THE SOCCERESS'S REJECTED MATE

The Black Pine Forest felt alive, breathing—cold wind worming between ancient trees, moonlight splintering into fragments of silver across the savage undergrowth. Hazel Thorne crept soundlessly through the labyrinth of roots and thorns, each step calculated, each breath measured. The war had taught her discipline, and she was hunting tonight. A flicker of movement. She huddled behind the jagged bark of an ancient pine, tightening her fingers around the hilt of her dagger. The scent came next, something savage, primal, tangled in blood and sweat. Not an animal. Something far more dangerous. A werewolf. Her pulse quickened. The witches had long been warned not to stray too deep into the Black Pine, lest the enemy lurk like ghosts. And yet, she had come all the same, lured by the rumors of an errant wolf breaching their borders. If she could overthrow one of them, especially an exiled prince… it would validate her power. She moved forward, as silent as death. And then she saw him. Arthur Kellan was slumped against a fallen log, his dark, mussed hair damp with sweat, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. He was even more imposing and injured,broad shoulders, powerful arms, and a raw untamed presence that sent a shiver down her spine. His shirt was tattered, exposing gashes along his ribs, the wounds fresh and deep. Blood soaked his tanned skin, soaking into the earth beneath him. She should kill him. Right here. Right now. If he registered the attack, a single blow to the throat would suff­ice, and it would be over. But Hazel hesitated. His eyes opened briefly, molten gold in the moonlight. Sharp, piercing, knowing. “You gonna do the job, little witch?” His voice was a gravelly rasp, but imbued with something dark and teasing. A challenge. Hazel tightened her grip on her dagger. “You are trespassing on a sacred ground.” Arthur laughed, low and breathless. “You have no idea, sweetheart, it’s not like I planned to bleed out up in here tonight.” He winced as he attempted to move, his muscles turning to pain. “But now that you are here, how about a little mercy?” “Mercy?” She scoffed. “From a witch to a wolf?” Even in the pain, his lips curved. “I hear witches can have a heart at least.” Hazel narrowed her eyes. Every instinct cried out to kill him first before he could be a threat. But there was something in the look he gave her, defiant, unafraid. Something in the way her own pulse gave her away, hammering too quickly, too loudly. She knelt beside him, the blade resting just below his throat. “Tell me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you.” Arthur gave a smirk, voice sliding into something deceptively smooth. “Because if you did, you would never understand the truth of this war.” The air between them thickened, the weight of his words burrowing into her bones. “The truth?” she echoed. His gaze locked onto hers. “The war between our sorts … it’s a lie.” Hazel inhaled sharply. Lies. Manipulation. Everything she’d known built on a lie? She could have stabbed him in the throat. Should have shut down this conversation before it had a chance to plant doubt. But she didn’t. Instead, she said, “Prove it.” Arthur’s smile was getting wider, despite the agony writhing in him. “Help me survive the night, little witch, and I just might.” The instant Hazel slid her dagger away, she knew she was making a mistake. But something about Arthur Kellan, something in the fire of his gaze, the reckless challenge of his voice… made her want the truth more than she wanted to be afraid of the danger. And so, contrary to all logic, she reached for him. Hazel’s fingers skimmed across his arm, his skin burned fever-hot, the heat of a body trying to repair itself. Against the moment they touched, a shudder passed through Arthur, but whether it was pain or otherwise she couldn’t tell. His breath hitched, his golden gaze fixed on her face. “Careful, little witch,” he murmured, voice rough as gravel. “If you touch me long enough, you might come to enjoy it.” Her jaw clenched. "Shut up." Arthur grinned, even as his body drooped beneath its own weight. He was playing with her, even wounded as he was, even though she could kill him at any moment. That arrogance was chilling or admirable, perhaps both. Hazel shoved an arm beneath his, attempting to drag him upright. His body was all muscle, much heavier than she anticipated. As he turned, their bodies came together, a slow burn curling in her belly. She ignored it. “Try anything,” she warned, warm breath brushing his jaw. “And I’ll carve out your heart.” Arthur exhaled a low chuckle. “If you’re this close, darling, I can think of better uses for my heart.” Heat spiked in her cheeks, but she pushed the distraction aside. She was a warrior, not some innocent girl seduced by a pretty face and a silver tongue. She pulled him onward, ignoring how his body fit against hers, how his scent… woodsmoke, rain, and blood, clung too close. His breath was labored, his weight thick against her with every unsteady step, and still that damn smirk never left his lips. “You smell like sage and fire,” he muttered against her ear, his voice a dangerous caress. “Like trouble.” Hazel gritted her teeth. "And you smell like wet dog." In the thick undergrowth they were stumbling through, Arthur only laughed, a warmth that seeped through to her bones. Her logical brain yelled that she was making a mistake. That taking him deeper into their lands was a betrayal of all that she stood for. That if anyone knew, she’d be considered a traitor. But the other part, the part that needed answers, the part that ached for the electrifying connection that sparked between them… whispered that they were on the cusp of an irresistible force. Something dangerous. One that could kill her. *** Hazel's breath was slow and steady, but inside Her was anything but calm. Like every time Arthur’s body touched hers, heat flooded her veins, frustrating, wasteful heat. She told herself it was merely the heat of his fever, the primitive energy of his changing form. It had to be. Arthur leaned harder into her, growing weaker by the second, and still that damn smirk played at his lips. “Tell me, little witch,” he rasped. “Do witches always take such good care of their enemies?” Hazel gripped his arm tighter, digging her fingers into his flesh. “I can still leave you to die.” His lips brushed against her ear, breath whispering in the hollow behind it. “But you won’t.” She hated that he was right. They traversed deeper into the forest, every step slows, burdened by pressure. The trees towered over them, long shadows with claws, in the wind-whispered night. The silence lingered, swollen and stifling, until Arthur’s voice pierced it again. “You don’t believe me,” he remarked, amusement lacing in his voice. “Smart girl.” Hazel’s jaw tightened. “Now, trusting a werewolf would be a special kind of stupid.” He chuckled softly, but it had a dark cast to it. “Good. I wouldn’t trust me, either.” A chill danced up her spine, but she didn’t let it show. Then, all at once, Arthur’s body stiffened against hers. A deep, rumbling growl rolled from his chest, vibrating through her flesh. Hazel froze, all her muscles going taut. “What?” she whispered. His head c****d slightly, eyes sharp as they darted through the darkened woods. “We’re not alone.” Hazel hardly had time to respond when a presence moved in the trees. A rustling, too deliberate to be the wind. The snap of a branch, so deliberate as to not be animal. They were being watched. And just like that, their slow burn became literal. Something lethal. Arthur stood up, more of his vigor returning, even with the wounds on his body. The wolf within was coming awake. Hazel sensed it in the way his muscles tensed, like a coil about to spring. She pulled her dagger, pulse racing. “Friend of yours?” Arthur smirked, but his gaze was not playful this time. Only something dark. Something predatory. “Not likely.” A shadow darted through the trees… swift, silent. Another followed. Hazel’s breath caught. There were more of them. Arthur’s body against hers, warmth passing between them. “Stick close, little witch,” he murmured, low and dangerous. “Things are going to get interesting.” A glimmer of silver eyes in the dark. Then, all hell broke loose.