Rejected Mate: An Enemies-to-Lovers Shifter Romance (Feral Shifters Book 1)

by Callie Rose

  I wasn’t able to hurt the shadow, so how was it able to hurt me?

  I clean up the wound as best I can, then bandage it up before I crawl back into bed. A night of rest and letting my natural healing stitch me up is just what I need, because tomorrow, I’m going to find my mates. All three of them.

  They’re nearby. I know it.

  Just in case, I leave all the lights on.

  Chapter 8

  I open my eyes to the blaze of half a dozen still-burning light bulbs, plus a hint of golden sunlight pouring through the crack in the curtains. I blink at the overwhelming illumination coupled with my grogginess.

  Sleep eluded me most of the night after the ordeal. I jerked awake at every small noise, from barking dogs to slamming doors to my neighbors’ television coming on at five a.m. Every time I opened my eyes, I expected to find Blondie standing over my bed, or to see a new shadow monster hovering over me, about to pounce.

  On any other day, I’d grumble and complain at the bright lights, slam the pillow over my head, and go back to sleep for a little while longer, until my irritable attitude chills the fuck out. But I’m not really interested in the dark right now, considering that’s where shadows sleep. Nor do I have time to waste lying around in bed while Kian and Blondie’s scent markers grow even colder.

  Last night feels like a strange dream. Rolling over onto my back, I glance at the corner of the room where my mate stood to watch me, looking like he belonged in the shadows. Then I look up to see the knife gouges in the headboard—a stark reminder that it wasn’t a dream at all.

  I hold up my injured wrist and peel off the bandage, sucking in a breath when some of the fresh, healed skin comes off with the gauze. The skin beneath is still pink bordering on red, but the worst of the burns have healed, minus a wicked blister near my wrist bone. I clench my fist twice, testing my pain tolerance, and grin when the skin barely tugs.

  Nobody can argue the perks of being a shifter.

  Shoving aside the covers, I stand and stretch, then head for the bathroom to brush my hair and get ready for the day.

  My goal today is to find my mates. I’m not naïve enough to think Kian’s presence and Blondie’s sudden appearance in my room are unrelated. I have no clue how Blondie knew where I was sleeping, but it’s no coincidence Kian showed up in Oscura, and my second mate showed up with him. The only logical answer is they know each other. The even better hypothesis is they’re traveling together.

  Find one, find both, maybe even find my third mate.

  Kill them all.

  I brew a shitty mug of cheap, off-brand Keurig coffee while I dress in a tight black tank top and my only remaining pair of jeans. Then I inhale two granola bars and wash them down with the watery brew. The idea of hitting the run down McDonald’s for an Egg McMuffin is enticing, but I don’t have the time to waste or the patience to waste it. There’s no telling how far Kian and his buddies got while I slept.

  Unfortunately, my boots didn’t survive my run-in with Kian, so I have to opt for the flats. Not the best tracking footwear, but there isn’t miraculously a shoe store nearby as far as I know. I’ll have to worry about replacements later.

  Making sure my room is locked up tight, I hop on my bike and zoom across the busy, early morning intersection, then down the side highway that passes Joe’s Bar and Grill. The shopping center is fairly empty this morning, only a few patrons at the Big Lots and a line of cars wrapped around both fast food joints. Just another day in small town America.

  Hopefully my day will be a little less mundane. Some rigorous exercise, some bloodshed, some saving the world...

  I bypass the lot and head for my first destination—the place in the woods where Kian’s bike lay after our fight. My hope is that maybe he returned for it overnight, and I’ll be able to pick up a new scent, maybe track him to where he’s holed up.

  In the light of morning beneath a pale blue sky before the New Mexico heat rolls in, I feel a bit more solid. More ready for what’s going to come next. It’s baffling to think that after three years on the road, eating cheap bar food and picking up odd jobs to keep my cash flow incoming, I’m finally close.

  I roar down the highway on my bike, the wind caressing my bare arms and the sun burning away some of the anxiety I’m still carrying from the night. What the hell was that shadow thing? And why was it in my room? Why was Blondie in my room?

