A Mate's Denial(4)

That selfish, irresponsible biker. Like the one who’d killed Ethan.

There. That was more like it.

Trager. Even his name sounded irresponsible. If that was even his real name.

After a long hot bath, and a few chapters of her favorite book, Kerrigan felt relaxed enough to sleep. Tomorrow was a new day, and she intended to make the best of it.





Chapter Three


Trager knew it was a long shot but he had to try. His family—whether they wanted to claim him or not—was at risk, and he couldn’t stand by and do nothing. There was Gabby and Farrow to think about. It had been more than a decade since he’d seen his sister, but Farrow told him she’d grown to be a fine she-wolf. Still unmated, but there was no prophecy depicting otherwise, so it would happen with time.

His last rendezvous with Farrow hadn’t gone well. His childhood friend was finding it hard to keep their meetings a secret. And since he was at the right age to find his mate, the risk of being caught with a straggler like Trager, wasn’t worth it. Trager couldn’t fault him, really. If the Elders learned the two had kept in touch throughout the years, that Farrow had slipped Trager food and supplies when he’d been on his last leg, they’d toss him from the pack too. Then where would he bring his mate to raise a family?

No, if the tables were turned, Trager wouldn’t take the risk either. That’s why he’d skipped their last three meetings.

Every three months, on the last Friday of the month, they met deep in the woods of Trager’s property, far away from his cabin. He didn’t like meeting his friend in the middle of nowhere, but if life had taught Trager anything, it was that there was safety in secrets. His home was a secret. No one knew its location and he planned to keep it that way.

Tonight, they were due to meet again. He’d planned on warning Farrow about the threat to his pack, but his friend didn’t show. That left Trager with one more option before his hail Mary play. If this worked, he wouldn’t have to bring his mate—there was no way her name was really Sam Adams—into the mix. If there was any possible way to leave her out of this mess, he’d do it.

Which is why he found himself pacing outside the borders of his former pack’s land, just after midnight.

Trager had run all the way from Joplin to the Ozark national forest, and not only because his bike was dead. His wolf needed to burn off steam, and a two hundred mile run seemed like the best option at the time. Now, Trager was just as frustrated as when he’d started except he was tired too.

Fur ruffling in the night breeze, he paced another round. Nudged a rock with his nose. They’d probably already scented him, but he couldn’t cross the borders. All he could do was wait for them to show, and hope they didn’t try to kill him.

His ears twitched with the rustling of tree leaves. His wolf nose drew in the faintly familiar scent of others like him. Wolf shifters. Many of them. At least ten.

Ten to one, if they tried to kill him. Best to play it safe.

Trager put his paws forward and brought his nose to the ground, his hind legs pulled inward, and his tail tucked. He was the picture of sweet submission. Yielding to people who had forsaken him felt like hide being ripped off. The only thing that kept his nose to the ground was the thought of his sister’s safety.

Several pregnant minutes passed before three large wolves emerged from the thick brush. Trager didn’t look them in the eye, but he recognized them. The black one with the golden eyes and scarred ear was Vesh, the pack’s fiercest hunter. Avan, a white wolf, was the smallest of the three. A female, a few years older than Trager, she wouldn’t be here unless she was a boundary defender. She must have grown to be ferocious. The last wolf was a unique combination of brown, red, and black.

Farrow.

This could be a good sign. With Farrow here, maybe this could work.

Trager held very still as the black wolf creeped forward. A barely contained growl, rumbled in Vesh’s throat. He circled Trager, sniffing the ground around him. When he came back to Trager’s face, he released a threatening snarl.

Don’t lunge, don’t lunge. If Trager attacked the guard, this whole thing would be ruined. Not to mention, he didn’t stand a chance against these wolves when several more of them lurked in the woods, waiting to bite his head off. He locked his jaw to prevent himself from responding with his own roar.

Trager kept his prone pose while the other two guards circled him. Farrow’s jaw snapping near Trager’s nose gave him an odd sense of pride for his friend, even as it felt like another knife in the back.

The whole thing went on for too long. He had things he needed to tell them, and they were wasting the night away sniffing his ass and growling. Trager’s patience was on its last string when the three of them finally shifted, letting their wolves fall away.