Reject Me

Reject Me
Oakley

“Come on,” I snarl, leaping over a fallen tree as I crash and stumble through the woods. Clouds block what little moonlight could possibly breach the thick canopy of trees trembling overhead, so it’s nearly pitch black, and I’m basically blind, nothing but frustration and spite leading my way. I don’t want to keep doing this night after night. I refuse to, honestly. This is it. The one defining moment. Tonight will determine everything. 

Whatever everything turns out to be. 

But I stop running when I realize I haven’t heard his telltale crashing through the forest sounds. I whirl, squinting into the dark, and find myself impossibly alone in a thick stretch of forest that feels awfully familiar. 

The cottage rises out of the mist just beyond the tree line and looks even more abandoned than it did the day I found it. I rush toward the structure, carefully stepping over the twigs I gathered to make the basket that’s now somewhere in the forest, reclaimed by spirits that likely linger here in these trees and brambles. 

I’ve never considered myself terribly religious. Sure, I pray to the Goddess, but admittedly, only when I’m in deep need of something. Looking back on it, that’s probably why She’s having so much fun tormenting me and keeping my wolf form at bay. Still, I don’t promise to be a better observer of Her greatness, but I do mumble a small thank you when I push open the cottage door just as dark, thick clouds appear above the visible mountain peaks. 

The wind picks up, blocking the low, sweeping sound Ian makes when he lands a few feet behind me. 

I close my eyes and focus on my breath. In, and out. In and out again. I don’t know what I’ll see when he turns around. Him, as his beast? Or him, as the man with magic curling under his skin and wings like a bat?

Or just him. 

For whatever reason, I’d almost prefer the beast to the winged man who takes up the majority of my vision when I turn to face him. 

I sweep him with my gaze from head to toe, and back again. “You found pants, at least.”

“We need to talk.”

I flinch at the sound of his voice. It’s low and gravelly, deep, like I remember. His eyes, as well, are still a stormy blue but nearly black now, with clouds shielding the cottage from the moonlight. He steps closer but halts, maintaining a safe level of distance. 

“Are you—” I lick my lips. “Are you in control?”

He grits his teeth and looks down at his hands. “I think so.”

“What happening to you now?”

He shakes his head, still looking down at his hands. “I just feel odd.”

“Well, I don’t blame you. You’re–you look very different but still handsome.” My mouth quirks up into a smile. 

He’s not amused, but his answering flicker of a smirk cuts through the tension threatening to suffocate us both. He lets his hands fall to his sides but startles himself when his elbow brushes one of his wings. He tucks his wings in tight, watching the movement with solemn interest before looking at me again, and his expression shatters. “You cannot stay here with me.”

“Well, you’re going home. We both are. You did it, kind of. You got rid of the beast.”

“Look at me, Oakley. I can’t go home like this.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“I look like fae,” he replies bluntly. “I am fae.”

“Just a quarter.”

“Look at me, Oakley. Is this what you want, really? A man who turns into a beast at night and can’t control himself? A man who could hurt you, even accidentally, just by lifting a paw? A mate who—” He reels himself in for a moment and steps closer, reaching out. He brushes his thumb over the raised wound turning into a deep scar across my cheek, and his eyes…. If I had any doubt this was just his beast talking, the look in his eyes makes it clear he’s here. With me. 

Preparing to reject me before either of us have truly felt the bond. 

“Think carefully about what you’re about to do,” I warn him. He exhales sharply, shaking his head to argue, but I hold up a hand. “No, Ian. Don’t start with the, ‘You need to go back to Silverhide while I remain here in the mountains’ nonsense because I won’t let you do it.”

“I might have well been the one to give you this scar,” he says, his voice dripping with malice, just not directed at me. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But neither do you. It’s not like you can help it. We can get you help. Your cousins came all this way for you. For us.”

“Naomi was sent ahead of the Allied Kingdom Ghost Forces in an effort to force me into submission without causing a multi-kingdom-wide stir.”

“But you can just go home now. It’s night, the moon is out, and you’re like this.” I motion to him, but his wings tremble. “This is fine, I’m sure.”

“Oakley.”

“It’s not that bad. It’s really not. People will get used to it. There are plenty of fae hybrids in the Deadlands. Maybe someone else has wings.”

“Please, just listen.”

“Everything will be fine!”

