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

  Rejected Mate

  Feral Shifters: Book One

  Callie Rose

  Copyright © 2021 by Callie Rose

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  To be continued…

  Books by Callie Rose

  Chapter 1

  Three Years Ago

  Evening hunts are the best.

  I live for them. I live for the way the Montana sky spreads overhead, larger than even seems possible in a watercolor of purples and oranges. I live for the cold wind coming off the mountains to ruffle my fur and for the scent of our prey floating on that same breeze.

  I live for the pursuit.

  For the takedown.

  For the thrill of it all.

  So what the fuck is wrong with me tonight?

  Amora, take the left, Ridge orders from somewhere close by. His voice is just as low and gruff in our telepathic mind-speak as it is in his human form.

  I don’t have a visual of him since we’ve spread out around the herd of deer in the growing twilight. Carter’s crouched in the weeds about ten feet away—a massive chocolate brown wolf with blue eyes and an almost preternaturally keen sense of smell. Beyond him, I catch a glimpse of Luna’s golden fur as she inches forward, low to the ground. She’s not the greatest hunter among us, but she’s light and quick, which is always a plus on a team hunt.

  Right now, I don’t even feel like the greatest hunter among us. I shake off the antsy, unsettled feeling that’s been hovering over me for the last hour and follow my alpha’s orders, moving fast and low to the left.

  Two young deer are grazing alone on the outskirts of the herd. As I close in, their heads pop up and their ears swivel toward me. I drop to my belly and slow my breathing, waiting out their unease.

  Yeah. I feel you, deer dudes.

  My own ears swivel toward the sounds of the forest around me. The unease I’ve been feeling since before we shifted to head out on the hunt grows. It’s like I’m feeling the strange charged sensation that fills the canyons when a storm is brewing over North Pack lands. The sky is clear, however, and there’s not a hint of rain on the wind. It’s either all in my head or… it’s only something I can feel.

  I don’t know which of those possibilities is better, really.

  Ridge barks out another order in mind-speak, this time to Carter, and our pack moves ever closer to the unsuspecting deer.

  Dammit. I can’t fucking focus. I keep closing in slowly, manning my corner of the herd as best I can even while my body tingles, itching to race off into the trees somewhere else. There’s no reason for me to feel like this. It’s not like me to feel this antsy. I’m laid back to a fault. Go with the flow. Easy as fucking pie.

  Usually.

  Tonight, I’m wound as tight as a nun’s legs.

  Of course it would be now, when my focus is shot to shit, that the largest buck in the herd takes off in my direction.

  His sudden dash causes chaos to erupt throughout the herd. The deer scatter and my pack lunges into motion after them, baying into the silent evening. The buck leaps past me, nothing but power and grace and thick thighs that make my mouth water.

  Unfortunately, I’m such a hot disaster that my own leap is a split second too late. I sail right past his stupid fluffy white tail—narrowly avoiding a hoof to the snout—and hit the ground face-first, skidding much less elegantly across the underbrush with all four paws splayed.

  Motherfucker. Wile E. Coyote can’t hold a candle to you, Amora, I think bitterly. You ass.

  There’s grass in my snout. I huff, discharging blades and dirt like I’m a damn lawnmower.

  Just in time for Ridge to slide to a halt in front of me.

  Lovely look on you, he says with an undercurrent of amusement. Ridge’s fur is pale brown with a hint of auburn most noticeable in the light. He’s not the biggest wolf in the pack, despite being the alpha, but he’s scrappy and strong. His honey-colored eyes twinkle with mirth.

  Oh fuck off, I reply, huffing again. I’ll knock that smirk right off your face.

  Ridge laughs and takes off through the trees, hightailing it after the herd. Get off your ass, Mo. Do some work!

  I snarl after him in what I hope is the promise of retribution, then haul myself to my feet, shake it off, and follow. Nothing’s hurt but my pride.

  Luckily, my inability to time my attack correctly doesn’t ruin the hunt for us. Within moments of the initial chaos, other members of the pack take down two deer—a young buck and a doe—and the rest of the herd bounds off into the sunset to live another day.

  Once dinner is safely secured on the sled and hooked up to two of the biggest wolves, we head back toward the village.

  Ridge usually takes the lead on the way home, but this time, he falls behind to walk beside me, shooting a glance at me as he falls into step on my left. All right. What’s up?

  Shit. I should’ve known he’d call me out. Ridge has been my best friend for years, since we were little pups playing in the yard together while our moms drank sangria and bitched about the other neighbors. He knows me too well not to notice when something is weird with me.

  If I were in human form, I’d shrug. That’s harder to do in wolf form, so I settle for glancing at him with as much nonchalance as possible. Nothing’s up.

  My ass, he shoots back.

