The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 379

Chapter 379: She Rode Him (Not Like That)

A grey wolf tore through the tree line at Alpha speed.

Agnes heard him before she saw him, the specific cadence of paws hitting frozen ground at a velocity that turned the forest floor into a percussion instrument. The sound was wrong for a patrol wolf. Too fast. Too heavy. The particular acoustic signature of an Alpha at full sprint, covering ground at a speed that regular wolves could maintain for seconds and Alpha wolves could maintain for as long as fury required.

Garrett.

She had seen him shift before. Twice. Both times at a distance, both times during training exercises where his wolf was operational rather than personal, and the impression she had carried was large, grey, efficient.

Up close was different.

His wolf was bigger than she had expected. The shoulders were broader, the chest deeper, the overall architecture carrying a mass that had no business existing on a man who hadn’t been born an Alpha. Garrett Darkhowler had earned the title through combat and loyalty and the specific, stubborn refusal to accept any outcome he disagreed with, and his wolf had apparently received the memo, because the animal running toward her looked like it had been designed by a deity who valued intimidation and had overcorrected.

The golden retriever had teeth. She just hadn’t been close enough to see them.

He shifted three feet from her. The transition was fluid, wolf to man in a single stride, and the man who emerged was already reaching for her, his hands finding her face, her jaw, pulling her forward.

He kissed her.

The kiss was hard, urgent, carrying the compressed relief of a man who had spent hours running on fury and fear and the matebond’s whispered confirmation that she was alive, and who had just confirmed it with his mouth. Agnes’s free hand fisted in his shirt.

The kiss lasted three seconds, and the three seconds contained every word neither of them had time to say.

Andrew stirred against her chest.

Terrible timing. Excellent grip. The boy had slept through a forest escape and a five-pulse alarm and was now waking up for a kiss.

Garrett pulled back. His eyes moved across her face. The split lip. The silver burns visible above her wrists. The exhaustion carved into lines that hadn’t been there this morning. His jaw tightened so hard the tendon jumped.

Then his eyes found Andrew.

The question formed on his face and dissolved in the same instant, because the matebond was carrying her emotions at full volume, and the emotions wrapped around the boy were fierce and protective and carried a permanence that answered every question his eyes were composing.

Boots in the forest behind them. Distant, closing fast, the organized cadence of a pursuit team following a trail.

Garrett shifted. The grey wolf dropped to a crouch, his body low, his shoulders angled, presenting his back.

Riding wolves was unconventional. It wasn’t done. Wolves were partners, allies, brothers in combat. They were never mounts. The suggestion, under any other circumstance, would have been an insult to the wolf.

Garrett: Agnes. Now.

Agnes: They have archers.

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