Chapter Three
Caleb
I’ve been stalking her for months, picked up on her patterns. Many days she spends in despair, and this disturbs my wolf. Though I played a small part in her suffering, my guilt fades when I remember what she did to me, my pack, and my family. And I hate her all over again.
It’s a never-ending cycle.
She doesn’t bother to get out of bed most days sometimes not even eating. The male I often see her with notices and brings her food. Earlier, I watched her eat a lone apple.
Like that could sustain anyone, I snort to myself.
At first, I thought he didn’t know the real her. Maybe he thinks she’s the runt who needs extra support to thrive. Or maybe he’s after her affection.
He might have an antenna for a dick searching for a good lay, and the rest of the rogues fall prey to her good-girl act. The problem is, women who know they’re attractive use it as an excuse to treat others poorly.
But I’m not fooled. I see right through her. I despise her. She works for nothing. She earns nothing. So, she takes everything. All of them are like that, only thriving off of the means of others. And she’s the worst of them all because she is the puppet master.
“Do this. Go north, not south. They’ve been through enough,” I mock her.
I roll my eyes. Who does she think she is, an alpha? No.
She deserves a damn Emmy. It’s all an act.
Look everyone! It’s the girl who pretended to be a helpless wolf!
Her kind is appalling. We’re predators. At least the guy she’s with knows that and doesn’t try to hide it. That, I can respect. She, on the other hand, pretends she’s not dangerous.
My wolf steps forward to watch our mate sleep in a hammock, a book on her chest as she rises and falls with each breath.
It’s not an act. Mate struggles, my wolf tries to convince me.
I growl at him. My wolf and I don’t agree on much when it comes to her.
I don’t know why you’re defending the woman who killed our father.
Do you realize what kind of risk that puts our generational power in?
She is dangerous. If we die, his power is lost forever.
That not only makes us vulnerable but every other pack, clan, and coven that relies on our resources year-round, I remind him.
My power as an apex hunter passed to me after Father’s death. Forces pass to the firstborn, then to their firstborn, down the generations. Not every family has ancestral power. My mother was not blessed this way.
When a firstborn dies prior to having children, the power dies with them. It doesn’t pass on to a sibling. It simply vanishes. That’s why it’s so important to preserve powers and ensure they continue on. It’s also why the Hunt is so important and why I’m an only child.
Being the apex hunter is the only reason I and the rest of the realm don’t struggle to make it through the winter. The royal pack pays my family a healthy sum each year to feed our allies who are less skilled.
Offended, my wolf points his nose up to the roof of my mind. There’s no need to shout.
I wipe my face and apologize. He and I guess by default, we, are sensitive to the mate bond.
But him so much more than me. Our wolves are born of the Moon Goddess, which makes them more susceptible to the bond.
He’s hurt by what she did, but he cannot sustain a grudge against her, by instinct.
And as time goes on, the bond only grows stronger, as does the desire to claim her.
The first time I saw her, he wanted to get a closer look, and I told him no. Over time, the bond let him wear me down, sending me from the pack for hours to find excuses to get closer to her.
I’ll make it up to you. We’ll get a closer look, I tell him.
I quietly leave my vantage point in the tree that overlooks the valley. Alaina used to spend a lot of time in this tree, but now that she’s gone, it’s become my favorite lookout spot.
I find the rogues’ proximity to my territory insulting. It’s like they don’t see us as a real threat, so they’ve made camp close by.
Watching her, I climb down. Thanks to my inherited powers, I could locate a needle dropped miles away if I wanted. Because I’m still learning to turn it off, I can hear every feral creature fucking for miles, too. It’s how I know Alaina calls Dax her king in bed.
I shiver.
Before I barf, I return my focus to my mate, keeping my ears open for her. On the final branch, she moans softly in her sleep, and I lose my footing, falling flat on my back.
I lie there and contemplate the shit show that is my life. When the adrenaline wears off, the pain kicks in. I groan, whimper, and laugh. Oh, that hurt.”
I brush myself off and roll my shoulder out.
Okay, that’s going to be sore tomorrow.