  I have no interest in your ass, up or otherwise.

  Ridge bares his teeth, and the flutter of his eyelids makes it obvious he’s rolling his wolf eyes at me. Yeah, that part I already knew. I was talking more about the hunt tonight, and your… uh, unique landing style.

  A sharp breath huffs from my nostrils. I’m never gonna live that down, am I?

  Not anytime soon. His jaw drops open as his tongue lolls out in a wolfish grin.

  I shake my head in annoyance, but I guess that’s fair. I give him shit about plenty of things.

  You form a lot of bonds in a pack as close-knit as ours. Friends, family. Enemies, even. Some of them are stronger bonds than others, and my relationship with Ridge has always been one of the strong ones. A friendship that transcended a run-of-the-mill acquaintanceship and has become a partnership formed of respect and affection.

  But not love. Not the sexy kind, at any rate.

  The who
le pack expected me and Ridge to form a mate bond from the word go. We knew pretty early on that it wasn't in the cards for us, which was kinda nice actually. It took the tension of being a girl and a boy out of our friendship. We were just Ridge and Amora, and Ridge’s little brother Lawson was always with us too. I was barely out of diapers when my parents died, and Ridge became my only family.

  Twenty years later, here we are.

  I’m fine, I insist. Just unfocused.

  He doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer either, but I get a reprieve as we reach the outskirts of our village. This place is home—always has been, probably always will be. We’re born pack, we die pack, and that’s just the circle of shifter life. I guess it’s a nice place given the circumstances. Situated in the middle of nowhere, but it’s beautiful. Roofs over our heads, a self-sustaining lifestyle, cut off from the dangers of the human world. Rustic, sure. But it’s all I’ve ever needed.

  Ridge sends the deer off to be prepped for dinner, then he gives us a rousing great job, team speech that makes me want to coach him on public speaking. He does this thing where he gets inside his own head sometimes, although I think only those closest to him can probably see it. The elders in the pack say it’s because he hasn’t found his mate yet.

  I think he’s just awkward. God help the woman who lands this catch.

  We all shift to human form, and while the rest of our hunting party breaks off to head back to their homes, Ridge pads back to me in his bare feet.

  I mean, fine, I take it back—he’s pretty good-looking, even if I’m not the right girl for him. Nudity is a given around here, since the magic that allows us to shift to wolf form and back doesn’t exactly work on clothes. So I’m no stranger to a naked Ridge. He’s broad and muscular, with ash brown hair and a constant, unmanageable scruff on his face. Some great girl will come along and snatch him up in the bond he deserves.

  “You, me, beer, and poker,” he says, the two of us falling into step together as we head toward our houses.

  I grin. “Still salty about that fifty bucks I took from you last week?”

  “I deserve a chance to reclaim my dignity. And my money.” He smirks. “Odds are good I’ll win. You’re not staring down a good track record tonight, Stumbles.”

  “Just because I fell on the hunt doesn’t mean I wouldn’t wipe the floor with you, Scooby,” I shoot back, using the old childhood nickname he hates. “But not tonight. I’m going to head into town. Blow off a little steam.”

  “Oh, yeah. ‘Blow off some steam,’” he says pointedly, then makes a crude gesture with his hand and mouth that leave no room for interpretation.

  I hate how there are no secrets in this friendship.

  “Don’t blame me for needing a little fun in my life, grandpa,” I quip as I turn toward my house. “While I go ‘blow off some steam,’ you go ahead and enjoy re-reading your favorite copy of Popular Mechanics before you drink Earl Grey and go to bed before nine.”

  “I don’t even like Earl Grey!” he calls after me.

  His laughter follows me up the two shallow steps to my front door, then he adds, “Be safe out there.”

  “I will,” I call back, then disappear inside.

  My cabin isn’t much. Most days, I don’t even feel like it’s really mine. It was my parents’ place, and I inherited it when they died. Lived here with a caretaker through my youth, then alone once I was old enough.

  I’m always alone.

  I grab a quick shower since I haven’t had one today, dry off and wrap the towel around my body, then brush out my long dark hair. No use trying to style it when I’m going to shift to get to town. Good thing the “windblown waves” look is popular.

  My closet creaks like a dying deer as I throw open the door, and I glare at the old metal hinges for a moment before stomping off to my kitchen for the WD-40. I oil up those bad boys and give the door a few test swings. I’ve been considering replacing the whole thing since the door’s a flimsy piece of shit with some warping on the bottom. Maybe Grady would let me borrow his truck for a trip to Home Depot.

  Not a problem for tonight though. Tonight, I’m on the prowl.

