles.
Red blood.