Page 151 of Rejected By the Winter Wolf

That hope will ruin me.

But…

She’d do it for me. She’ll do it if she loves me.

So even though my plan wasn’t to give in to this mate bond, I feel my resolve harden—and my plan pivot.

My wolf watches me play it through. He likes the idea of going through with the bond. Of course he does. It’s his instinct, though. Not mine. And that’s where our desires separate.

For me, this is a tool. I’m no better than my father, contemplating ways to manipulate my mate into doing the things that need to be done.

Mate.

Love.

Sacrifice.

After all, I’d give anything to save my sister, save my pack, save my species. And that includes destroying the witch who has fallen in love with me.

Chapter 40

Astra

No one stops us on our way back to Kian’s truck. I don’t feel much like talking or touching. My skin tingles. My ears are ringing. It seems to surreal to be on the other side of…

I don’t know what happened.

But my magic is wild in my chest. It’s thrashing, desperate to get out, and I’m having a difficult time containing it.

One slipup, and it’ll come bursting out of me.

Kian navigates us away from the strip with ease, and I watch the glamorous pocket of life disappear in the rearview mirror. The loudness and flashing neon lights and millions of people fade away, back to the desert. We’re heading east, most likely toward his pack.

Two hours into our drive, with the only conversation between us being Kian asking if I was hungry, and my grunt of denial, my bladder is the most pressing issue. I finally glance at him, unsurprised to see his jaw tense and his grip white-knuckled on top of the steering wheel.

“Can we stop at the next rest area?” My voice is quiet in the cab.

The muscle in his jaw jumps. The veins in his forearms stand out, another testament to how rigid he is. I can make out the harsh lines of him even in the dark. The faint glow of the clock on the dash is the only thing illuminating the truck’s interior now that we’ve left the city behind.

It’s not my fault Beau attacked us with the witch—but he’s acting like it is.

“It’s late,” he finally voices. “We’ll just stop at the next motel. You can pee there.”

I shift my attention back to his face. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been squeezing your thighs together for the last five miles. I was wondering when you were going to cave and ask. Since there’s been no trace of your arousal for the last… twenty miles or so.”

“Bastard,” I mutter. My magic itches to break free again, and I wrap my arms around my stomach. As if that would do anything. I don’t know what’s wrong with it. Or me.

There’s still a bit of dried blood in my ears. I’ve never seen a witch use air magic that way—channeling the noise frequencies into a weapon—but it gave me a spur-of-the-moment idea.

Offensive magic.

My mother and I never got into that. My silly vines that have tripped up Kian on more than one occasion were all the defense I had—but that’s not the same as attacking first. I don’t know how I snapped the witch’s neck. One minute I was thinking it, and the next it happened.

What happens when we go back to Kian’s pack lands, and his sister decides they’re better off without a witch in their midst?

What happens when Kian is called away, and someone slips into my room in the middle of the night with a knife? Or simply their claws?