My mind spins with conflicting feelings.
A rush of love.
A confusion.
It conflicts with my sense of duty to protect the pack.
How can a rogue be my mate?
I lower my bow, the arrow slipping from my fingers. It falls with a thud on the carpet of grass and dew. I know I can’t harm him.
I don’t know how to balance my own feelings with what I know to be true. I don’t know how to make the world stop spinning.
“Who are you?” I ask.
He says nothing.
"Who are you?" I demand again.
He lowers his b****y hands. The wound in his arm is still bleeding freely.
Then he takes a step forward.
My breath catches.
He takes another step. Then another.
With trembling hands, I place the arrow back in my quiver. I know as he gets closer that I won’t be able to stop myself from reaching for him.
He