“Everything is not fine.” He clutches my upper arms. “It’s not fine, Oakley. And I can’t let you follow me.”

“We don’t have much of a choice!” I yank out of his grip and angle my arm so he can see my scars. “I’m in this. I’m not just going to abandon you.”

“This isn’t some happy ending,” he says. “Just because I’m able to remain in this form doesn’t mean any of this is solved.”

“What if there’s nothing to solve? What if this is just who you are?”

“There’s no one else like me. I cannot be what you need, Oakley.”

“And what, exactly, do I need?” I seethe, stepping back until my boots scrap the rubble of the cabin. 

“Someone who’s able to give you the life you deserve.”

“I’m capable of giving myself the life I deserve!” I shout, but I quickly bite back the pain in my voice. It’s too late. Ian’s shoulders slump. “I didn’t–I just meant I already have everything I want. I love the Deadlands. I can make a home anywhere. That’s where my skills are. That’s where I was trained to shine.” I look down at my bandaged hands with a pang of regret. “I’m not magical or powerful. I find it hard to believe we’re really mates based on the fact that I’m not sure I’m related to an Alpha or Luna at any point in my family line. The fact that we’re mates is utterly confusing, Ian. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”

“You shouldn’t want it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a fucking monster.”

“Maybe a piece of you is, but not this.” I motion at him. “The wings are fine. I can work around that.”

“You’re not hearing me.”

“Oh, I hear you loud and clear,” I whisper, turning toward the cottage. “You’re going to reject me.”

“I have to.”

“Why?” I hate sounding like some sniveling, heartbroken child, but I can’t help it. All of this–him–was really just a dream. A dream so far out of my reach it’s funny. 

“Because this is going to get worse. This isn’t going to stop, not until the next full moon, and I don’t know what this will look like then. Most importantly, I don’t know what it means for you.”

“I don’t care about the optics.”

“I do,” he states bluntly. “For your sake, I do. I don’t want you to be banished to the wilds because of me. I don’t want you to lose your entire family and community because of me, because of this. I want you. Fuck, from the moment I saw you, before I even knew we were mates, I was ready to grovel at your father’s feet for even a chance of being in your proximity, Oakley. And for a second, I let myself believe nothing was wrong, and that you didn’t have a target on your back just by being near me. I hunted you down like an animal and brought you here. I put you through a war. You fell over a fucking waterfall!”

“I was fine!”

“If you had died,” he roars, stepping closer, “I can’t fathom what I would have done. Even thinking about it makes me want to tear someone, anyone, to shreds, starting with myself. And now you wear that scar because of me.”

My throat feels raw and heavy. An even heavier sensation settles in my chest, making it hard to breathe. 

“I wanted you as a wife, not a prisoner of the same curse holding me captive.”

“Then reject me,” I whisper, tears prickling my lower lashes. “If that’s really what you feel is best.”

He grits his teeth and looks away, the same agony shining bright behind his eyes. “I don’t want that either.”

“You don’t get to yank me around.”

His mouth meets mine before I have a chance to register what’s happening. It’s not like our first kiss. It’s not messy. It’s not rushed and spurred by pure circumstance and racing adrenaline. 

It’s a goodbye. 

He pulls away ever so slightly, his lips resting against my cheek. He leans his forehead against mine, murmuring something unintelligible into my hair. 

I slowly, carefully, wind my arms around his waist, and wait for his final blow. 

It doesn’t come. 

He kisses the top of my head and lingers there, then presses a kiss lower, along my temple. I close my eyes, savoring each tiny sensation that makes my body bloom with heat that’s new and overwhelming. 

He presses a kiss at the juncture of my jaw and neck, then further back, against a spot just behind my ear and I fold. I melt with sigh into a puddle of heat I want to drown in. 

Shifters are beings of primal urges and pleasure. That’s the meat of it. It’s who we are. It’s who I am. 

My lazy, useless wolf whines and purrs when his hands clutch my waist and press me against the one solid wall of the cottage. 

This is where it should end. Every good girl from the tribes knows that. Every good, polite girl knows that if we go any further than a kiss, we’ll have a one-way ticket to a rushed handfasting, and we’ll never hear the end of it. 

But I’ve been through hell, and so has he. We’re about to call it a loss. It’s over. This is our one chance. 

So, fuck it. 

I clutch his face between my hands and kiss him like my life depends on it.