Wolf's Rejected Mate

Wolf’s Rejected Mate FATED IMMORTALS: BOOK FOUR VERA RIVERS Wolf’s Rejected Mate: Fated Immortals Book Four Text Copyright © 2023 by Vera Rivers All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. First printing, 2023 Publisher Vera Rivers [email protected] VeraRiversAuthor.com Cover art by: miblart Contents Vera Rivers Books 1. Abby 2. Elijah 3. Elijah 4. Abby 5. Elijah 6. Abby 7. Elijah 8. Abby 9. Elijah 10. Abby 11. Elijah 12. Abby 13. Elijah 14. Abby 15. Elijah 16. Abby 17. Abby 18. Elijah 19. Abby 20. Elijah 21. Abby 22. Elijah 23. Abby 24. Elijah 25. Abby 26. Elijah 27. Abby 28. Abby 29. Elijah 30. Abby 31. Abby 32. Elijah 33. Abby 34. Elijah 35. Abby 36. Elijah 37. Abby 38. Elijah 39. Abby 40. Elijah 41. Abby 42. Elijah 43. Abby 44. Elijah 45. Abby 46. Elijah 47. Abby Epilogue Vera Rivers Books & Moon Meditations Other Books You’ll Love Vera Rivers Books Receive a FREE romance ebook by visiting my website and signing up for my mailing list: VeraRiversAuthor.com By signing up for our mailing list, you’ll receive a FREE ebook. The newsletter will also provide information on upcoming books and special offers. Chapter 1 Abby Dust kicked off my paws, dirtying the pale gray of my fur when I walked, a pack with my belongings secure over my back. Head low, I wandered through the uneven streets of Pario City. Not for the first time, I wondered why no one ever bothered to pave the roads like the rest of the world. It was as if they deliberately kept the region in this perpetual state of untamed madness, if only to create an element of fear. “Abigail! Abby!” The sound of my name twisted my head dangerously behind me, nostrils flaring in preparation of a problem, but it was only Frankie, rubbing his arms as he lounged in the doorway of one of the crumbling bars across from my last drop of the day. Baring my teeth, I continued onward, but he didn’t take the hint, rushing after me like the delinquent he was. “Abby, wait!” Frankie begged, but I didn’t slow down again. I wanted to get home, the sun’s rays dipping brilliantly over the dusky horizon, casting an eerie pre-twilight glow on the streets. Not even I liked being out after dark—not that I couldn’t take care of myself on those occasions when I had no choice. But if I was given an option, Pario City was a place much better appreciated behind closed doors once dusk fully fell. I growled, again flashing my fangs, but Frankie didn’t get the hint—or he was far too sketched out to heed it. “Do you think you can front me a bit?” he asked in a staged whisper, leaning closer to touch my head. “I’ll pay you back. Just a pinch to get me through—” Without warning, I latched onto the flesh of his skin, his cry reverberating through the alleyways as I tore, relishing the taste of blood in my mouth. “LET ME GO!” he wailed, ripping his hand back from my jowls until he freed his palm. Red oozed along my jawline, and Frankie stumbled dizzily as people flocked out of the shops to see what was causing the commotion. “Dammit, Frank!” Maisie Jolie stomped over the boardwalk toward the center of the road, her heeled spurs clicking alarmingly as she glared at me. “How many times have I told you to leave the peddlers alone?” I ignored the fae and quickened my pace, jutting into one of the quieter gangways. Ensuring that I was alone, I morphed back into my human form, pulling the easy-fit outfit from my pack while maintaining the integrity of the last drop-off. Dressed in the same simple, black tracksuit I’d worn all day, I stuffed my feet into a pair of white sneakers and pinned my too-long tresses into a high, messy bun on top of my head before letting myself into an ajar fire door at the back of the gangway. A putrid comingling of ammonia and ash touched my overly sensitive nostrils, the scent still offensive after all these years. Shifting the straps of my pack again, I shoved open the first door I encountered, startling the already jumpy occupant who whirled around in his broken swivel chair to look at me guiltily. “Abby,” he sighed, relief coloring his face. “I almost forgot you were coming today.” “I always come on Fridays, Sven,” I reminded him, the routine like some bad, outdated comedy sketch. I was starting to have déjà vu—and severe annoyance. Gritting my teeth, I plopped the bag onto one of the filthy, overcluttered tables in front of me, causing half a dozen beer cans to clatter to the ground. Sven almost jumped out of his skin at the sound. “Easy, baby, easy,” he sighed, rising to his feet and abruptly pivoting toward the far wall where I knew he kept the safe. It was hidden in a good spot. Despite being a bookie, Sven hardly lived the part in the condemned building where we stood. He called it his “man cave.” But no one would ever think to look for the hundreds of thousands of dollars he squirreled behind the walls from cheated bets. But that wasn’t my business. My business was unloading this score and getting the hell out of there before the fleas stuck to the velour of my tracksuit and the rubber soles of my shores became one with whatever the sticky substance was on the base of the unfinished