The Tyrant Alpha’s Rejected Mate (The Five Packs Book 1)

I don’t understand Killian Kelly.

I thought I did, but now I don’t know. We’re heading back to the commons. Killian’s slowed his pace to match mine, and he has a hold of my hand and won’t let go.

Everyone is staring. Some folks are running to get other people so they can stare, too.

I guess I’ve never seen Killian Kelly hold a female’s hand before. Not many males in our pack do. You’re more likely to see a male striding somewhere oblivious to his mate hustling to keep up.

Holding hands is a human thing.

Killian’s palm is rough. Calloused. It completely envelops mine.

When we pass the commissary, there’s a rock in our path, and his foot darts out, kicking it aside before I have the chance to step over it.

He seems really worried about me falling over. I know I took a header at dinner the other night, but I was tripped. My balance is great. It’s my leg that gives out on me sometimes.

It just doesn’t compute. Killian Kelly is hard. He starts training the males at six years old, and they do it seven days a week. The number of times the girls and I have been woken up in the middle of the night by the chanting of males sentenced to run the patrol routes because they didn’t work hard enough or lost to an unworthy opponent—or, on one memorable occasion because a male farted in the weight room and no one would confess.

One, two, three, four. Crack a window or a door. Five, six, seven, eight. Take a dump then lift the weights.

I had it stuck in my head for weeks afterwards. Kennedy still hums it under her breath when she’s painting.

And Killian’s not only hard on the males. Pretty much every female under fifty has had a thing for him, and he doesn’t care. He’ll duck off into the woods with them if the mood strikes him, and if they get clingy or aggressive, he’ll tell them to their face in front of everyone that he’s not interested.

He makes zero effort. He just sits in his metal folding chair up on the dais, and the females go to him. He’s an arrogant son of a bitch, right? Incapable of feeling like a normal person?

But he played video games with Kennedy. It was definitely his idea. The girls were terrified. And even though she doesn’t show it, Kennedy freaks out about getting busted more than any of us. She has so much more to lose.

Right now, she’s balanced on a knife edge. No one can know her wolf is male, but if she suppresses him, she’ll go moon mad or worse. With no money, where will she go on a full moon? The foothills? She’ll be easy prey to outcasts without a pack to protect her. She needs the rental we found. It’s close enough to town that the ferals steer clear, and far enough from pack territory that no one will catch her scent on the wind.

Of course, with Kennedy, her fear smells like anger. That’s, like, the first thing you learn about her. When I walked into our cabin, I had to breathe through my mouth. But then, after I showered and stole as much time as I could to collect myself, the stench was gone.

Kennedy and Killian were playing Cage Fight Takedown. I watched for a few seconds before I showed myself. Kennedy was sitting with one knee bent, her foot tucked under her butt like she does when she’s comfortable. Killian was leaning forward, fingers jamming the buttons, teeth clenched, intent on taking her down. He reminded me of Fallon, cussing under his breath when he missed a shot.

Maybe Killian is being nice as a tactic, luring me into a false sense of security so I let him do what he wants.

Which is?

My belly clenches, and my cheeks heat.

He wants to have sex. Mate me. Knot me. Make me have his babies.

That’s what all males want, right? Pups are a status guarantee. A male isn’t likely to hold his rank forever if he can’t prove his virility. There will be whispers. And then challenges.

Killian has never seemed the slightest bit concerned about his status, but folks change when they get older. And he did mention young. He stroked my belly.

I warm and tingle between my legs. I lengthen my stride, try to minimize the friction. It doesn’t help much. This better be normal dumb hormones and not heat. No bond, no heat, right? I feel like that was part of the deal, but my memory of the blackberry patch is hazy.

Regardless, I’m not having babies with Killian Kelly. I’m not going to let him touch me.

That’s exactly what I’m thinking when he lifts me up the steps to Tye’s cabin—without asking permission—and hustles me through the door.

Oh.

No.

That is foul.

The instant the air inside hits me, I sink into his side. It’s instinct. I try to breathe through my mouth, but it doesn’t help. I claw at my collar, strain my neck, but it’s no use. The smell is on my tongue, in my nose, my throat, my lungs. I retch.

“What is it, shy girl?” Killian curves his shoulder and leans down, blocking me from the males sprawled around the living room. His fingertips hover above my cheek, uncertain.

Tears stream down my face. “The air. It’s too—thick. I’m gonna be sick.”

I gulp down my spit, like that might get the nastiness out of my mouth, but all it does is roil my belly. This is awful. I press my nose into Killian’s shirt. It helps, but not enough. I’d run, but my legs are noodles, and I’m dizzy as hell.

“What’s the problem?” A gruff voice calls from across the room. It’s Dermot.

My stomach lurches. I’m going to throw up right here. I can’t even bolt for the bathroom. I’m stuck. “Can’t you smell it?”

“What do you mean?” He sniffs, darting out his tongue to taste the air. He smooths my shoulders, rubs my upper back.

It’s strange, him touching me like this in front of others, but I’m too nauseous to care. I plaster myself closer and screw my eyes shut, praying he does something, because I don’t know what’s happening to me, and I’m gonna hurl.

“Shit.” There’s panic in his voice. “Tell me what to do.”

I can’t. I can only shove my face into the seam where his bicep presses against his chest. He cradles me close. His wolf rumbles against my cheek.

A chair scrapes. Footsteps stomp across the room and a window is thrown open. Oh, thank Fate. A gust of blessed fresh air wafts in.

I blink and peek up. Dermot, the chief elder, is grinning at me as he drags a wooden dining room chair over to the window.

“Sit her there,” he tells Killian. “It’ll wear off.”

“What is it?” Killian asks as he leads me to the seat. My knees wobble.

I sink down, breathing deeper as the clean breeze sweeps the nastiness away. I lean on the window sill, stretching my head as far out as I can get it, like a dog in a car window.

“Too many unmated males, too far along in her heat. Their scent’s gonna make her sick.” Dermot slaps Killian’s back. “It’ll get better the more heats she has, the more you fuck her, get your scent in her. The first heats are the worst. It comes and goes. Drags on.” He smirks. “Enjoy it, my friend.”

Killian frowns. He’s still close, hovering. He touches my forehead like a dam checking her pup for fever.

“Open the other windows,” he says.

Folks scurry to follow his orders.

Dermot doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m not in heat. I remember heat; it’s seared into my muscle memory. It’s unadulterated misery. Mind controlling. Madness making. This is not that. This is a queasy stomach.

Thankfully, my insides are settling now, and I’m starting to feel ridiculous. I shrink in the hoodie, tug the zipper up as high as it’ll go. I’m not used to being the center of attention, and whenever I have been, it’s not been a good scene.

Killian’s hand wanders down and unzips the hoodie to my cleavage. He slides his finger up, lightly, very casually arranging the neckline so my neck shows. So everyone can see his bite.

He wants them to see.

I shiver to my toes. And I leave the zipper where he puts it.

Someone clears his throat.

Now that there’s ventilation in the room, I recognize the individual scents—in addition to Dermot, there’s Ivo, Tye, Eamon, Alfie, and Finn. They’re pack. Their scents are as familiar as my own. They’ve never bothered me before, but now, and especially mixed together, they smell disgusting. Worse than a latrine. All kinds of wrong.

“I guess you have a mate after all.” Dermot smirks from his perch on a stool at the breakfast bar. “Let me be the first to congratulate you.”

There’s a general choir of echoed congratulations. All for Killian.

The males studiously avoid looking my way. I swear that Finn Murphy actually scoots his chair further away from me.

“Why don’t you, uh, put her out on the porch?” Alfie says. “Since it’s bothering her in here.”

Put me on the porch? Like a dog?

Dermot cackles. “He can’t do that. You can tell you young pups aren’t mated. You don’t know shit.”

Killian’s wandering fingers are now fiddling with the tip of my braid. “He’s right. I can’t let you out of my sight,” he says low. “I’ll have someone get you a glass of water.”

Ugh. Gross. “No. Thank you. I can’t drink here.”

His eyebrows spear together.

“I don’t want to put anything in my mouth here.”

I brace for a smart remark—not one of my roommates would be able to resist, and they’re females—but he places my braid just so over my shoulder, and strokes down its length one last time. “I won’t be long.”

I shrug. I kind of feel like his luggage at this point, and I’m getting exhausted. The shower wasn’t enough time. I want to be in my own space. I need to clear the cobwebs from my head. They’re getting thicker the longer we’re together.

Killian joins the males, and their conversation resumes. I ignore it for a while, but eventually, as a steady breeze filters out the pheromones, my brain starts lazily paying attention.

They’re arguing about Cadoc Collins, the Moon Lake heir. He’s coming to train with Quarry Pack. That’s not unusual. The high-ranking wolves from North Border and Salt Mountain also send their oldest to train with us. We’re the best fighters. It’s unquestioned.

With Moon Lake, though, things are always complicated. They’re our closest pack in terms of physical distance, but the peace between us has always been tentative. They have ambitions for the five packs, and we have no interest in a united shifter nation where we’re all under Madog Collins.

