The Lone Wolf's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #3)(22)

But then he reaches out, grabs my hand in a strong but gentle grip, and leads me away from the others and their stench and noise. He takes me into the woods and down the cut-through that connects the lodge to the cabins on the far side of the commons. It’s a quick walk in the dark. The tall trees rustle in the night wind, and Darragh’s warm and bright scent combines with the bark and moss to clear my lungs.

“I-it’s t-time, isn’t it?” I ask him when he takes me to a tidy cabin on the outskirts of camp. He grunts.

This one’s built the same as all the others, a simple one-story timber frame with a porch, but it has freshly painted green shutters and pansies in terracotta pots along the edge of the porch. I know it’s used as a guest cabin, but I guess Darragh has the rank to claim it.

“It’s nice,” I say.

He grunts again and scrubs his neck. “Listen—” He seems to search for words. “You’re really young, and—” He blows out a breath. “It’ll be okay. I won’t hurt you if I can help it. All right?”

Finally, he gazes down to meet my eyes.

Part of me is terrified, but it’s like that part has stepped back into whatever half-world my wolf comes from. There’s another me now assuming this body, a confident female, serene and secure. Of course, it’ll be okay. He’s my mate. This is fated. If I ever imagined things differently—a male closer to my age, sweet words, flowers and soft music—I was wrong. This is the way it’s supposed to be.

I flash him an encouraging smile and trip up the steps to the porch. I need blankets. And pillows. And I have to get rid of these damp, clinging, nasty clothes.

I fling the door open before he can reach it and stride inside, inhaling. Lemon and wax. It’s been cleaned top-to-bottom recently. That’s good.

A den would be better, of course. Safer. But this is safe enough. My mate is strong. His wolf is vicious. No one will dare attack us, and if they do, he’ll rip out their neck. In the very far reaches of my mind, the words “he doesn’t even eat the meat” echo. My wolf purrs her approval.

Yes, our mate wouldn’t eat the flesh of his enemies. He’d leave it to rot as a warning to others. He’ll make a good sire to our pups. I absentmindedly rub my empty belly. It aches and cramps, but that’ll be over soon. Fate has done well by us for once. Our mate will take care of everything.

I quickly examine the half-bath, the cute kitchen with brand-new, stainless-steel appliances, the nook with the stacked washing machine and dryer. My mate has provided for us beyond what I could have imagined. I won’t have to send the washing out to the laundry. I can just do a load whenever I want.

My wolf rumbles her delight. Our mate is clever and powerful.

In the hallway, I slide open the doors of what I assume must be a linen closet, and my heart falls. The shelves are bare.

Of course, he must’ve just been assigned the cabin. He wouldn’t have had time to stock it. That’s fine. I have things to build my nest at home.

I turn to head toward the door, but Darragh takes my hand again and gently leads me back down the hall. “Come this way,” he says.

He draws me into the bedroom. On a cedar trunk, there’s a tall stack of linens and pillows. I raise the corner of a comforter to my face and bury my nose in it. It smells like detergent and nothing else. It’s new like Darragh’s jeans. He must have bought them today, and he had them laundered so they’d be soft and fresh.

He’s such a thoughtful mate. I rumble my approval and set to work. We don’t have much time left.

There aren’t any sheets on the brand-new mattress, so I don’t have to undo anything before I get started. I put on a pad and a fitted sheet, and then I scoop up armloads of blankets and dump them in a pile in the middle. Darragh hovers by the door, watchful, tension radiating from him.

Good mate. Guarding the entrance. I yip my approval. His broad chest swells.

I go back to the trunk and pitch all the pillows, one after the other, onto the heap in the bed, and then I climb on top, wriggling into the softness and sighing.

I’ve never been happier or more excited, and neither has my wolf. It’s a buzzy, hazy feeling, but we’re both luxuriating in it, stretching and lolling, tingling with anticipation. We belong now, here, with this male. We’re home.

I need my clothes off. Clothes don’t belong in a nest. I peel off my top and drag down my panties and skirt in one move. There’s a whiff of Darragh in the fabric, so I bunch them up and tuck them in a corner of the cocoon I’m building in a haphazard, distracted way.

I arrange piles, and then I flop back, snuggle, sniff the sheets, enjoy the glide of the silkier fabrics against my heated, sensitive skin. My nipples are pointed and dark as raspberries. I pluck them between my fingers, and streams of delicious sensation sizzle through my belly down to the folds plumping between my legs.

My fingers smooth my lips apart. They look so different than usual—rosy-red, swollen, and shiny with slick. They feel different, too, like they’re throbbing. I find the nub that’s popped from its hood and circle it, strum it, make myself squirm and pant.

From his station at the door, Darragh growls.

I startle, remembering myself, and I notice a spot in the nest that isn’t quite right, so I leave off playing with myself and mess up the whole arrangement and start again, certain that even though I have to fix it, I’m still doing everything perfectly right. My mate is pleased with me. He watches me with burning, gold-rimmed eyes, his cock tenting his jeans, his hands fisted at his sides.