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

by Callie Rose

  The witch, Gwen, stands on the lush green grass, her face pale and grave and framed by waves of bright auburn hair.

  “Go,” she says.

  I jerk awake, shooting up from the cold desert dirt. I clutch at the ground beneath me, struggling to breathe through the panic that stays with me in the moments after waking. My heart pounds painfully in my chest, and I swallow against the beating, trying to swallow my emotions.

  It’s a recurring nightmare. I have it periodically, typically when I’m stressed or overly stuck in my feelings. But it’s also the driving force behind my three-year long search for my mates. Seeing what Gwen showed me—the dead earth, the terrified, dying people, the indistinct shadow monsters destroying everything—seeing that all over again only cements my determination to stop these men before they can unleash that on the world.

  All three men are sound asleep, fanned out around me on their own patches of ground. They opted to sleep in human form, which is yet one more example of how they’re nothing like pack wolves. I would usually sleep as a wolf under the stars, but I chose human form too, matching their choice like I was calling some sort of bluff. The cold stillness of night still reigns over the desert, and none of them have moved since I awoke.

  I stare at them in silence that turns to horror the longer I watch them sleep.

  They’re beautiful. All of them.

  But they’re poison worse than the one inside me.

  How could I have teamed up with them? I chose to ally myself with the enemy. Willingly. My entire life’s goal is to protect the world from what I know they’ll do to it, and here I am sleeping beside them.

  I get silently to my feet, leaving my shoes where they lie, then creep over the dusty ground.

  Malix sleeps on his back, his hands clasped over his stomach and his legs crossed at the ankles. He chose to sleep closer to me than the other two, though I don’t know if that’s because he wanted to keep an eye on me or be close to me because he finds me amusing.

  I ease down onto my knees next to him, staring at his handsome face. His short hair shows off his regal features. His high cheekbones arc beneath the shadow of his eyelashes, and his strong jaw and thick brows accentuate every angle. I’ve only been in his company a few hours, but I can already picture his smile in my head, the way that slash of teeth between his thick lips transforms his face from kingly to playful.

  Gwen’s vision flashes in my mind. I watch the mother fall beneath the shadow creature. The baby cries. I see it, over and over again in my nightmares, and I know deep in my soul that killing these men is the only way I can guarantee that future never happens.

  Lucky for me, they decided not to take my weapons from me.

  Drawing my knife from the holster at my hip, I clench my jaw and stare down at him a few more seconds. If I kill them all, right here, right now, then I’ve done what I set out to do. I could crawl into the mountains nearby and let the poison take me, content in my knowledge that I’ve saved the world.

  I raise my blade.

  Malix’s eyes snap open. “Don’t.”

  I freeze, raised up on my knees with the knife still hanging over his chest.

  He doesn’t move or smile, but he meets my gaze with those stunning violet eyes and waits me out. He looks for all the world like a guy kicked back on a couch watching a game.

  Meanwhile, I’m about to murder him.

  “If you do it,” he says softly. “You’ll break the truce.”

  “I didn’t sign a contract,” I mutter, tightening my grip on the hilt.

  “You don’t believe your word to be a binding contract?” he asks, looking genuinely confused.

  His nonchalance has me all off balance. “I don’t know.”

  “A man’s word is their bond. It’s magic on a deeper level. Upholding honor in the face of a dozen reasons why you shouldn’t.”

  “I’m not a man.”

  Malix grins with that panty-melting charm. “No, you certainly aren’t. But you’re honorable. So are we.”

  I glare at him. “There’s no honor among evil men.”

  He shrugs. “That’s fine you think that. Try to kill me, and my brothers will stop you. Manage to kill me before they realize it, and they will kill you. So you’re going to have to find a better way to do it than attacking me in my sleep.”

  Gritting my teeth, I shove against the ground with just my bare toes and stand, then whirl around and stalk back to my “bed.” Even though I don’t like it, I know it’s true. It’s the same catch-22 of Frost and me both being poisoned. If we die, Kian and Malix are still alive to do their worst. If I take out Malix without making sure the other two can’t kill me before I kill them, they’d kill me and be on their merry way.