My eyes bounce between the sleeping devil in the hammock and the tree that led me to fall from hell, trying to decide who to blame. I land on the devil.
I’m going to make her pay for that one day.
I’ll tie her to this tree so tightly, every time she moves, the bark will cut into her back. Her throat is hoarse, and her lips will bruise from every scream I claim. She’d shake and writhe beneath me. I’d have her begging for me, but I’ll show her no mercy. The blood rushes straight to my dick.
Shit.
To stalk her is one thing, but doing so with a boner while she’s sleeping crosses a perverse line, in my opinion. I can’t be both a stalker and a pervert. No, wait. I’m not stalking, I’m . . . hunting. Yeah. That’s it. I’m hunting.
Okay, uh . . . Dax naked. Dax kicking my ass. The time Dax insisted on being called “my king” in the bedroom . . .
That works.
Now that my dick is flaccid, I can go.
When I reach her, the grounds are silent. Vermin in her horde sleep near each other, but not her. She isolates herself. Is this because she thinks she’s better than them? Above them?
My wolf mentally kicks me. Mate would never! Maybe she feels guilty.
She should feel guilty.
I swear, I don’t know whose side he’s on.
When I reach her, she’s lying on her side in the hammock, giving me a clear view of the little she-devil. Raven hair, strong cheekbones, ruby lips, and freckles peppering her cheeks and nose. Wondering where else those freckles appear, I stop myself. I don’t need another situation down south.
My hand has a mind of its own. It twitches, wanting so bad to touch her.
I have to force myself not to. Bad hand. Heel! Don’t!
She is forbidden.
Yeah, like that helps. My wolf snorts.
She fell asleep reading the same book I often see her with. Carefully, I lift it and scan the page.
Holy shit, it’s smut.
Did she fall asleep in the middle of reading a sex scene? The main male is caressing her, whispering sweet nothings. It’s all very cutesy. Very vanilla.
Is that why she fell asleep? Does she crave something darker? If that’s the case, why does she read it so much?
I should put the book back, but I tuck it into my waistband behind me instead. She owes me a lot more than that.
Her breathing quickens as her wolf registers my presence, not as her mate but as an unexplained comfort, an early sign of the mate bond.
Her eyes squeeze tightly shut, and I think she’s about to open them, so I duck behind a tree.
Squish.
Please tell me it’s not what I think it is.
I slowly look down and . . .
Ugh, gross. You’ve got to be kidding me.
I peer at the bottom of my boot. My nose burns.
Hold on. Is this . . . Is this her poop?
Yep. That’s hers alright. She defecates in the woods like a true wolf. A woman after my own heart. My wolf drools.
Appalled, I pause, then shake my head. There’s something wrong with you.
My wolf flicks his tail, dismissing me. What can I say? I like how she isn’t ashamed to take up old mannerisms. Plus, you’ve been pissing me off with the whole “we can’t have mate” thing.
Well, I hope you two are very happy together shitting in the woods like uncivilized . . . I scrape my foot on the tree again. Feral. And again. Beasts.
Ugh. It’s not coming off. Who just shits in the woods like that?
Um . . . wolves? my wolf judges me.
Ones that aren’t housebroken, maybe.
But . . . we shit in the woods, he counters.
That’s different. We bury our shit like civilized beasts do. I scrape my boot on the tree, then lift my foot to check the sole.
Great. I’m going to have to throw these out.
My disgust is erased when a moan escapes her lips.
She turns onto her back. Then, quickly tossing to her other side, she moans again. This time, raising her chest to the night sky and turning over. Which you’d think would be less tempting.
Wrong.
Now I can see her stupid little perfect ass and the perfect dimples on her backside beneath her little tank top. Blood rushes to my penis again.
Aaaand . . . there goes my shorts. Okay. Time to go.
As I make a sneaky exit, one thing is for certain: her body responds to me.
Even though she’s never set eyes on me, she senses me.
Her wolf is likely whimpering in agony for me.
Unable to rest when we’re apart. If I can’t kill her yet, I want her to know peace, if only, so she knows true unrest when I’m gone.
And that’s just the start of all I have planned for her.