Queen of the Wolves

They numb down for a while as the most wonderful scent of pine-wood, fig tree and lemon invades my senses. The soil under my feet scrunches as I take a step backwards. No, it can't be! Not now! Not ever!  The full moon's gaze fell upon me as try to silently as possible retreat. He was admiring the falls, in front of his eyes. I couldn't do this. I shouldn't do this. His turned as if on cue. A word among the haziness of my mind was deciphered clearly.  "Mate."  They grow louder.  I gaze at the tranquil blue eyes and am reminded of the prophecy, my life's nemesis. Paying no heed to my wolf's comments I compose myself. "I, Blythe Archer, reject you, Maverick Devraux, as my mate, alpha, and king," I say silently in the hope that he will not accept it. I look up at him, tears sting at the back of my eyes. I turn with my back to him and runaway before he has time to react. As I make sure that he is not following me, I back up against a tree, sink to my knees and let my tears out, drowning myself in them in the attempt of soothing my broken heart, the voices in my head at their loudest.