  I slide my knife back into its holster and sit on the ground next to my bag, then glance back over at Malix.

  He’s on his side now, his head propped up in his hand as he stares at me in the darkness. His eyes glitter in the moonlight. “Smart choice, kitty.”

  I growl low under my breath and lay down, rolling away from his twinkling gaze. I can feel his eyes on me still, and when the wind blows, his sunshine scent tickles my nose. Taunting me.

  How can I want someone and hate them at the same time?

  Frustration and anger settle into my bones, along with every single confused emotion I could possibly feel. I curl into an uncomfortable ball, ignoring the weight of his gaze on me, and beg silently for sleep to come.

  But no matter what I do, it never does.

  Chapter 12

  I finally doze off around the time dawn begins to paint the sky red, though I feel like I’m barely under before I wake again. What little sleep I managed to get was fitful and full of shadows.

  When I awake, Kian, Malix, and Frost are already up and loading their bikes. The moment my eyes open, they stop talking and all three glance my way like they’re one goddamn person.

  Not suspicious at all.

  Malix grins. “Sleep well, kitty?”

  I bare my teeth at him and briefly consider throwing my knife at his face for funsies. It would only cut him a little. Add a little extra pizazz to that stupid smile.

  “Yeah,” I snarl. “How ‘bout you? Did the bed bugs bite?”

  Malix’s grin widens, and I wasn’t even aware that was possible.

  “Time to go.” Kian speaks up as he closes his under-seat storage compartment. He turns a dark, unreadable gaze on me. “We’ve got another few hours on the road.”

  I get to my feet and roll my shoulders, working the tension out of my muscles. While I load my gear back into my bike, none of the guys speak. Not even to each other. The deep silence feels more like a condemnation of me than anything else, but at least no one mentions my attempted murder.

  And I know Malix told them.

  We ride for a few more hours, breaking around lunch time to grab food at a local barbecue joint off the highway. There’s a western boutique next to the restaurant, and even though the selection isn’t great, I manage to find a pair of boots that look more heavy metal than cowgirl. Good thing too, because my ankles are starting to blister.

  Back on the road, there’s nothing as far as the eye can see. This is deep desert, absolutely beautiful but deadly. In places like this, people can get lost and die pretty easily. We stick to the state highway for the rest of the morning—prime real estate for enjoying the view without getting lost in the wilds.

  I start to see signs for the Mexico border in the early afternoon. I’m concerned they’re about to drag me across the border and kill me, until Kian signals to leave the interstate in the middle of damn nowhere only a few miles before the country ends.

  The off-ramp spills us onto a two lane road with yellow lines so faded they’re almost nonexistent. A gas station sits right near the highway, and behind that, a general store that looks straight out of the wild west. We pass a few dusty strip malls, half the spaces empty except for a bar, a diner, and a few odds and ends like a lawyer’s office and a tax pre
paration place. We fly through one green light and don’t see another one for the rest of our trip.

  We turn off on a gravel road surrounded by empty desert. Several houses dot each side of the road, though they thin out the further we drive. Then the gravel ends and turns to dry, caked dirt, and up ahead, a rundown shack leans listlessly on a backdrop of barren land.

  We park in a line outside the shack. Out here, you can’t get away with sneaking up on people when you’re traveling on four loud bikes. It’s too deadly quiet. Even an eagle’s cry seems loud in the desert.

  So the witch is already on his porch staring at us as we cut our engines.

  He’s… not what I expected. He’s abnormally tall with limbs so thin he looks overstretched, and long, dyed black hair that frames his face in scraggly lines. He has ridiculously pale white skin, the kind that looks as if it would turn lobster red in the desert sun, and huge green eyes. He wears a Metallica t-shirt, half a dozen beaded necklaces and even more bracelets, and carpenter jeans with giant legs.

  I didn’t even know the latter still existed in modern fashion.

  Malix grins as he knocks down his kickstand and swings a leg wide to dismount. “This’ll be interesting.”

