63. Tate
Tate
Adim, barely functioning part of my brain screamed at me to stop, but I ignored it. Her scent was in my nose, feeding every primal instinct I had. I’d read somewhere that the biological drive to seal the bond with a soul mate was impossible to stop once it kicked in.
Back then I’d scoffed at the notion. My survival depended on being in control. If I lost control, people would die. Now, though, my wolf was in the driver’s seat, despite me still being in my human form. He pushed me forward, urging me to bond with the female.
Ours, he roared. Our mate.
She isn’t ours, I tried to tell him, but he wasn’t listening, still furious that the bear had come close to ending her life. If we’d arrived a few minutes later, she would have died. Only a wolf as powerful as mine could take down a feral bear that big and out of his mind on rage and bloodlust.
A small, weak wolf like her wouldn’t have stood a chance. It would have torn her apart.
I couldn’t leave her unprotected. Not now.
She yelled something at me, beating my chest with her little fists as I carried her into the side room.
This area was clean and dry. The two times I’d met up with Camilla in the chapel, she’d turned her nose up and dragged me into the forest to fuck.
Her prissiness had annoyed me then, but now I thanked the goddess nothing in here smelled of the other she-wolf.
I placed my mate on an old table next to the stone wall and stepped between her thighs. Her arousal perfumed the air, igniting my senses.
“You’re mine,” I informed her. It didn’t matter that Tank’s wolf had claimed her. His reaction to the little female had made it clear, even though I’d not admitted it out loud. Tank’s wolf would never submit to a female unless she was his goddess-gifted mate.
A quirk of a soul-bond was that mates were immune to alpha commands.
“I’m not an object,” the little female huffed as I threaded my fingers through her red hair and admired her perfect tits. Everything about her was perfect.
Then I sealed my mouth to hers, effectively silencing her. She moaned as she submitted to me, the soft, needy sound almost tipping me into a rut.
Only the tinge of anxiety in her scent held me back.
Mate, my wolf chanted repeatedly.
When I broke the kiss, the female stared at me, her lips bruised and pink and eyes cloudy with lust. And also fear.
“There’s no need to be scared, little wolf,” I murmured, brushing a lock of fiery hair away from her pale cheek. Her hair was the exact color as the male hybrid’s hair.
Was she related to him? That made me frown.
“What’s your name?” I asked, sliding my hand up her ribs. She gasped when I cupped her breast and rubbed my thumb across the taut peak. For such a slim female, she had surprisingly full breasts. Not as big as Camilla’s, but more than a handful.
“Ri—” she began before clamping her lips together. “Right now, I need to go.”
I squeezed her breast while grinding against her. My control hung on a knife’s edge, and her stubborn refusal to cooperate made me want to spank her ass before rutting into her like the feral beast I was.
Submissive females bored me. I much preferred feisty ones I could put in their place.
“I’m not letting you go, little mate,” I growled. Her eyes fluttered shut as I rubbed my cock against her pussy. The scent of her arousal grew stronger, making it harder to hold back when all I wanted to do was bury myself in her sweet cunt.
It had been way too long, and now that I’d found her, I knew why my cock had refused to respond to Camilla the last time we hooked up. My wolf had known our mate was out there.
A small part of my brain reminded me the hybrid had triggered the same reaction, but I ignored it. A male mate wasn’t on the cards. My attraction to Riley Scott was a mistake. Even if Tobias and Tank seemed to think otherwise.
“Tell me your name,” I ground out as the little female panted in my arms, no longer struggling to free herself.
“I…I…can’t,” she gasped. The pendant she wore around her neck—a small silver charm—glinted in the light cast through the open doorway. It was a simple teardrop design, but the engravings on the surface triggered a latent memory.
Runes.
Why would a female wolf shifter be wearing a rune-marked pendant? Was she working with the witches?
“Please,” the female moaned. I gritted my teeth, fighting the demands of the mate bond.
“Tell me your name,” I demanded, circling her clit with my thumb. She cried out as she fell apart in my arms, her release flooding her thighs. The sweet smell of her shattered what remained of my control, and before I could stop myself, I’d plunged inside her.