Page 64 of Rejected By the Winter Wolf

That helps. But what it helps, I can’t say. Just a little ease of the pressure inside me, letting off enough steam to hold back my temper from exploding.

The vines wrap around my wrists, pulling them behind my back. My wolf surges forward in my head, slipping into the driver’s seat. The fucking masochist.

“You like to be the dominant one, little nightmare?” my wolf asks her. His voice is grittier than mine. Less practiced. His vowels are rougher. He seems content to hold us in human form. For now.

She shivers. Her hair is drifting around her face, and her pupils are dilated. Her fingers are still in the earth, kneeling across the clearing from me. The scent of magic singes the air, but it’s sweet, too. Her magic and her smell are intertwined, and we inhale as one. Her, me, the wolf.

“I don’t just roll over for anyone,” my wolf says. “You’ve got to earn it.”

She rises and brushes her hands off. She comes closer, drawn as if by a tether she’s unable to fight. “Wouldn’t you know it? That’s exactly how I feel.”

I laugh. My wolf laughs, rather. Her words move him. He wants to bite her again. To bring out her wolf. He wants to chase her through the forest and pin her to the ground⁠—

“Go back to the bike,” I manage. He’s sending me flashing images of exactly what he wants, and how he wants it. His energy is spiking, and it’s getting harder to wrestle my muscles under my willpower.

“Why?”

“Because my wolf wants to devour you.” A snarl echoes through my chest. My wolf, not me. For giving away his game. Although the fear in her eyes does something to both of us. “I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

Finally, I smell her fear. I battle my wolf’s desire to shift and rip through the vines that hold us, even as they stop moving. She turns and rushes away, and I hold myself still until she disappears completely.

Chapter 14

Astra

Istole a phone.

The gas station guy didn’t seem to notice me slip it from under the front counter–he was too busy gawking at my Mark. It came with minutes. I haven’t had to load minutes onto a disposable phone in years.

At the diner I found, the waitress had a spot with an outlet.

It turned on just fine straight out of the package, but better safe than sorry.

And as I watch, it starts vibrating with an incoming call. Something about it seems urgent. I’m not sure why I think that. I don’t answer it.

The screen goes dark, the call going to a voicemail I haven’t set up. A second later, the same number calls again.

Who would even have this number?

Okay, universe. I’m listening.

I hit the green button and bring it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Astra?” The voice is familiar. Warm like cinnamon.

Funny enough, I just had a dream about her.

“Cecelia?”

“I’m outside, honey.”

I look out the window. A new car turns in the lot. Its headlights are on, the red-haired witch behind the wheel visible through the windshield.

Kian’s been gone for too long. I practically ran into town on the heels of his warning, convinced that he was going to chase me down.

I resisted the urge to try and hitchhike again. Like a good little captive, I’ve been sitting here. Waiting. And when I confessed to the waitress that I could only afford iced water, she tutted and brought me a mug of coffee. I almost cried.

And I did cry when I realized I only wanted one person to call me. The one person who can’t.