  Kian grunts, then speaks in a low voice. “Mind your manners.”

  I fall into line with the feral shifters as we cross the yard. Dried grass crackles and breaks beneath my new boots, and the sun beats down mercilessly on my shoulders. I can’t imagine living out here at what seems like the unforgiving edge of the world, but clearly people do.

  Including this weirdo.

  Kian halts a few feet away from the shack’s lopsided front porch.

  The witch crosses his skinny arms over his chest. His eyes are too large for his face, giving his features a strange, cartoonish slant. “You folks lost?”

  Kian ignores his question. “You Erik?”

  The witch drops his arms, and his fingers twitch at his sides. “Maybe. Who are you?”

  “I’m in need of your special brand of assistance,” Kian replies. “Can we talk?”

  Erik’s green gaze moves over all of us, one at a time. He knows we’re supernatural—I can tell, I just don’t know how. He’s on edge, standing on his tiptoes, ready to fight or flight. Something about him seems off. If my gaze slides away from him, he takes on a smoky, half-formed haze in my periphery, as if he’s cloaking himself in magic. But when I look at him head on, he looks like he’s about to hop in his car and head to Comic-Con. I’m not sure which view of him is the truth.

  I don’t like him. Something about him feels strange enough that I think he’s dangerous.

  Malix claps his hands together and says, “Hey, man. We’re not looking for handouts. We can pay.”

  Erik’s eyes gleam. His green gaze slides over Kian’s torso in a look that—on someone else—might be a sexual leer. But I’m pretty sure Erik’s interest has nothing to do with Kian’s muscles. He’s looking at the tattoos.

  “We can find someone else,” Kian says with a shrug.

  The witch leaps into action, opening his door and holding it wide as he motions us inside with an overly dramatic flourish. “No, no. That won’t be necessary. By all means, come in.”

  His house is small and cramped. I pass into the front foyer, bowing my head beneath a chandelier too large for the space. Herbs dangle from wire hangers lining the ceilings, and they brush like finger bones along my hairline as we follow Erik through the hallway and into the living room.

  The television is on, playing an old nineties cartoon I only recognize from pop culture. There’s an open beer can on the table, condensing in the hot room. The air is heavy with incense, something strong and earthy that makes my head swim.

  Erik picks up his beer. “I’d offer you one, but I’m broke and you’re strangers.”

  Malix and Frost exchange amused looks, but Kian forges ahead, undeterred and gruff as ever. “We need an antidote to shadow venom.”

  Erik laughs, clutching his beer can to his t-shirt. “Shadow venom? First time I’ve ever met someone who needed that. Why do you need it?”

  “Does it matter?” Malix asks, his tone more serious than his usual amusement.

  Erik shrugs nonchalantly and sits down on the couch, slouching against the overstuffed cushions. “If you want my help, it does.”

  Kian’s expression turns thunderous, but he answers, “Two of our number have been poisoned. We require an antidote. Does that satisfy your question?”

  Leaning forward, the witch sets his beer on the distressed coffee table with a smile. “It does indeed. I can make you a potion that will work as an antidote against shadow venom. And you mentioned payment?” He directs this question to Malix.

  Malix nods. “We have money.”

  “I don’t want money,” Erik murmurs. His gaze slides over Malix’s bare arms, alight with hunger and interest. “You have something else I want.”

  Malix holds up both hands. “Whoa there, Merlin. I’m not interested.”

  Erik rolls his eyes. “I’m not propositioning you.”

  Kian cuts in before Malix can say anything else. “What do you want?”

  Erik stands, his too-thin body unfolding like a praying mantis, then he crosses to face Kian and gestures at his arm. “I want a piece of that. Of the magic you contain.”

  The… what?

  I blink, staring between Erik and Kian as I wait on somebody to offer me up some clarification. A piece of the magic they contain? What does that even mean?

  Kian, Malix, and Frost share a look and seem to come to some kind of unspoken agreement. Then Kian grabs the hem of his shirt and tugs it off over his head.

