Page 19

19

Naomi

T he fight is long over, yet I pace the tree line, my paws pressing into the damp earth, ears straining for any sound from the clearing beyond. There was only so long I could hold back, so when I felt the ghost of a pain in Wyatt’s flank, it was only a matter of time before I shifted.

Lynn dragged me over to the edge of the forest, away from the gathered crowd, and told me to let my wolf come forward, and that she’d feel better if she was ready to intervene.

Not that she needed to. The vicious snarls died soon after.

My wolf is powerful but nervous, struggling to obey Blake's command to stay back when everything in me screams to find my mate. Yet, I can feel Wyatt’s energy calming now. Whatever happened in that clearing, the immediate danger has passed.

Most of the crowd has gone back to their lodgings after seeing the battered wolves being helped back to the packhouse for treatment by Dean’s healer. Beaten down is the only way to describe them.

“He was just so big,” one repeated over and over, as they hauled him away.

Lynn assures me that Wyatt is unhurt, but until I see it with my own two eyes, I can’t go.

“I heard his eyes went red, and Blake had to force him to submit,” someone whispers, and I grit my teeth, the urge to tell them to mind their own business almost too strong to control.

“I thought rogues didn’t have to listen to alpha commands?” another asks, and I hesitate. Is that true? I’ve never known a rogue before.

“Everyone has to listen to Blake. His wolf is so strong, even if he’s not your alpha, your wolf will do what he says.”

The awe in their voices when they speak of Blake is telling. The head alpha appears to have everyone's respect.

I’ve heard tales of Blake’s wolf, and the sorry story of how he had to put down his own father when moon madness took him. My insides twist at the idea of Wyatt’s wolf being forced to submit to anyone. It would be physically painful for an animal as dominant as his.

“I wonder if Wyatt’s going to be allowed back into the competition?”

I keep my eyes glued on the shadows beyond, waiting for him to break through.

The night is alive with tension, the air thick with the scent of blood, sweat, and the magic of shifting bodies.

My heart pounds, my muscles twitching with the need to go to him, but Blake’s command rings in my head like a heavy chain wrapped around my limbs.

Nobody follows us.

No matter how strong my will is, Blake's command physically restrains my wolf, like invisible bands wrapped around her limbs. I've never experienced anything like it, a presence so powerful it can override even the pull of the mate bond. No wonder he's in charge.

My wolf snarls, restless and furious. She doesn’t care about orders. She doesn’t care about politics or competition rules, or that the entire Alpha Games are watching. The only thing she cares about is making sure our mate isn’t hurt.

Wyatt.

His name is a pulse in my mind, a tether tying me to the clearing where he remains alone as Blake makes his way slowly through the trees.

He says nothing at first, just tips his head in greeting to my wolf, and continues on. Then, with a weary sigh and a shake of his head, he meets my restless gaze over his shoulder.

“You can go to him. But Naomi, be careful. He won’t hurt you, but he’s… not himself, and I know emotions are high. He could do… anything.”

Blake's mind-link is like nothing I've experienced before. His eyes glaze as he shows me flashes of what he saw: Wyatt standing over an injured wolf, teeth bared, eyes blazing with primitive fury, but unharmed. When he sits back on his haunches and allows the injured men to be dragged away, I breathe a sigh of relief.

Maybe it’s rude not to shift back and address him, but that feels like wasted time. I give a small yip of acknowledgement, to which Blake waves me away, knowing whatever warning he gives me will fall on deaf ears.

Taking off at a sprint, I crash through the forest, not caring about being quiet or stealthy. Coming from the other direction at pace, I hear him. I feel him. He’s picked up my scent, and he’s racing toward me, too.

My wolf is giddy, excited to meet her mate, so I ease back to a trot, giving her full control.

When we round a pile of enormous boulders, he’s suddenly there. He turns, seeing my wolf for the very first time, and his whole body locks up. The moonlight filters through the branches above, casting silver streaks across my fur. I keep my head high and tail still, letting him see me for the first time as I am.

Wyatt’s ears flick back in shock as he takes me in from top to tail. His eyes widen, glowing in the dark, and his nose lifts as he draws in my scent.

I'm accustomed to the shock when others see her for the first time, the disbelief, and sometimes, the fear. My wolf is an anomaly, a female with the size and strength of an alpha male. But instead of fear or surprise, I see only wonder and admiration in Wyatt's golden eyes.

I rarely let anyone see me in wolf form. Stupidly, I let Brad see her once, and now, I’m in this position. He thought he could make me his secret weapon, that I’d give him strong pups. And now, he thinks I can get him another pack.

My wolf pauses and admires him for a moment, taking a second to appreciate the moon goddess’s handiwork. She prances past him, showing off her strength and beauty. Modest, my wolf is not. She knows she’s something special.

Wyatt stands still, his dark fur rippling in the wind, and his breaths heavy and shoulders tense. He’s magnificent. There’s nothing mangy or dishevelled about this rogue wolf. His coat is thick and lustrous, and muscle ripples across every inch of his body.