Life sucks now—it would be worse if we had to work in the human world and hand most of our profits over to whoever ranks higher. We live pretty basic here compared to the mansions at Moon Lake, but we provide for all. No one’s scraping by for food because they rank low.

I’m bored, so I stare out the window and eavesdrop. It’s basically come down to Ivo versus Eamon.

“All I’m saying, Alpha, is look down the road ten years. Cadoc Collins is our biggest threat. Would you hand a loaded gun to your enemy?” Eamon asks. Finn and Alfie murmur that no, they wouldn’t. “We can show him the basics. Tell him he’s a natural. He’ll go home singing our praises.”

“He’ll go home and tell his father that Quarry Pack is weak. He’s young, not stupid. If we hold back, best case scenario, he thinks we’ve lost our edge.” Ivo stands and paces. Killian sits in an armchair across the room, facing me. He looks at his lieutenants when they speak, and then his gaze skips back to me.

Every time, I flush hot. Not heat hot, but—toasty.

“So what? Let them come at us, and we’ll show them different,” Finn says.

Ivo sighs, exasperated. “Because we’re not going to be fighting Moon Lake in a gulch somewhere under the light of a full moon. They’ll buy the properties surrounding our territory. Squeeze us out. Lure our females to their big ass fuckin’ lakefront houses. Something like that.”

Eamon waves a hand. “If our females can be lured, good riddance.”

“We have so many, then, that we can spare them?” Ivo turns to Killian. “It’s your call. We can argue for another hour, but it comes down to whether it’s more dangerous long term to train our enemy so that he respects our strength or convince him we’re chickenshit. You know where I stand.”

“What’s Cadoc Collins really gonna do if we teach him to fight?” Ivo adds. “He can’t take us all.”

“But he can teach his males. And I’m not convinced that this doesn’t end with claws and fangs in a gulch somewhere in the pale moonlight.” Tye leans back in his seat. He’s on Eamon’s side. I didn’t see that coming.

All the males grow quiet and look to Killian.

He’s wearing his usual expression, lips a severe line, dusty blue eyes unreadable. He’s very still. He’s gazing in my direction, but I don’t get the sense that he’s looking at me. He’s lost in his head.

I’ve never seen him like this. Killian Kelly makes snap decisions, curt and unapologetic. He doesn’t tolerate argument. He certainly doesn’t sit and patiently listen to them.

Finally, he lets out a long sigh, and says, “Mutual assured destruction.”

Ivo instantly relaxes.

Eamon scowls. “What does that mean?”

“Didn’t you pay attention in history class?” Killian raises an eyebrow.

Eamon sniffs. In his day, males only went to school until they could read and do long division. He never shuts up about the cost of gas to bus the pups to Moon Lake past elementary school. Says it’s a waste.

“If Cadoc Collins goes back and trains all his packmates to fight like Quarry Pack—and that’s a big if, he’d have to pry them out of their human office buildings first—the worst-case scenario is that he has a pack full of males with a deep respect for what we can do. And no incentive to test us.”

Eamon Byrne shakes his head. “It’s a mistake.”

Killian levels his gaze at the male with the bushy gray muttonchops. Eamon’s lips peel back from his yellowed teeth, and for a second, it seems like he might let his fangs drop. But then, he tosses a stooped shoulder and bends his neck.

“Besides, where’s the fun in going easy on the pup?” Killian flashes a smile that barely shows his teeth. The other males relax. There are a couple chuckles. The tension dissipates, and the air thins.

My wolf shakes herself and plops down to lie on her side. I hadn’t been aware, but she’d been on alert. She didn’t like the vibe—males arguing, her mate the focus of the attention. She was ready to leap into the middle of something.

That would’ve been a debacle.

Not our mate, I tell her.

She yawns and rests her muzzle on her paws.

“All right.” Tye claps. “Next order of business.”

Oh. That’s not it?

It is not.

It keeps going. There’s a piece of gym equipment that needs to be replaced, but Alfie and Tye disagree on the vendor. There’s an issue with the budget. Dermot and Ivo cover the coffee table in spreadsheets, and at one point, Ivo gets so pissed over an equation, he sprouts fur.

But it’s mostly boring as hell.

I stare out the window for a while, but there’s not much to see. Folks are getting ready for dinner. Old Noreen has put the roasts in the oven. The scent is winding up from the lodge. I lick my lips. I’m hungry.

A silence falls. I look up, and everyone’s staring at me. Especially Killian. His eyes burn gold, and he’s focused on my mouth. Without thinking, I gnaw my bottom lip nervously. His wolf growls. It rattles the windows in their frames.