  Exactly how close did I come to death last night?

  I retrace my steps from my pursuit with Kian, then find the skid marks in the dirt where we went off-roading. My smaller bike navigates the terrain well, though I go slower this time so the trees won’t slice me to ribbons. The cut on my cheek still hasn’t healed all the way up, and I’d rather not add more and make myself look like Edward Scissorhands’ little sister.

  Kian’s bike is still in the same place.

  I idle a few feet away from the fallen Harley, chewing on my lower lip. I don’t smell him, just the barest traces of his scent leftover from yesterday evening. Nothing fresh to indicate he’s returned. Plus, his bike hasn’t moved at all—not even an inch to indicate he at least tried to get it.

  Damn. I kinda wanted him to come back and see what I did to his precious motorcycle. Like a “fuck you” for running.

  Both times.

  I turn around and stalk out of the woods back toward town, but whip off the road onto the open plains before I reach the shopping center.

  My bike takes me past the low shrubs and burning sunshine of the desert plain to another section of thick evergreen forest that backs up to the center. Unfortunately, the undergrowth here is way too thick for my bike, so I knock down the kickstand and hide it behind a thick bramble bush. Then I set out on foot to find the place where I lost the blond.

  I’m on foot a good fifteen minutes before I find traces of his scent. The forest looks pretty different with daylight filtering through the canopy overhead, but I’m certain this is where I lost him. I have to strain even now to pick up the barest hint of his scent.

  I knew not to expect my mates to be normal wolf shifters. Gwen warned me about that fact—feral shifters, she called them. I don’t completely understand what that means beyond the fact that they aren’t affiliated with a pack and are running wild on their quest to destroy the world.

  But the fact that their scents can just… vanish?

  That’s unheard of. It’s as if they can become invisible, make themselves totally undetectable to even a wolf’s keen nose.

  Blondie’s scent vanishes completely near a small clearing in the trees. I circle the whole clearing, trying to pick back up on his signature, but it’s useless. On my second pass, however, I find paw prints hidden beneath a dense layer of wet, dying leaves.

  Bingo.

  I follow the trail of indentations, kicking aside the fresh layer of leaves with my feet as I walk. It’s peaceful here, with the birdsong and the breeze knocking branches and the sun’s warmth beaming through like waterfalls of gold. There’s green here, lots of it, which is a welcome respite from all the brown I’m used to. Couple the idyllic scenery with the fact that I found a clue and a trail, and I’m damn near ready to celebrate my coming victory.

  Those assholes won’t know what hit ’em.

  I knock aside another bundle of wet leaves, and the sweet, decaying scent tickles my nose.

  Then a searing pain lances through my body.

  I gasp from the sudden, unexpected shock and then double over, my fingers clenching like claws. My muscles spasm uncontrollably, and my legs buckle beneath me. I fall to my knees, unable to breathe, my whole body shaking, filled with an agonizing pain worse than anything I’ve ever felt before. Ripples of white-hot pain fill me end to end.

  I can’t move my hands.

  My arms.

  My legs.

  My muscles contract, and my vision starts to fade out. I keel over sideways and can’t even catch my fall.

  With my face pressed to the dirt and the dense, earthy smell of the f
orest floor in my nostrils, I know nothing else.

  I open my eyes to a white ceiling bisected by wood beams the color of honey.

  I’m lying on a soft mattress, and sunshine struggles to filter through the gauzy curtains covering the tiny window beside the bed. If I didn’t know any better, I would think I was back home in my parents’ little cabin, where I woke up beneath the same type of ceiling for twenty-four years. The paint between the beams is a bit brighter than the off-white cream back home, but the resemblance is startling.

  Shock sends a zing of adrenaline through me as I remember collapsing in the woods. I sit up so quickly my head spins, but something has a hold of me. Has hold of both my hands, actually. Craning my neck around, I find that my wrists have been tied to the bed frame, leaving my arms in a very uncomfortable position.