  My desire for my mates has become a low-level hum inside me, something I’m slowly learning to tamp down in their presence. But the moment Kian bares his expanse of tattooed muscles, heat flares through my body and every carnal memory I have of him returns to the forefront of my mind.

  He’s as gorgeous as I remember, and his tattoos have grown in number. The long, tribal-looking curl down his abdomen has felt my tongue, and looking at it dipping into the waistband of his jeans sends a rush of need through me. Coupled with the potent incense and the overwhelming warmth of the shack, I feel woozy enough to fall. Instead, I shuffle sideways and lean against the sweating wall.

  Erik chuckles almost maniacally and crosses to a podium-style altar in the corner. He opens a trapdoor on the front and digs around inside for a moment before emerging with a long, sharp ceremonial knife.

  I have my own knife in my hand before he even turns around.

  Malix reaches out and rests his fingers lightly on my knuckles. He gives me a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  “Seriously?” I hiss, gesturing at the mad witch.

  A grin slashes across Malix’s face. “Calm down, kitty.”

  I point my blade at him with my best glare, then lower it and remain where I am as Erik goes back to Kian. But I don’t put my knife away. Just in case.

  Erik’s nose scrunches as he sizes up Kian. “You aren’t one of the poisoned, are you?”

  “I am not,” Kian replies stiffly. Then he angles the right side of his body toward the witch and thumps the muscles of his shoulder with two fingers. “Shoulder.”

  Erik eyes the tattooed expanse of Kian’s shoulder for several long seconds, like an artist about to carve marble. Then he lifts the viciously sharp blade and digs into Kian’s skin.

  My own shoulder burns in sympathy, but Kian takes it like a man. A muscle twitches near his temple, and his jaw tightens in pain, but he gives no other outward sign of discomfort. Bright red blood drips down his arm, stark against his black tattoos.

  Bile rises in my throat, and the hot, lightheaded feeling intensifies. I’m not a wuss about blood or pain, but the look of pure rapture on Erik’s face disgusts me.

  The mad witch digs out a chunk of Kian’s flesh with slow, methodical slices. He looks almost gleeful as he pulls the lump of tissue away from the bleedin
g wound and holds it up in a slant of sunlight falling through the living room window. Blood falls from the hunk of skin onto the floor at Erik’s feet.

  I swallow hard, horrified at how Kian let the mad witch carve him up without protest.

  As Erik holds his prize up to the light pouring through the window, I realize the skin he chose has a tattoo on it. I feel a pang of dismay over the fact that Kian’s gorgeous tattoos are going to be screwed up, and I glance at his arm to survey the damage.

  His tattoos are moving.

  I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve seen Frost’s identical tattoos move, but afterward, I could just pretend it was a trick of the light. Now, I watch in fascination as Kian’s tattoos rearrange into a new pattern around the bloody wound. Where the tribal curls slashed to the right, now they slash to the left. A swirl pulls away from his collar bone and slides down, framing the still-oozing cut.

  My skin crawls, and I tighten my grip on the hilt of my knife to ground myself. When the tattoos are done moving, they look like they’ve always been in that position, wrapped around an injury that will surely scar.

  What the fuck is happening?

  Erik looks between the wound and his bloody, tattooed tissue. “Ah. Give me a moment and I’ll fix you up.” He takes the skin to his altar, leaving the knife and the lump of tissue on a small plate, then he returns to Kian. “With your permission, I’ll close the wound.”

  Kian nods, his expression empty of pain or disgust or anything I think he should be feeling right now. If he can handle having a literal chunk carved out of his arm without breaking a sweat, it’s no wonder he so easily walked away from his mate.

  Bastard.

  Erik holds his palms up to Kian’s shoulder, cupping the injury and hiding it from sight. He mutters something under his breath and black smoke begins to swirl around his fingertips.

  A few years ago, seeing witch magic in the flesh would have scared the shit out of me. That was before Sable came into my life. Part shifter, part witch, she taught me to appreciate her smoky magic, and ultimately, she was the catalyst for bringing the two races together.