“Do whatever you have to. I’ll find you later to check in.”

I nod, grateful to have his friendship and his loyalty as my beta. The shift happens faster than I’ve ever been through it, my body practically melting from two legs to four in a split second. The minute I’m my wolf, I’m on the move, snout low to the ground to catch the scent I’m after.

Loam. Pine and oak and birch. Prey. More prey, a stag I’ve been hunting for the last week. The stench of old man Elton Farrows seeping alcohol through his pores.

There—sweet, succulent mate.

I let loose a throaty howl before taking off. My claws dig into the ground to propel me faster. She hasn’t gotten more than a couple of miles from the clearing. I slow my gait when I reach her, stopping several feet off, behind a thick patch of tall ferns. She’s peering into the pond where Liam and I fish in our downtime.

He wants to go up to her. Sniff her, find all her parts that smell this good. Then lick them. His throat vibrates in pleasure and it takes way too much of my effort to cut it off before she hears us. He wrestles the little ground I gained from me, taking charge once more.

It’s not difficult to tell he’s unimpressed with me not wanting to close the distance and claim the beautiful, perfect mate fate chose for him.

I strain against the veil of our connection. She’s not our fucking fated mate. There’s no way fate would be that twisted to pair me with her.

He shakes his head, ignoring me once more. Stubborn bastard. But instead of making his presence known, he keeps his distance, observing her from afar.

When she takes off, we go with her, remaining just close enough to ensure she’s safe. At first she maps territory that’s familiar to her, finding her way to the trail head that leads north to her cottage. She marks it and my wolf does the same once she moves on to explore more.

The longer I follow her, the more satisfied my wolf is. He gradually eases back, granting me more than simple consciousness along for the ride. My thoughts become my own again now that he’s checked on her.

Yet I keep trailing her throughout her run instead of turning around to join the others. Why? Fuck if I know.

Maybe it’s still the wolf. Maybe I’m interested to see how she fares after watching her hide her crushing disappointment that she was supposedly Wolfless at her coming of age ceremony at eighteen the year before my father succumbed to the lasting injury he sustained. Her pride pissed me off then. I wanted to see her cry, but she didn’t shed a single tear when people told her she was a broken shifter.

My teeth gnash at the memory, a low chord of anger reverberating from deep in my chest.

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?