The Rejected Wolf Princess

Deny Your Wolf, Deny the Gods

Evie’s POV

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Ty teases for what feels like the thousandth time. “You’re going to dream about me tonight.”

It’s the last night before my seventeenth birthday. When I lay my head to rest tonight, I will meet my wolf for the first time. And she will tell me who my true mate is.

And if it isn’t Tristan, apparently I’m supposed to commit a crime against the Moon Gods and pretend it is, anyway.

I still don’t understand any of this. We’re the Crescents; we’re the ones in power. Of course I understand that my parents wouldn’t approve of someone like Ty, but why does it have to be Tristan? The Gibbouses are rich, but so are the Eclipses and pretty much every other nobleman in the kingdom. What’s so special about Tristan, other than the betrothal our parents arranged when we were kids? Surely there was room in that betrothal for error in the case of the mating bond not applying?

“Dream on,” I grumble to Ty, reaching for my door.

To my surprise, he catches me by the arm, stopping me from entering my room.

I glance up at him, breath catching in my throat. Is he going to tease me again? Is he going to flirt with me? Will I be able to tell the difference if he does?

As it turns out, he does neither.

“Take your mother’s advice,” he murmurs. “No matter who it is, say it’s him.”

My mouth falls open in disbelief. Ty is in on this? Ty is the last person I would expect to be in on this—the last person I would ever expect to encourage me to marry “Prince Charming” the “lordling.”

Utterly confused, I yank my arm away from him, trudge into my room, and prepare myself for bed.

I gave Marisa the night off. The last thing I need when I attempt to fall asleep is to have a conversation about s*x fresh on my mind.

- - - - -

Hello, Evie.

I stare back at my wolf, utterly mesmerized. She’s incredible. Smaller than the average wolf, just as I’m smaller than the average person. Her fur is a deep auburn—not red like my hair, but not quite brown, either. Her eyes, like mine, are a reddish amber.

You have so much yet to learn about the world, she tells me. So much innocence still to lose.

I take a step back, not caring for the sound of that. “I don’t want to lose my innocence. I’m perfectly happy with the way things are.”

But things are on track to change. Surely you know that after tonight’s conversation with your mother?

“Nothing’s going to change. You’re going to pick Tristan, I’ll marry him, and—”

You and I both know I’m not going to pick Tristan, Evie.

I curse. Then I curse again. “Why not?” I finally demand. “It’s what everyone wants. It’s what I want. He’s perfect, wolf. He’s handsome, kind, loves me—”

Tristan Gibbous does not love you.

“He already admitted his wolf burns for me! He’s burned for me for years! He—”

Can you really not sense the deception in him, Evie? Can you really not sense his falsehood?

My heart is starting to pound. She thinks Tristan is deceiving me? She doesn’t even think I’m his true mate?

“Who, then?” I demand. “If not the Gibbous lord I’m betrothed to, who is it you claim I’m meant to spend the rest of my life with?”

You already know the answer to that, Evie.

The scene around us, which until now was nothing but pure white air, shifts. We’re in the woods now, and I’m atop the little pony that I had before Odin. It’s the day the vampires attacked.

We’re with Ty.

He saved you, she tells me. He had every reason to hate you—to let you die—and he still saved you. And then he swore an oath to continue saving you until the day he died.

“That doesn’t mean anything. We grew up together. I was the only one who deigned to talk to him. He saved me out of a sense of obligation. He—”

He loved you, Evie. Before his wolf even awakened, he loved you. And he is the one you’re meant to be with.

I shake my head. Tears are rushing to my eyes. “No. No, wolf. I don’t want this. I can’t want this.”

But the scene changes again, and suddenly we’re in his room that night at Castle Gibbous, and he’s reminding me of his vow to protect me, and his gaze is dropping down toward my body, and he’s telling me how much I’ve grown, and—

All at once, a burst of sensation strikes me like a punch to the gut. I stagger to my knees, clutching myself, gasping for air. It’s like the sensations I felt from Ty and Tristan over the past few weeks, but magnified by a thousand. It’s desperate, carnal, physical desire that quakes deep inside of me, yearning—not just for a physical connection, but for his physical connection.

For Ty.

“He told me to lie,” I whisper to my wolf as I curl up into a ball on the ground, shaking with desperate longing. “He told me to say you picked Tristan, no matter who you really picked.”

Deny your wolf, deny the gods, she tells me.

And with that, I wake up.

- - - - -

The longing doesn’t go away in my waking state.

I want him. I want him so badly, every inch of me hurts. I want him so badly, I have to press my face into my pillow to keep from screaming. I want him so badly, I feel my hands travel involuntarily to my breasts, and even to my s*x, imagining his hands touching me the way I’m touching myself. I groan into my pillow as I discover the new sensation of touching myself down there. It feels good, but it isn’t enough. It has to be him.

How could I possibly lie and tell the world that my wolf picked Tristan? How could I possibly forsake these feelings? I may have thought I wanted Tristan once, but that was nothing compared to how I feel now. Tristan is nothing. Nothing.

I have to see him.

I leap out of my bed, grab the velvet robe hanging on the hook by the washroom, and throw it on over my shift. I don’t have to dress up for him. I don’t have to put on the Choker. If my wolf is right, then he feels the same way I do, no matter how disheveled I look.

When I yank the door open, the feeling intensifies even further.

He’s there.

He’s there, and he’s staring back at me with such hope and amazement and love in his eyes, and they’re so perfect—so dark and vast and unending, like the ocean on the horizon—and how could I ever have denied loving him when he looks so perfect and acts so perfect—and why did I ever waste all that time pining after Tristan when Ty was right there in front of me, and holy Sun’s Hell, does he smell good—like sweat and smoke and steel—and—

“Evie.”

All of my thoughts come to a screeching halt at the sound of the voice.

It isn’t Ty speaking. It’s my father.

I tear my eyes away from my true mate to look up at my father, the great King Abbott, who is staring at me with an unreadable expression.

“Come with me,” he says.

I don’t understand. What is my father doing standing outside my room in the middle of the night? Why was he with Ty? Did Ty tell him we’re true mates? I am Ty’s true mate, aren’t I? There’s no denying the blistering connection between us, right?

More than anything, I want to talk to him—to ask him—to demand to know. But I can’t. Not with my father staring at me like that.

So I follow my father.

And Ty follows me.