  Son of a bitch.

  I flop back onto the pillows to ease the pressure on my joints and sigh, blowing a lock of my dark hair off my face.

  Just my luck. I get hit by a painful bout of food poisoning or some shit, pass out in the woods, and then get picked up by Oscura’s resident serial killer.

  Speaking of pain… I slow my breathing and focus on my body. The pain before I passed out was debilitating, but now, I feel nothing at all. The burn from the shadow beast on my wrist chafes a little beneath the rope restraining me, but the strange muscle contractions and tightening paralysis have stopped.

  Okay, I think. That’s a good thing. That means I can try to break free and get the hell out of here before the serial killer gets back.

  Of course, an unarmed serial killer would be a cakewalk for a wolf shifter. That’s not really my worry. But if a Ted Bundy wannabe flounces in here with an axe, I might be in trouble. Especially if I’m still restrained.

  On my back, it’s easier to incline my head and look up at the ropes without yanking my joints out of place to do it. My hands dangle from purple-patterned mountain climbing rope held in place by intricate knots. I’ve done some mountain climbing in my time—hard not to when you grow up in the mountains—but I don’t recognize this knot.

  Fuck.

  I start working on the ropes, twisting my wrists and tucking my thumb in an effort to slide my hands free. Tugging on the ropes just seems to pull the knot tighter, and moving up to take the pressure off doesn’t release anything.

  Wannabe Ted Bundy really knows his knots.

  Shifting is a possibility, of course, but my wolf legs aren’t really any smaller than my normal wrists. Shifters aren’t wolf-sized. Finding myself in wolf form splayed out like this doesn’t sound appealing, and then when it fails and I have to shift back, it’s even less appealing to imagine myself naked and splayed across a bed with a serial killer roaming.

  Something prickles across my skin, then a strong scent wafts over me.

  Warm. Spicy.

  “You won’t break free.”

  I jerk at the voice. My heart picks up a nervous rhythm, and I whip my head around to face the doorway.

  Blondie leans against the door frame, looking for all the world like he’s bored out of his mind. He’s in khaki cargo pants and a black Henley that looks stunning next to his golden skin and insanely blue eyes. I should be terrified of him, knowing what I know about how dangerous he is, but instead, I’m just irritated he found me first.

  It’s easier to focus on the anger than on the way my wolf howls hungrily inside me.

  “You’re Ted Bundy?” I grit out.

  Blondie stares at me, and even though his expression doesn’t change, I’m fairly certain he thinks I’ve lost my mind.

  It definitely feels like I have.

  I jerk harder against my restraints, like that’s going to miraculously free me. “You wanna untie me? Or no?”

  He ignores my question. “What happened?”

  “I can keep yanking until the headboard collapses if you want,” I say evenly, leaning my entire weight against the ropes. Blood trickles down my wrist. Great, I opened the blister.

  Blondie’s nostrils flare, and his gaze flicks to my burned wrist. Scenting my blood. The way his pupils dilate leave no room for interpretation—my blood excites him.

  “What happened?” he repeats.

  Irritation chases away the small hint of lust I feel and revs up my desire to bash him in the head. I bare my teeth at him. “I don’t even know your name. I’m not gonna tell you shit.”

  “Frost,” he says. “What happened?”

  “Frost? What kind of name is that?” The words are supposed to come out scornfully. The insult might have fallen better if the sound of his name didn’t send a ripple of heat through me. His deep, raspy voice alone calls up every ounce of desire in my body, but hearing his name only heightens the sensation.

  Fucker. I hate it. I hate this entire situation.

  Frost repeats his question again. “What happened?”

  “You’re a real conversationalist,” I mutter, falling back against the pillows. I glance up at my arm—blood has trickled down my forearm and into the crook of my elbow. Letting out an annoyed sigh, I stare up at the wooden beams. “I was looking for you in the woods where you ran off. I started having this seizure-like pain, and I passed out. You found me. End of story.”

