Page 3 of Trusting Her Mate

“You tell Peyton that Ingrid says hello,” she calls after me.

“I will.”

Chapter Two

Wren

The walk up the mountain road takes longer than I expect. My legs shake by the time I reach the tree line, and the forest closes in around me like a held breath—the air changes. Wolf scent thickens—territory markers, pack boundaries, warnings layered into bark and soil.

I am being watched.

The hair on my arms rises. My wolf presses forward, ears pricked, alert but not afraid. Which is annoying, because I am plenty afraid.

The road curves, and there it is.

A wooden gate. Tall. Solid. Two posts carved with symbols I don’t recognize.

And behind it, waiting like they knew I was coming...

A tall, dark-haired male with a scar near his jaw and eyes that miss nothing. Beside him, a woman with gentle features, sharp intelligence, and the sort of quiet strength that makes my wolf lower her head in respect.

Alpha Caine.

Luna Peyton.

I know the stories. Everyone knows the stories.

The rejected mate who became a Luna. The Alpha who took in the broken. The pack that became a sanctuary when other packs turned cruel.

Three other wolves stand behind them. One of them—

No. Focus.

I stop at the gate. My duffel bag weighs a thousand pounds. My boots are dusty. My cardigan has a coffee stain. I am not impressive.

But I am here.

“I’m Wren,” I say. “I’m looking for sanctuary.”

Caine studies me. His gaze takes in everything—the bag, the exhaustion, the way I’m holding myself upright through sheer stubbornness.

“You’re a long way from home,” he says.

“I don’t have one anymore.”

Peyton steps closer. Her scent is warm, like vanilla, rain, and wolf. “Are you injured?”

“No.”

“Hungry?”

“Ingrid fed me. At the diner.”

Peyton’s mouth curves. “Ingrid feeds everyone.”

Caine’s expression doesn’t change. “Who are you running from, Wren?”

My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag.