Page 3 of Claiming His Rejected Mate

Fight, Hazel, she urges, her voice steady and commanding.

My senses sharpen. Every sound and movement is crystal clear. The weight of my exhaustion lifts as my wolf lends me her strength and sharp instincts. I dart forward faster than I thought possible, delivering precise strikes that catch Cain off guard.

He growls, his frustration evident as he adjusts his stance, but it’s too late. The tide of the fight has shifted.

For the first time, I hear the crowd cheer for me, their voices a chorus of surprise and admiration. My wolf preens at the sound, her pride swelling within me.

There, there, Prima donna. The fight isn’t over yet.

Cain lunges again, his movements more erratic now, and I sidestep, using his momentum against him. The final clash leaves us both panting, our bodies locked in a stalemate as the announcer steps forward.

“A tie!” he declares, his voice booming over the crowd.

The pit erupts in applause and shouts, the noise a blur in my ears as I step back, my chest heaving. Cain meets my gaze, his smirk replaced by something resembling respect.

“Not bad,” he says grudgingly, extending a hand.

I take it, the brief shake firm and resolute.

As I exit the pit, my troop members swarm me, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of congratulations.

“How did you pull that off?” Jerrod asks, his wide eyes gleaming with excitement.

“That was incredible,” Rhyne adds, clapping me on the shoulder.

I try to muster a response, but their words barely register. My focus drifts, my wolf’s presence humming in my mind. There’s an ache spreading through me, deep and insistent, that has nothing to do with the fight.

Mate.

My wolf’s voice is a growl now. I know exactly who she’s calling for.She waited long enough, and now I can feel her insistence on claiming me.

My gaze lifts, drawn unbidden to the Alpha booth. Kieran is still watching, his piercing blue eyes locked on mine. My heart stutters, my wolf pressing against the edges of my mind, her desire to close the distance between us overwhelming.

Before I realize what I’m doing, my feet are moving. The crowd fades away, the noise a distant hum as I walk toward him, drawn by the invisible thread of our bond. I have a mate. A Fated Mate.

Kieran is ours, my wolf whispers, her voice thick with possessive pride.

But then, I see a bunch of females clustered around him, their flirtatious laughter grating against my senses. A flare of jealousy ignites in my chest, my wolf snarling in protest.

I stop abruptly, my pulse pounding in my ears. What am I doing? This is madness. I’m in the middle of an inter-pack event, surrounded by warriors and elders. If I make a scene, if I act on this pull, the consequences could be catastrophic. I could be the laughingstock of all the packs present. I could be punished for conspiring with our rivals. Anything could happen. My social reputation is at stake.

Kieran’s gaze flicks to the women around him, and for a brief moment, something dark flashes across his expression. He ignores them entirely, rising to his feet. I have to move. This can’t happen here. For all I know, he is the herald of my doom.

I spot Gareth on the other side of the ring, engrossed in the fight. Jerrod is right next to him. Great. I just need to get to the other side. I’d be safe there. I start moving through the press of bodies. I slip under the giant arms of some of the bigger wolves and shimmy between them when I can, pressing against sweaty bodies. But before I make it even halfway to the other side, I feel a hand grab me and pull me back.

Chapter 2

Hazel

I try to move through the mesh of bodies, desperate to escape the grip on my arm. The hold is firm but not rough, radiating heat that seeps through my sleeve and into my skin. I spin around, the air leaving my lungs as I come face-to-face with him.

Kieran.

He’s impossibly tall, at least six-foot-five, his broad frame cutting through the chaos like a storm cloud. Up close, his piercing blue eyes are even more unsettling, like shards of ice that could freeze you in place—or pierce straight through you. His jaw is set, the scar slicing through his left brow down his eye and stopping at his cheek, making his expression all the more intense.

For a moment, I can’t breathe. His presence is overwhelming, but unlike how I feel before my father, Jag Nightbeam, the Nightclaw Alpha, and even older warriors in my pack, I do not feel fear.

“Come with me,” he says, his voice low but commanding, like a growl waiting to break free.

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