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

by Cate C. Wells

“I want you to know that you are the most beautiful thing in the world, and even if I couldn’t have you, and even though I fucked it up, you were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Please, Fate, no. It can’t be. I want this ride to stop, and I’m scared shitless that it will. And it’s so damn hot in here.

Has it been like this since the beginning? Or has it been growing while I turned a blind eye? It’s not withered, not deformed. It’s—strong.

The corners of Darragh’s eyes crease as he watches me. He knows I’m tuning in—because he’s been tuned in the whole time. I don’t know how I know, but I do. Is the bond so strong because of him? Because he’s been tending to it all along?

In my head, I’ve built him up to be the world’s biggest asshole. He rejected me because he’s a tormented loner or whatever, which holds no water with me because my father tried to kill me when I was a baby, and my mother chose the freezing river over her only child. I’m tormented, and I didn’t give up on him without a second thought.

So he’s a fucked-up asshole, right? Another Quarry Pack tough guy who’s too broken to function.

Last time, it was— Well, it was gradual. I had days to fuck myself up in the head about it.

My wolf lets out a pissed off rumble. He’s being weird. He’s been hanging back, super-attuned to the fact that we’re in a hairy situation, aware that I’m going to call him out at the first opportunity, and he’s ready for it, but for once, he’s not chomping at the bit. It’s disorienting. I’m used to having to hold him back with the full force of my will.

Dominance is something else. It’s why even with me chained to a wall in a metal box, all three males’ heart rates increased the second they stepped in here, even though they’re armed.

“A female might be a decent lay, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily want them around the house, yapping in your ear all the time, right?” I feel a sharp pain through the bond. At the beginning, that’s how it felt pretty much all the time, unless Mari was asleep, and she didn’t sleep much. I fucking hate the feeling, but I don’t turn away from it. I never have.

Standing here, powerless, I know what hell is.

That’s why she’s letting Smith touch her. She’s scared. For me?

No change. If anything, he tenses up even more. I try again. I’m okay.

I’m fully invested, and every time he doesn’t rise to the bait, I want to fight him even worse.

“I hate you,” I spit at him. He doesn’t even have the grace to look down. He holds my gaze, muscles taut, like he’s stoically taking whatever blows I choose to dish out, and that’s not fair—he’s the one who dealt the blows. He’s the bad guy.

Because your wolf is crazy, so you won’t even try? Or was it because—” The rest of the sentence gets stuck in my throat. Was it because I’m not worth the trouble?

“Mari, you were so fucking young. I mean, you’re still young now, but then—you had little fucking bows on your little pink shoes.” He grimaces up at the ceiling. “I was really gonna take you out to some shack in the woods to live with this” —he gestures angrily at himself— “and an insane killer wolf? That can’t be what’s supposed to happen.”

“It took me longer than it should have to realize what I should have done,” he says. “It did?” What should he have done?

“I don’t have excuses, but Mari, when we get out of this, I’m going to fix everything. I’ve been working on it. I’ve almost got it all set up. Okay, Mari?”

“What do we do?” For a second, he doesn’t answer. Then, sweeping his chains to the side, he crouches, so when he speaks again, he’s below me, looking up. I think he’s making himself smaller, to reassure me, but a male with his presence cannot make himself submissive.

He wouldn’t care about saving his own skin. Only getting to you.” “To, uh, what? Um, mount me?” My cheeks burn. “Or kill me?” His brows draw together, and he drops his head. He doesn’t answer.

I don’t want to kill him. I sure as hell don’t want his wolf to kill me.

I take a few calming breaths, reaching deep to commune with the wolf, preparing myself to break my own wrist. “Don’t fucking do it, Mari.” Darragh growls at the same time his wolf rumbles a warning in his chest.

“Mari, I’m warning you.” His voice has turned into a throaty snarl, and as I draw in one last big breath and grit my teeth, I think how weird it is that my stomach flips every time he says my name.

Darragh roars and fights his chains, wild and terrifying in his fury. But not to my wolf. Even stronger than her pain is the urge to comfort him.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” I say against his worn jeans. “We’re in the same pack, and we’re technically mates, but we don’t know each other at all.” He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and then he says, low and gruff and careful, “I want to know you, Mari.”

