Page 52 of Broken Rejected Mate

Nice work—

Dorian cuts himself off when we catch a different scent—Grayhide.

Lie low, Dorian commands, and I instantly crouch down in the grass, watching as he stalks ahead, searching for the wolf.

Looking for me?

I jolt at the sensation—an unfamiliar voice in my head, a wolf that I haven’t bonded with. Someone not from my pack. It scrambles my senses, reminds me of what it feels like to accidentally brush up against an electric fence. The jolt so sudden and complete that it feels like a shove right in the center of your back.

Show yourself, Dorian demands, his growl coming loud and clear through the mental bond.

I’m not here to fight,the voice says. Dorian is hunkered down two feet ahead of me, his head on a swivel, still trying to find the source of the communication.

The antelope to our left stinks of coagulating blood, its flesh still warm and cooling rapidly as the sun starts to set, the cool desert night descending over us, bringing a definite chill.

Bold words, Dorian growls again,from a wolf too coward to face us.

I knew you would attack me on sight, he counters.But I think it would be beneficial for both of us if you let me say my piece. Is that something we can agree to, Fields?

A beat passes. I can practically feel Dorian weighing his options—likely still trying to work out how the hell another wolf—aGrayhide—has wormed his way into our communications like this.

Finally, Dorian says,Fine. Show yourself, and we can continue this conversation as men.

A second later, a large wolf appears as though from the shadows, materializing just behind a massive red boulder. His black fur ripples in the breeze, glowing with a red undersheen in the low light of the setting sun.

Then he shifts, revealing a tall young man with a similar shock of black hair on his head, every free inch of his skin littered with the lines of pack tattoos.

“Oren Blacklock,” he says, his dark, serious eyes locked on Dorian. “I’ve come to ask for your help in killing my father.”

Chapter 29 - Veva

Claire lets out a low curse to my left, dropping her hands in frustration.

We’ve just poured every ounce of our energy into this spell, and what lays on the table in the center of the room is exactly the right color for Amanzite, but instead of a stone, it’s an oozing, goopy mess that spreads out over the center of the table.

“Huh,” one of the other casters says, lowering her head and breathing in. “Smells like butterscotch.”

Claire stalks away from the table, working her hands, massaging her wrists. While I’ve been throwing all my power into the casting, Claire is the one who’s been guiding the metaphorical bus, steering us in the direction we need to go.

“Hey,” I say, dropping a hand onto her back. “Take a breather. It’s okay. What we’re attempting here it’s…it’s a lot.”

Through her hands, Claire says, “I just with I could get this right. It’s like—it’s like I just—I’ve held the Amanzite, and we’ve broken it open, but I feel so disconnected from it. Like I can’tnailwhat it is that makes up the structure—”

I suck in a breath so quickly that she snaps up, looking around, worried.

“No, sorry,” I say, breathless, my hand on my chest. “Fuck, Claire I just—I think I just had an idea for how we can do this right!”

She blinks. “You did?”

Some of the other casters are looking over at us, their curiosity piqued.

“Forgive me for prying,” I say, crouching down so I’m eye-to-eye with her. “You’re not a shifter, are you?”

“No,” she shakes her head. I didn’t think so. Most casters are non-shifters, and shifters who can cast are extremely rare. Sarina isn’t old enough for her first shift, but given her abilities, I doubt she’ll be able to.

ButIcan shift. I don’t do it very often, not wanting to use my gems in the camp for shifting. But I can—and that might just be the thing that can get us closer to this.

“We need a shifter to helpguideus to the right structure,” I say, straightening up and starting to pace. “We can swap, Claire. I’ll try guiding the spell, and you—”

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