Page 43 of Rejected By the Winter Wolf

She won’t be able to finish her side of the mate bond as a witch—and for that, I’m thankful. She would have to bite me in wolf form. Impossible.

Only an alpha can turn someone. If it’s done against a human’s will, it’s punishable by death. The other pack alphas police each other.

Next, my wolf and I would get the urge to stalk her, to obsess over her. I’ve seen my pack males go through it. Then there’s sex. A fight for dominance. And when those things are all accepted willingly, the female goes into heat.

That spurs on its own sort of agony.

Fucking. A lot of fucking.

We have four mated pairs in the pack. My sister and Roman. An elder pair who took steps to make sure she never fell pregnant. Unfortunately, she has the scars to prove it. The other two are still relatively young by our standards. It’s miraculous that they found each other. But my heart aches to think of what may happen in the years to come.

The rest of my pack haven’t found their mates. Some will leave to find them, driven by the desire to connect. But some will stay, fearful of the curse, of finding someone to love only to lose them. There will always be females and males who remain single in the packs. That’s the way of things.

Except for me. My duty as an alpha dictates that I must find a mate. That I must carry my line on, even if it means my mate’s death.

My wolf’s growl echoes in my head. He sends me an image of Astra, her belly swollen, her blonde hair loose around her full breasts. Of little pups he’d chase around the yard while she watched on. As if I would have hybrid children with her. As if she would survive me, and I her.

Stop, I snap at him.

He puffs up his chest in my head and ignores me. It takes more effort to block him out tonight, but I manage it by the time I reach the orchards.

I hop over the wood post fence and stride down the wide lane between two rows of trees, heading for the tiny home in the center of it.

The elder mated pair, Erin and Matteo, reside there. They like their solitude, so the orchard was the best place to put them. When pups are born, and their mothers gone…

Sometimes the males are too devastated to care for them. Erin and Matteo take them in for a time, until sense returns to the pup’s father. Having the space to run in the orchard, and the guidance and wisdom of the mated pair, is beyond what any pup could dream of after suffering the loss of their mother.

Those two raised me far more than my dad ever did. Especially when I was young. Although back then, they were young themselves.

The door opens before I can climb the porch. Warm light pours out onto the sloping wood, and Erin smiles softly at me.

“I thought I heard your distressed huffing.” She steps aside and lets me enter.

Her hair is dark, with strands of silver shot through it. It’s pulled into a braid that swings down the center of her back. She’s one of the smallest wolves in our pack, but she makes up for it with daring. When she was younger, my father used her to run messages to his brother up north—which is how she found Matteo. And luckily, Matteo left his pack and followed her back to us.

She wraps her cardigan tighter around her and motions for the couch. She collects mugs and a kettle and sits across from me, silently making my tea the way I used to drink it as a teenager.

It’s been some time since I’ve had a chance to sit with her. There are fresh lines around her eyes, her skin tanned from being outside. There’s more silver in her long hair, but her posture is as straight as ever. Her eyes are clear, and they analyze me with the swift familiarity of someone used to these late-night visits.

Quiet souls often attract the chaotic ones.

And hers is quiet. Always.

“Matteo will be back soon,” she says softly. “If you were wanting to talk to him.”

I shrug.

She hides her smile in her mug. “You seem discontented, Alpha. Might it have to do with the Dreamstone girl?”

I pause. “How do you know that?”

“I have eyes. I have ears.” She sets her mug aside. “I knew her mother.”

Great.

Tell her, my wolf urges.

“My wolf is… infatuated,” I hedge.