She was brutal. She wanted blood. She was a monster.
A monster that I created.
This story is not about the rejected mate winning her true love back.
This is about the rejected mate on the hunt for his blood - even if it grows deadly.
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The female whined, and I turned my head, peering at her. She seemed frightened, and I wanted nothing more than to comfort her. My muzzle brushed her cheek.
We had a history, her and I. Her true mate's death broke her, and I had made it my goal to fix her. In doing so, I had broken my own mate.
My wolf had fallen in love with her already. He did not want his true mate, and nor did I. We experienced sorrow and regret, but we would not change our minds. My wolf and I agreed on that: the mate we rejected was not someone we wanted, not when we had made the effort of fixing our current mate. He did not want anyone but her. Not even his true mate.
