And then I see her.
She lies crumpled at the edge of the riverbank, mud streaking her pale skin, her black hair tangled with pine needles and leaves.Her light blue ceremonial dress is torn and bloodstained, the faint shimmer of runes dull and broken.I take in her cracked lips, shallow breathing, and tear-stained cheeks.She is unconscious and fear slams into me at the sight.
She looks half-dead.And yet, she is more beautiful than any other woman I have ever laid eyes on.
I circle closer, my muscles tense, and my wolf snarling inside me.The bond crashes through me in waves, demanding, clawing, and pulling.I stumble back a step, as though I’ve walked into fire.But my body hums, every nerve screaming the truth I don’t want.
Fated mate.
“Fuck.”
The word slips out low and guttural as the shift rips over me.My bones snap, and fur recedes, muscles twist painfully and reform until I’m crouching in the mud on two legs instead of four.The chilly night air bites against my bare skin, but I barely feel it.My pulse is a drumbeat, heavy and fast.
I should walk away.I’ve survived this long by keeping to myself, by trusting no one.Mates are a curse, a chain.I don’t want it.I never did.
But she’s dying.And if she dies, something inside me will die with her, I know it will.I may not have ever had a mate, but I know how this works.
I kneel, sliding my arms beneath her body and lifting her against my bare chest.She weighs almost nothing, her head lolling against my chest.Her heartbeat is faint, fluttering like a tiny hummingbird’s wings as it flits from flower to flower.Her scent is everywhere now, clinging to my skin, seeping into my lungs.It burns away all rational thought.
Her lips part on a broken sound, too soft to understand and my chest tightens painfully.
“Don’t you dare quit on me,” I mutter, my voice rough as gravel.“You need to live.”
I rise, carrying her easily.My cabin is a mile from here, deep in the forest, hidden where no pack scout dares come.I built it myself with timber felled by my own axe, and stone gathered from the riverbank.It’s crude, but it’s mine.
And now it will be hers.If she lives.
The door groans as I shoulder it open, the scent of woodsmoke filling the air.Inside, the space is simple, a woodstove, a rough-hewn table, and a single bed.My bed.
My mind is at war with itself as I try to think of how to take care of her.I strip her out of the wet dress, desire slamming into me as I touch her naked skin.This moment isn’t supposed to be about sex, but about her survival.I lay her naked form down carefully, tucking blankets around her trembling frame.Her skin is clammy and her breath shallow, increasing my worry.I stoke the fire higher, warmth licking at the cold edges of my cabin.
Her dress lies on the floor in a wet heap, torn and stained.The runes embroidered along its hem glow faintly, a sure sign of what she endured.A bonding dress.She was at a mate ceremony tonight.
She was rejected.
The thought slams into me, sharp as claws.Someone looked at this exquisite creature and turned her away.Someone bound to her by the Goddess Herself rejected her.They left her alone to die of the pain of the broken bond.
Rage hums through me, low and hot.But it’s not just my rage.It is the bond and my animal as well.It’s gasoline poured on an open flame, and I want to tear out of here and hunt down the idiot that hurt her so badly.But I remain because she needs me.
I pace the small cabin, unable to keep still.My wolf prowls under my skin, restless, and protective.I ladle broth into a cup and force it between her lips, coaxing her to swallow.She stirs only faintly, eyes flickering but never opening.
Two days pass before she wakes.Two days of her scent filling every inch of my space.Two days of worry.Two days of knowing my mate is in my bed, naked.Two days of being a gentleman and sleeping on the damn floor.
But on the third morning, her lashes flutter.She blinks up at me, dazed, her gaze catching on mine.Confusion fills her eyes first.Followed by fear.And then ...recognition.
“Who are you?”Her voice is sandpaper.
“You’re safe,” I say, sitting back on the chair I placed beside the bed.
She tries to sit up but collapses.I catch her, steadying her gently, and she flinches from my touch as though I’ve burned her.
I gently lay her back against the pillows.“I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her eyes widen, grey and stormy, restless as the sea.I see the moment she realizes what I am.What I am to her.The bond flares between us, sparking, and clawing to be acknowledged.
“Who are you?”she whispers this time.
“My name is Altero.”
