There’s no telling when a fated bond will snap into place. When it does, it’s lucky for those that feel some draw to each other.
But I question why a mate bond awoke between us now. Did the bond bring her wolf out at last, or is it her late bloom that’s triggered it?
Some invisible pull keeps me on Avery’s tail. Unable to stop watching her.
She’s green, darting after every rustle through the bushes and getting distracted by every scent to blow this way. Yet I can’t tear my gaze away.
Her reddish brown coat gleams every time the moonlight breaks through the treetops. She’s built well, but spry enough to put power behind her jumps. Her large paws are well-balanced.
If I was into this, I see how she’d make a fine mate. My wolf chuffs in agreement, admiring how quickly she picks up on tracking.
Her hunting could do with practice. Twice she scares off two deer grazing not far off. She doesn’t realize they’re there, intent on a rabbit.
Several times, I back off when she seems to sense me there. I lay low on my haunches, belly to the ground, snout resting between my front paws. When I’m sure she’s forgotten about me, I continue tracking her at a distance.
After her failed attempt at catching the rabbit, I nearly bound down the slope she disappeared over with a miscalculated jump. Her broken howl yanks at something in my chest. I hold my ground, barely.
Just when I’m about to give in, she climbs over the drop off, shaking off. I remain hidden beneath a large bush. She glances around—right at me, I swear—then as if she’s seen right through me, judged me as unworthy of her attention, she dashes off once more.
I linger, planning to rejoin my packmates. Instead, I follow her paw prints.
When I catch up to her, she’s finally noticed one of the deer. It’s near a calm spring downstream from Silver Falls where most of the pack swims. She’s fixated on the animal as it dips its head for a drink, pawing the ground in anticipation.
Not yet, I think. This opening isn’t a good strategy. The deer has the advantage of more room to run than the more overgrown side of the stream we’re on.
Avery shoots from behind the rock she hid behind. When she hits the water, the deer takes off. Avery barks, probably swept up in the thrill of her hunt.
She’s shit at it. Amusement filters through me, coming out in a toss of my head. I jump the stream in one clean leaping bound after she disappears, tearing after her prey.
The initial humor fades when she fails to catch it a second and third time. Then a fourth when I herd the doe back in her direction and give her the perfect opening. Her tail twitches with her agitation and impatience.
She gives up on it. I stifle a growl, pouncing on it before it gets away. It goes down easily under the weight of my huge black wolf. I could eat it. My wolf doesn’t want the meat.
I drag it along once I pick up Avery’s trail heading back in the direction of her cottage. By the time I reach it, she’s inside.
10CADEN
My wolf doesn’t give up his fur right away, plopping down like an oversized guard dog twenty paces from her front door.
He watches for any threats for a while, then marks a perimeter around the place. He’s claiming this as his territory, warning other predators and prey to keep away. I’m rolling my eyes by the time he finishes going over every inch.
At last, I feel the reins fully back in my hands. I remain in my wolf form a short while longer before shifting. I should leave, but I make no move to.
My wolf clearly hasn’t realized I don’t want Avery to be my mate, fated or chosen.
I don’t know what it means for us to be so divided. There are shifters who go rogue, giving over to their wolves fully by staying in fur for too long. Their wolves are wild. Untamable. Then there are those susceptible to moon madness, driven feral, a danger to their pack. Others who are rumored to have lost their connection to their wolf by staying the other way, integrating completely with humans.
I shudder, not enjoying the thought of any of those outcomes. Not when I give every part of myself to upholding my father’s legacy, and his father’s before him. The good parts of that legacy, not my grandfather’s backwards views when it came to females at the time. Blackburn alphas have led this pack since its formation.
Rejecting the gift of a bond is spitting in the moon goddess’ face. It’s taboo, but I had to make the choice. Fate can’t be right all the time. This bond…it’s an insult to think Avery is my destiny after her family’s betrayal.
My chest reverberates with a dissenting growl.
I blow out a breath, raking my hands through my hair. I have no doubt I look insane right now, posted up outside her ramshackle cottage in the middle of the night, cock swinging in the breeze. Nudity is a fact of life for shifters, but this is a step beyond the norm. I’d leave to get clothes, yet I can’t convince my legs to obey my wishes.
I’ve done my duty as her alpha. Checked on her and made sure she returned home safe. No one else in the pack is coming after her.
So why can’t I walk away?
I nudge the deer carcass I took down. She doesn’t even know how to hunt. Maybe that’s why I’m still rooted to the spot because it’s not clear how she’ll fare with her wolf. It took everything in me while watching her pitiful failed attempts to hunt the deer to restrain myself from interrupting to show her how it’s done. I don’t want to examine why else I was inclined to take it down for her too closely.
Everyone believed she didn’t have a wolf. So did I. There’s never been any sign before. She couldn’t shift before tonight. As the alpha, my wolf had to provide for his packmate.
I open and close my hand, scowling at it. The memory of holding her in my embrace is fresh in my mind. Her body is so much frailer compared to seven years ago. How have I not noticed something like that before today?
Because I haven’t wanted to notice anything to do with her.
I shut down the line of thought with a terse sigh. This is ridiculous. What am I doing out here? What are my instincts driving me to defend her from?
Avery Morgan doesn’t need protection—mine…or anyone else’s. My teeth grind so hard at the idea of anyone else my jaw aches.
I distract myself from picturing other males in the pack sniffing around up here by glaring at the squat cabin on the hill ahead of me with the lopsided patched roof and crumbling stone foundation.
Her cottage can barely be called that. My brows pinch and my lip curls at myself for standing guard at such a pitiful excuse for a home.
This is the first I’ve been up here in years. Me and Liam used to come on dares with the other boys to see if the old settler’s cabin was haunted or under a witch’s curse. I’ve had the maintenance and carpentry teams repair and rebuild houses in far less dire condition than this to keep my pack members happy.
The door is barely attached to its hinges.
A chunk of the small porch has deteriorated, leaving a gaping crevice that’s liable to break an ankle if it’s not repaired.
The stones stacked at the foundation are making the house lean, meaning the cabin will eventually collapse when the old support beams give out from instability or age, whichever comes faster.
Two windowpanes in the narrow arched windows at the front spider with cracks in the glass, likely allowing the chilly mountain air to seep in. They’ll need twice as much wood to keep warm throughout the winter.
My heartbeat kicks up and my stomach roils the longer I examine the state of the place.
I did this. I put her here.
Trapped her in this abandoned prison at the edges of pack territory rather than allow my father to send her away.