  I flip through hangers for the perfect fuck me dress. I’m not big on dresses; it’s not really my aesthetic. I like soft cotton, tight jeans, and tank tops. But guys like dresses, especially when they’re short, tight, and leave very little to the imagination.

  The number one rule of hunting—other than “don’t fall on your face”—is to know your prey.

  I pick out a short, strapless red number and shove it in my pack, then find a pair of black kitten heels tucked into the very back of the closet. I add a tube of mascara, an eyeliner pencil, and red lipstick to my pack, then take one last look around before I head out.

  Where the gravel roads meet the wilds on the edge of the village, I slip the pack over my shoulders and shift. The straps hung off my back when I was in human form, but they fit snugly around my broad wolf’s torso. After shaking out my fur a little, I sprint off into the darkness, giving myself over to the power in my legs.

  Nothing beats being in wolf form as I race through the open plains flanked by snow-capped mountains. Cool wind ruffles my fur as my body heats up, and the pounding of my paws on the dirt creates a steady rhythm—there’s a beauty in it that has no match in human form.

  The nearest town to North Pack lands is a dinky, one stoplight kind of place that takes a while to reach. I’m not even sure I know what the place is called, and frankly, I don’t care. If I go into this particular town, I’m going for one reason and one reason only.

  I see the lights before I smell the humanity, and I come to a halt behind an old horse barn to shift and dress. The red tube dress fits my body like a second skin, emphasizing my height and my lithe curves. I swipe on my makeup as I squint into a tiny compact by the light of the stars, but I’ve done it enough times before that muscle memory takes over.

  Once I’m all dolled up, I leave my pack on the ground behind the barn, hook my finger through the straps on my heels, and walk into town.

  The main street is quaint. Two strips of shops line either side of the road in a rustic log cabin kind of architecture. The sidewalks hold large barrel planters of colorful flowers, and the streetlights are decorative with soft glowing globes. I pause next to a planter and use the rim to balance as I tug on my heels, then continue to the bar area at the end of the road.

  Being such a small place, there are only three bars to choose from, and none of them have the most desirable clientele. I’m not picky though. I decided a long time ago not to fuck around with wolves from my pack. It just makes shit messy later on when mate bonds form. I’m not interested in being the bitch that fucked someone’s soulmate.

  I head for the better of the three bars—a little hole in the wall called Keggers that tends to have a younger crowd and a comfortable atmosphere for women. The bartender-slash-owner is a woman named Barb who looks like she could kick even Ridge’s ass, so creepy dudes don’t last very long in her establishment.

  The party’s well underway when I arrive. The place is packed to the rafters, dim and smoky. An auto-tuned dubstep song blasts from the sound system over the noise of chatting, laughter, and clinking glasses. I wind my way through the high top tables dotting the middle of the floor and find an empty chair at the long dark wooden bar.

  Barb sidles up to me, tossing a stained white rag over her shoulder. She’s built like a semi with a cute face, dark hair buzzed short, and shrewd brown eyes that miss nothing. “What’ll it be?”

  “Gin and tonic. Top shelf,” I add.

  Barb winks at me. “You got it, sis.”

  While she slaps my drink together, I take a moment to peruse the wares. Lots of groups here tonight: a few college-age kids looking for a good time; a group of construction workers in dusty boots and Carhartt jackets; a couple tables holding out-of-towners. I can always tell when they aren’t from around here. They have a different smell, for one thing. And they alway
s look confused, like they aren’t clear on how they ended up in the middle of nowhere Montana. This state could swallow you, if you let it.

  Barb slides my glass across the smooth, sticky bar in front of me then bustles off to the next customer. She’ll start me a tab. She always does.

  I sip my gin and tonic slowly, scanning the room with my best “bored but approachable” look. It’s never let me down before, and this time is no different.

  One of the construction workers catches my eye and raises his glass in a toast to me. He’s not exactly a male model, but he’s cute enough. Boots muddy from the worksite, a plaid shirt peeking out from beneath the open khaki jacket. He’s deeply tanned, a little aged from his work in the sun, but his lips are nice.

  I raise my glass too, returning his gesture.

  He says something to his buddies and grins, then leaves the table to come join me.

  “Can’t help but see that you’re all alone,” he drawls, leaning an elbow on the bar between me and the occupied chair beside me.

  “Noticed that, did you?” I cock my head, laying on the teasing in my tone. I know the buttons to push. The secret looks to use. The way to pitch my words so that he knows I’m interested.

  I came here looking to blow off some steam, and this guy will do just fine.

  “Can’t imagine why a woman as beautiful as you would be alone on a night like this,” the man says, his gaze sweeping my face. “What’s your name, sugar?”

  Before I can decide whether to give him one of my patented fake names or just play coy, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Goosebumps race over my skin a split second before a cool breeze rushes through the bar from the open door.