“What do you like?” “Anything that has a happy ending.” “Me, too,” he says, so quietly

I’m curled close to my strong mate, and I hurt, but he’s stroking me with his careful hands, telling me everything is going to be okay, everything is going to turn out all right.

His steady breathing coaxes mine into the same calm rhythm. I nuzzle his jeans. The denim smells like him—fresh air, dew, home. I don’t want this to end here.

And even if I don’t quite trust it, I see it—longing. Bitter, tender, hopeless longing.

“We need to mate. Before they come back.” His hand pauses mid-stroke. My wolf whines. He keeps going. “We don’t have to,” he says, grim and certain. “Yes, we do.”

Everything is such a mess. I can’t ignore the bond at all anymore. Maybe we’ve been too close for too long, or I’m too tired, or it’s just gotten too strong. I can feel his fury, his shame, the conflict tearing him apart, and underneath it all, his desire. His awe. Of me.

“You want me,” I whisper. “Yes.” “A lot.” “Like air,” he says. My lips curve, sad and rueful and bittersweet. “Nobody wants air.” “They need it.” “You don’t need me.” He walked away. He stayed away. “Like air,” he says again with a note of finality.

Darragh leans closer. His chains clank. I feel guarded. Protected.

If we existed in a world where Fate didn’t decide for us. In that world, Darragh would say, “If you say stop, I will.” And I’d say, “Don’t stop.” So I do. I say it. “Don’t stop,” I murmur. His lungs catch. He groans and buries his face in the crook of my neck, breathing me in.

I squirm in Darragh’s arms, but I don’t try to escape him. He tightens his grip anyway, but gently.

“Yes, I want to kiss you, Mari,” he mutters like I’ve tortured it out of him. “How bad?” I whisper. “So fucking bad,” he groans.

I nip his tongue so that he’ll let me up for air. He growls into my mouth, his eyes flying open. They’re burnished, swirling gold, the pupils mere pinpricks. “D-Darragh?” He growls again. His fangs flash. From one instant to the next, something has changed. Something is different. Oh, shit. Is this rut?

In a split second, the illusion of free choice is gone. I either do this and save him from himself, or I don’t. I leave him like this. He left me, and my heart is still bitter, so bitter. But what if he didn’t want to? I don’t think he wanted to.

Maybe he needs me. Maybe I have to be the strong and brave one.

Darragh’s howl of rage subsides into a prolonged growl, punctuated by snarls and the snap of his teeth, and his blanked-out eyes roll toward me. He tries to lunge forward, but he’s come as far as the chains will let him. His throat rattles with a series of guttural snarls, and I don’t need my wolf to translate—it’s a demand to present.

“P-Please don’t hurt me.” I take a small step toward him. I can’t tear my eyes away. I’ve seen the man and the wolf, but I’ve never seen or imagined this terrifying amalgamation—Darragh’s innate dominance and strength coupled with his wolf’s wildness, his ferocity.

It takes me longer than it should to realize what he’s doing. He’s winding the chains around his arms, pinning them behind his back. Obviously, he could free himself as easily as he’s strung himself up, but I understand. Warmth infuses my chest. He’s in there, or if he isn’t, whatever he is now doesn’t want to hurt me.

I give in. This is mine. I drive my fingers into his hair, fist the strands, yank his head back. Snarl into his face. He snarls back. I nip his lower lip. His growls quiet, although they still vibrate his chest.

He growls for me, deep, approving, and he tracks the drag of my swollen breasts with pure gold eyes.

His growl vibrates my cheek. Eyes plastered shut and mind spinning, I hardly register his nose nudging at the crook of my neck, and then, with no warning except a rise in the timbre of his rumbling, his fangs pierce my skin.

The bond pulses, alive in a new way, sluggish but strong. This is how it’s supposed to be. My mate. Claiming me. I’m not alone. I haven’t ever been because this male was waiting in my future.

In this moment, I’m safe. My mate is here. His claiming mark smarts, and it hurts, but it’s a good hurt. All is well.

with knotted guts, for the first time in my life, I call the wolf. He bursts through me like wildfire. He detonates. Metal scrapes. Screeches. There’s a bang. Light floods the box. He’s airborne. He’s ripped the panels from the container, leaving jagged holes in the sides. He’s trailing chains.

Mari peers up at him from her curled up ball next to the body. The fur around her mouth is stained red. My wolf notices, growling his approval as he bounds past her,