Page 11 of Fated to the Alpha Warrior (The Wolf’s Forbidden Mate #1)
Aurora
Even if it weren’t for the rising sun, I doubt I would’ve slept very long at our makeshift camp. The smell of Kieran is overpowering this close, a sharp bite of cedar with the softness of rosemary and sea salt.
I wake up before dawn and find him sitting on a rock nearby, his head on a swivel, his broad shoulders tense. He doesn’t move as I rise from my sleeping bag and walk over to stand beside him, but I can tell from the shift of muscles along his back that he’s aware of me.
As if he wouldn’t be aware of me. I’m sure he feels it all the time, the way I do: the bond.
It’s a constant ache in my chest now, dulled but still present with every breath I take.
I resent the fact that it doesn’t seem to hurt him the way it hurts me—that must be one of the privileges that comes with being the rejector instead of the rejected.
“I’ve got this,” I tell him, crouching beside the rock to stare off into the dull light of dawn. “Take a quick nap before we head out. I’ll make sure we aren’t being tailed by anything.”
He grunts in response. “I’m not tired.”
Watching him stand up, his powerful body looming over me—damn his impossible height—I feel a spark of indignation. “We were supposed to split the watch and each take half.”
“I don’t need the sleep,” he insists, his blue eyes not even glancing my way. “We should get there early instead of wasting more time. If we head out now, even on foot, we’ll be there before noon.”
It irks me to be dismissed, especially by him, but there’s clearly no swaying him.
Everything is up to him and always has been.
It rankles me, but if going along with his decisions gets this over with quickly, maybe that’s for the best. The sooner this ever-present ache is gone from my chest the better.
We disassemble the camp in silence, exchanging little more than monosyllabic words, grunts, and gestures.
Kieran guides me to a shed just off the path, previously hidden in the dark, where I can lock up my bike.
It’s one of many similar sheds shifters keep near the wild paths that lead between our territories.
Some are big enough to serve as sleeping spaces, and some, like this small shed, are little more than storage for water, spare clothes, and now my motorcycle.
When I get back to camp, he’s packed up everything except for two bowls of warm, sticky oatmeal and two tin mugs of coffee.
Even my sleeping bag has been rolled up and tied to the bottom of my pack—something that makes me feel a little…
strange, given how much I know it smells like me.
The image of him inhaling my scent flashes through my mind for a moment before I bitterly remind myself that he wants nothing to do with me.
Kieran hands me my bowl unceremoniously, his back turned to me, his movements sharp and impatient.
“You sure know how to charm a lady,” I comment as I take the first bite of sticky, sweet oatmeal. “Nothing warms me up to a man faster than grunts, single syllable words, pre-dawn wakeups, and the world’s least flavorful breakfast.”
Kieran just mutters, “You snore.”
Well, that’s that, I suppose.
We set off in silence, our packs slung over our shoulders. I notice that Kieran’s looks bigger than before, and mine feels lighter. He must have shifted some of our supplies into his pack—another sign he thinks I can’t handle myself.
Determined to prove him wrong, I stretch my legs and overtake him on the trail. It’s easy enough; I’ve gone to Pack Amethyst many times with Dana, always the two of us on foot.
I know the best places to set down my boot-clad feet, the switchbacks that are lethal and the rocks that don’t crumble.
This path, like all of ours, isn’t meant to be easy to find.
It curves around the edge of one of the foothills near the ranchland and is mostly used by goats.
The park service warns climbers not to try to head past the foothills this way, and most of them heed that warning, probably because it’s barren and boring to look at in addition to being dangerous.
After a while, sweat breaks out across my back and chest, and I forget about the tension between me and Kieran. He becomes just another part of the landscape, albeit a sweating and swearing part of it.
Soon we reach the part of the trail that dives between two sheer rock faces.
Neither is very tall, just like the foothills in this part of the land, but the path between them is narrow.
We have to go single file, and Kieran, of course, decides to go first. After he brushes off my first suggestion—to take a small shortcut—I silently watch him struggle ahead of me.
It’s a small, petty act that fills me with joy.
At least until the path empties out into the scraggly valley on the other side and I find myself staring at a curve of broad white mushrooms on the ground. Frowning, I brace myself on the rock face with my left hand and follow the mushrooms around, my memory working as I see that they form a ring.
“The fae have certain signs that have carried over for centuries, from the old world into the new,” Gran says, her voice solemn.
“One is faerie rings: mushrooms growing in circles, through which the fae are able to pass into our realm for brief moments. All they need to stick around longer is to make a bargain or trick a mortal into inviting them in, and they can come and go as they please. Until then… faerie rings are how they travel.”
There’s no doubt that’s what this is. Even if it weren’t for Gran’s teaching, and the itch along my skin, as soon as Kieran steps off the path to follow me he sneezes.
“What are you doing?” His voice is distinctly annoyed, which makes me smirk a little. “This isn’t the path, Aurora.”
Now I’m just mad. “I found a faerie ring. Or didn’t you notice?” He looks puzzled, his thick brows drawn together, blue eyes irritated in the direct light of the rising sun. “I thought you could smell the fae.”
“That isn’t—I can, just…” Pausing, he concentrates, and curses beneath his breath. “They’ve spread then, because we aren’t even on Pack Amethyst land yet.”
“Let’s keep going,” I tell him, kicking some of the mushrooms over as I rejoin him on the path, even though I know they’ll just regrow overnight. “This probably isn’t the only sign of them.”
My hunch is proven correct as we navigate through the valley, into the sparse woods on the other side, toward Pack Amethyst land.
There are other traces of fae activity, like the whisper of voices on the wind, a torn piece of parchment with dark runes inked on it, carved tree trunks and glass marbles in the dirt.
All are signs of bargains the fae like to make.
“The voices are to tempt mortals into following them, this paper is from a bargain made,” I point to a scrawled signature that’s been ripped in half, “the carved tree trunks are similar, and the glass marbles would’ve looked like coins or treasure before the bargain was made.
The fae are tricky like that. They like to trick mortals into thinking they’re getting the better end of the deal, but there’s always something darker going on. ”
“No shifter would make a bargain with a fae,” Kieran protests, “and we’re too close to pack land for any human to have come this way.”
I shrug. “I’m just telling you what I see and what I know from Gran.
But if you ask me, it isn’t surprising at all that a shifter would make a deal with a fae.
There are plenty who want to become alpha one day, yearn for a mate, want a longer life…
and they all know that magic is real. Why wouldn’t they believe the words of a faerie in the dark?
Especially one that promises all that their heart desires. ”
He has nothing to say to that, because we both know that only one of us has a reason to make a bargain with the fae.
As if sensing my weakness, the rejected bond flares to life in my chest. I clench my jaw, pushing the pain down, refusing to look weak in front of him.
But I know what I would ask if I was on the other end of a fae bargain and took them at their word: I would ask for this damn bond to be gone completely.
Dana’s words echo in my ears. “There’s a coven near your birth pack’s lands that says they can remove any mate bond without consequences.” It’s just a rumor, I’m sure. Many a witch has tried to sell a shifter on a bargain like that before, and there are always consequences.
Although it’s not as if my current state is consequence-free.
Shaking off the thoughts, I tuck the torn parchment and handful of glass marbles into my pack, and we keep going. The path widens and flattens the closer we get to Pack Amethyst land, which is at the base of one of the foothills in this area.
We know we’re on shifter territory the closer we get to it. The air gets crisper, smelling distinctly of fresh rain. A shiver goes across my skin as we step across the borders.
“It’s small,” Kieran comments, raking his gaze across the wide mouth of the valley, which rolls down and away from our vantage point. “There couldn’t be more than eighty to a hundred shifters here. And that’d be before the madness took so many.”
Usually the shifters of Pack Amethyst are visible almost the instant you step on their land.
As a small pack, they have no outskirts or fringes where lone wolves shelter.
Their land is divided mostly into commercial and residential areas, with a small clinic that doubles as headquarters for the volunteer firefighters.
Right now, every street is empty of vehicles, every sidewalk clear of pedestrians, and there isn’t any visible movement in any of the buildings.
“Where to next?” I ask Kieran, deferring to him and his snot-nosed ego. “You said the alpha is dead and his heirs are all missing, correct? So his home is most likely empty.”