The Lone Wolf's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #3)(9)

It’s a good thing I brought Kennedy for her nose because the vague directions I got from Old Noreen at breakfast would’ve never been enough. We’re at least three miles from Quarry Pack camp, and this place is tucked in a hollow surrounded by a thick stand of sycamores and tall pines.

At least it’s shady. As Kennedy trots off, I take a moment and fan my face. I’ve looked better. During the hike, I sweated my ringlets into a wild dandelion fluff and discovered that my new whimsical sheer white blouse sucks. The elastic in the puff sleeves cuts into my upper arms, and the fabric doesn’t wick or breathe—it’s sealed my perspiration against my skin like a rubber suit, and yet, my pits are somehow wet.

I’ve definitely felt prettier, but I don’t need to worry about that. Mates find each other irresistible, and besides, I’ve decided that I dress for myself, not for the male gaze.

That’s what I’m telling myself as my heart thumps faster and I try in vain to smooth my curls. I pause a few feet outside of the opening that serves as a door. Darragh must have scented our approach and heard us at least a quarter mile away. I’m not the stealthiest hiker. I’m kind of surprised he didn’t come out to greet us. This entire clearing carries his scent, so my human nose is blind to his exact location, but Kennedy’s wolf thinks he’s inside, so he’s inside.

Do I knock?

I should knock.

What do I knock on? There isn’t a door, just an opening where the wall doesn’t go all the way to the corner. I’m getting more freaked out the longer I stand here, so I clear my throat, take a deep, steadying breath, and step out of the sunshine and into the gloom.

A wolf’s snarl erupts from the shadows across the room. I yelp and jump backwards, stumbling so I hit the wall instead of toppling outside.

The snarling rises, and my heart slams against my ribs. The sound isn’t a warning or a threat, it’s the clamor of a raging wolf attack, only somewhat muffled by the thick muscles of Darragh’s chest.

Is his wolf going to tear out of his skin and eat me?

Instantly, I become prey and freeze, plastering myself against the rough boards. My chafed thighs clench and I fight the sudden, overwhelming urge to piss myself. The thump in my chest turns into a pounding. My wolf whines and cowers in a far corner of my insides.

“Hi,” I whimper. “I’m so sorry.”

As my eyes adjust to the gloom, I make out Darragh standing by a rudimentary fireplace, as far as he can get from me in the cramped shack. His muscles are tensed like he’s priming for a fight, his wolf’s vicious snarling rattling his ribs, his body angled and his gaze averted so that he’s not looking at me. He’s glaring with a desperate intensity at the packed dirt floor, hands balled into fists, veins popping on his forearms.

He darts a glance at me out of the corner of his eyes, and my breath catches. His irises are wild—a hypnotic bronze and golden swirl. Somehow, despite the clanging of every one of my survival instincts, my chest bursts with a strange warmth, almost a glow. I’ve never seen eyes like his before.

“I didn’t knock because, uh—” I toss a glance at the opening directly beside me. “No door.”

How can I feel absolutely terrified and like a complete idiot at the same time?

He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. He stands there, hulked out, while his wolf snarls and growls like he’s trying to chew his way out of his chest.

My wolf trembles, her head bowed, her throat bared. My mouth is bone dry with thirst and fear, and my skin is still clammy with sweat.

What do I do?

Excuse myself and inch back out the door? Sink down the wall so I’m lower, so I make a smaller target, so I’m less of a threat? He can’t possibly be afraid of me. He’s a foot taller and at least seventy pounds of pure muscle heavier than me. My brain is fritzing from the adrenaline.

“Can I go?” I ask, my voice somehow both raspy and breathy. I sound five years old.

His wolf’s snarling swells, and his chest vibrates. That would be a firm no.

He’s shirtless again today, and he’s still rocking yesterday’s jeans. At least I didn’t catch him with his pants off.

Like when I was marching my dumb butt down into this hostage situation, an unfamiliar heat blooms in my cheeks, and a squirmy feeling erupts in my lower belly. I’m scared, but I’m also something else. Something weird and new and reckless.

“Okay. I’m not going anywhere. See?” I raise my palms in a sign of submission.

His wolf’s snarl crescendos and ebbs to more of a menacing rumble. My wolf sneaks a peek upward with rounded eyes.

“I-I’m sorry I just showed up.” I clear my throat as I lower my hands. “I didn’t, uh, know how to call you or anything.”

I glance around the shack. Dude definitely does not have a phone. He’s off the grid.

Darragh doesn’t answer, but he does seem to break himself free of the fight he was having with his wolf. He scrubs his face, tugs his beard, and relaxes his shoulders. Slowly, with great deliberation, he turns and looks at me. His eyes blaze gold in the dimness. I feel like he wants to eat me. My belly swirls.

“The black wolf brought you?" he asks.

"Who? What? Oh, yeah. Kennedy. He brought me. Yeah.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. Tulle is not absorbent at all. I must smell like a dripping wet mop. I twitch my nose, trying to catch a whiff.