  He’s silent for so long that I would think he’d left, except I can still smell him. In the depths of winter, when the temperature’s frigid and the wind is cutting, I love walking into coffee houses. That initial burst of heat and spicy, coffee-scented goodness that rushes out…

  That’s what his scent makes me feel. Among other things.

  I want to jump out the fucking window. Or kick him in the face. The longer he stands in the doorway, the more the room fills with him.

  I lift my head to look at him again, and the bored expression is gone. His brow has smoothed, and a muscle in his temple works as he stares at me.

  Thoughtful. Worried, even?

  He finally speaks. “You’ve been poisoned.”

  Not what I expected.

  My eyes widen, and I try to sit up, jerking against my restraints as I snarl, “You poisoned me?”

  “No. The shadow poisoned you.” He holds up one hand, and I can just make out the remnants of raw, oozing burns on his palm. “It poisoned me, too.”

  Nausea settles in my stomach, and my head whirls. I dig my bare feet into the sheets to push myself back against the headboard. With my arms stretched out to my sides, I feel a little like I’m being crucified, but having the headboard behind me helps steady me.

  “Why was it in my room?” I ask. “Why were you in my room?”

  “The shadow was seeking me.”

  “That answers the first question,” I say with a bit of a growl in my voice. “So you’re just going to ignore my second question. Great. And why the hell was the shadow ‘seeking’ you?”

  One corner of Frost’s thick, kissable lips curls up, and his blue eyes begin to gleam. “You chased Kian down last night. If you’re hunting us, is it so surprising to learn that others are too?”

  I let my mouth fall open in mock surprise. “Wow. You do speak in full sentences. Look at that.”

  The half-smile fades immediately. Apparently, Frost is not amused.

  He won’t be amused when I get out of these restraints either.

  “Who sent the shadow?” I demand.

  Frost’s bright blue eyes darken to an alarming navy blue, and the muscles around his eyes tighten, making him look less like a golden god and more like a psychopath.

  Ted Bundy. Called it.

  “It was sent by someone who does not like us very much.”

  “Really? How could anyone possibly not like you?” I drawl, venom dripping from every syllable.

  Before I can say anything else or Frost can retort, someone appears in the doorway behind him.

  Frost steps aside, farther into the room, and the newcomer pauses in the archway, his gaze searing through me.

  My wolf howls.

  I knew it.

  My third mate
is here.

  Chapter 9

  My third mate steps into the room and crosses his arms over his thick chest, his gaze leveled on me.

  He’s shorter than Kian and Frost, but his body is chiseled and muscular in all the right places in a way that makes his t-shirt look illicit. He has smooth, dark skin, short-cropped black hair, and thick eyelashes around the most vivid violet eyes. Tattoos identical to those on Kian and Frost paint up and down his arms and peek out from the collar of his shirt.

  A new scent joins Frost’s spicy warmth—fresh air and sunshine. The smell of racing through the open plains, cool mountain wind in my fur and the Montana sun beaming down. Freedom and contentment. The new man’s scent wafts around me, mingling with Frost’s spicy warmth until I think I’m going to suffocate. My body reacts to this man with the same alarming need I’d had for Kian the night we met, and again last night for Frost.

  I don’t like this unbidden reaction. My body is a fucking traitor, making me crave these men despite the fact that I’ve seen what they will do to the world if they’re allowed to continue. Kian rejected me, and I still want him. Frost kidnapped me in the woods and tied me to a bed, and as irritated as I am, I also want to spread my legs and beg him to take me, ropes and all.

  This isn’t normal. I don’t care what shifter lore tells me. I don’t care that every elder in my life raised me to accept that one day, I’d find my mate and devote my life to that man.

  I’ll never devote my life to anybody but myself.

  I shove away every ounce of emotion their presence has raised in me. I shove away every tickle of need, every out of character desire to break free of my bonds and rub against them like a bitch in heat. I contain it all behind a glare and bare my teeth in welcome at my third mate.

  For a long moment, we stare at each other. Me glaring, him calculating. His eyes are unreal. So bright they almost glow. He looks dangerous, and god help me, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.