The Rogue's Reluctant Mate
“There’s a ledge, usually slick with moss. We’ll need to climb. The spray will cover our scent, mostly.”
Climbing the wet, slippery rocks beside a thundering waterfall was terrifying. My fingers, raw and aching, scrabbled for purchase. The spray blinded me, the noise disoriented me. But Austin was there, a dark shape just ahead, his presence a strange sort of reassurance. He moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, as if daring the elements to defy him.
He found the ledge, a narrow, treacherous path hidden behind the curtain of water. It led into a dark, damp tunnel that smelled of wet rock and something wolf. The scent was stronger here, ranker. The scent of the pack.
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