This is a true alpha if I’ve ever seen one.

Where other males might be threatened by my wolf's unusual size and strength, Wyatt seems entranced. His posture softens and the battle-ready tension in his muscles eases as he watches me circle him. My wolf preens under his admiring gaze, all too aware of her own beauty and power.

He rumbles, low and steady, not as a threat, but as a demand that I come closer.

I don’t. Nervous that he might still be angry about Brad’s gift.

Wyatt hesitates before approaching me instead, his massive paws pressing lightly against the earth, as he inches forward. His head is bowed slightly, tail low, his posture is careful and hesitant.

Like he thinks I’ll reject him.

Like, he thinks I see him as a savage. A dangerous rogue who’s finally shown his true colours.

Far from it. If he was a savage, they would have carried those men back in pieces.

I’m mesmerized by him, and my wolf is smitten.

I close the space between us and lower my head, sniffing along his jaw. He’s still bleeding, his scent laced with the coppery tang of blood that makes my wolf whine, but beneath that, he’s all Wyatt. Earth and pine, and something deeper, something that belongs to me.

I breathe in his scent, cataloging the subtle differences from his human form. It’s wilder, richer, but still unmistakably him. The metallic tang of blood makes my wolf anxious, but she finds no serious injuries, just surface wounds already beginning to heal with shifter speed.

He doesn’t move when I drag my tongue over his cheek tenderly, cleaning away the blood splattered there. I do it again, slower this time. My wolf whimpers softly, nuzzling into him, pressing my face into his fur, wanting him to understand.

I don’t see a savage. I see my mate.

Wyatt exhales sharply, his muscles losing some of their tension. He lowers himself onto his haunches, letting me tend to him. My tongue moves over the gash on his shoulder, then down his foreleg where another bite mark seeps. He lets out a low rumbling noise, not a growl, but something deep and primal, his body responding to my care in a way I feel more than hear.

Each slow, careful stroke of my tongue says what words cannot.

I accept you as you are. I am not afraid. I am yours, and you are mine.

His rumbling response grows louder. Not quite a purr, but something equally content.

He’s never had this, someone to tend to him, someone who’ll make sure every scratch is properly cared for.

My wolf nudges against him, encouraging him to stand again.

We need to move. Not back to the packhouse. Not where people are going to be watching him and judging him. Away.

I nip at his fur gently before trotting forward into the woods, glancing back once.

Come with me.

For a second, I think he won’t follow. That his human side will take over, still feeling hurt by what happened at dinner, and that he’ll resist.

But his wolf is more instinctual. I’m his mate. We’re together, as it should be.

Finally, he stands, shakes out his thick coat, and follows, staying close while scanning the trees protectively, keeping an eye out for anyone else coming to cause more trouble.

There's something healing about this simple, wordless communion. In our fur, there are no lies, no complications, and no misunderstandings. Just scent and touch, instinct and belonging.

He follows me trustingly, his massive form moving with surprising grace as we leave behind the drama of the day and just enjoy being in each other's presence, alone at last.

My wolf bursts with happiness, tail wagging once before she takes off into the trees.

We move together, slipping between the trunks like ghosts. The moonlight is bright above us, casting shadows that stretch and bend as we run. Our paws barely make a sound against the damp leaves, our movements fluid and effortless.

We don’t shift back to our human forms.

We don’t speak.

We don’t want or need to.

This is our first run together, our first true meeting as wolves, without words or duty or expectation getting in the way.

And it’s perfect.

There’s no drama. No alphas causing trouble. No games looming large.

Wyatt’s wolf moves like a shadow beside me, all strength and quiet dominance. His presence is intoxicating, his warmth brushing against my side as we weave through the underbrush, climbing over fallen logs and leaping over streams.

Eventually, we find shelter beneath an outcrop of rock, a small clearing where the earth is soft, and the trees form a natural canopy. The leaves cast dappled shadows across the silvery ground. The wind barely reaches us here, and the silence feels safe.

I circle once before lying down, my paws stretched forward, and my tail curled lightly around my body.

Wyatt hesitates before settling beside me, his larger frame pressing close.

My wolf hums with satisfaction.

This is what she’s wanted.

Him. Beside her.

I tuck my head beneath his chin, nuzzling into his thick fur. He’s warm and his breathing is deep and steady. I don’t shift back. I can’t. Not yet.

Our wolves know what our human sides struggle to articulate: that we belong together, that the complications between us are temporary, that this connection is far stronger than the obstacles we face. Everything else seems distant and unimportant. All that matters at this moment is us.

She stays, pressing against him, reminding him with every breath, every shared warmth, that he’s not alone. That no matter what happens, no matter who comes for us tonight, to trust that I’m his.

His muzzle rests against my neck, his exhales slow and heavy as he finally drifts into sleep.

The night stretches on, but we don’t move. For the first time in days, even knowing it won’t last, I feel whole.