As one, the males’ heads drop. Then Killian clears his throat and asks Ivo to repeat himself.

I finger my phone. I tucked it into the hoodie pocket on my way out of my cabin. I have unread messages.

Dermot launches into a story about a time when Killian’s father bought a cut of some kind of fight club up in North Border. It’s supposed to back up his point about the spreadsheet, but it meanders. And meanders.

Has ShroomForager3000 trashed me on the locavore message board already? It’s not like it matters. I don’t know these people in real life. And the shroom business is dead in the water.

Did he tell everyone I’m a shifter? I guess people on the internet must love drama as much as a shifter pack because even on the Loca-voracious server, I’ve read posts putting people and restaurants on blast. Am I on blast?

Is he telling everyone that my boyfriend assaulted him, and I’m a sad, pathetic female shifter who isn’t even allowed to sell the mushrooms she collected herself?

Aren’t I a sad female shifter who isn’t allowed to sell her own mushrooms?

Stuck in the naughty chair. Ignored. Because I’m a dependent, not a person. No value except my biology. I don’t like thinking this way, but this chair is uncomfortable, and I’m hangry, and there’s something weird going on in my body.

So I focus on being mad at Killian.

Yeah, my braid is fascinating now. Only a couple of days ago, I was buck naked in front of him, and he had his buddy put me out back with the trash.

But at least I had unsquashed product then.

Ugh. My own mind is a quagmire of squashed shrooms. I need a distraction.

I slip my phone out and tap in my code. I have a lot of missed calls. Annie and Kennedy and Mari. There’s a text from Abertha about how she moved the dry cat food to the shed. There’s nothing on the server from ShroomForager3000. I breathe a little easier and relax in my chair.

And then I notice that the room has grown silent again.

Everyone is gaping. What? Did I lick my lips again?

They’re focused on my hands. Oh. Duh. Because of the phone. No phones for females.

Oops.

I guess shit is going to hit the fan now. I knew what I was doing. It’s just my brain is so fuzzy. I didn’t really realize what I was doing.

Eamon, Alfie, and Finn look indignant as hell. Almost horrified. Tye and Ivo have wiped their expressions clean. Killian’s eyes are drilling into me.

“Females can’t have phones,” Eamon says, glaring at Killian expectantly.

I slide the phone back into my pocket. If they come for it, I’m going to let my wolf out. She’s back up on her feet, not too keen on three males looking at us like that with our mate right there. She hasn’t decided yet who she’s pissed at—Killian or the others—but she’s pissed.

She’s content to wait a beat, though, and so am I. I honestly don’t know what to say. Your sexist, backwards rules are bullshit? It’s true, but I don’t think the argument would go very far.

And it’s not really my style to say that kind of thing out loud.

At least, it didn’t used to be.

Killian rises slowly from his armchair. His face is inscrutable, mouth a slash, eyes narrowed so the blue is shadowed.

He stalks across the room to stand right in front of me. He gazes down.

He’s going to demand I hand over my phone.

My fists ball in my pockets.

I’m going to have to give it to him, and it’s going to feel awful. Worse than being beat in front of the whole pack. At least then I had a shot.

But he’s strong. I’m not. I’m female. And he’s the alpha. And this is his pack. His rules. I’m outnumbered. Outranked.

I lower my head.

He gently pushes my chin back up with his forefinger. His lips soften, curving at the corners.

“Guess females can have phones now,” he says, never breaking eye contact with me.

My wolf yips.

Eamon, Alfie, and Finn erupt.

“Unheard of.”

“Bad idea.”

“What the fuck?”

Killian’s smile widens, revealing wickedly sharp, extended canines. His tongue touches the tip of one as he pivots to stare at the males.

They shut their mouths.

And then he grabs my sleeve and gently, but insistently, draws the hand holding my phone out of my pocket. He wraps his fingers around the sparkly purple case. And then he waits.

He wants me to let him take it.

To trust him.

I don’t.

He could take it and stomp it and say, “Hah, hah. Joking.”

But he won’t. My wolf and I both know that.

And that’s not trust, but it’s something. Enough so that I loosen my grip.

Satisfaction flares in his eyes. They crinkle deeper at the corners. My heart skips.

He holds the screen up to me. “Type in your code.”

I do. 5338. Bees backwards.

He taps away, and then he hands it back. “Now you’ve got my number.”

I don’t know what to say. I sneak a quick peek at my contact list. It’s pretty short. He put himself in as “Killian.”

Warmth spreads through my chest, a rush, like when you’re in the bath and you turn the faucet all the way to hot when the water cools down too much. I feel seventeen. And silly. And flustered.

“The other elders will not tolerate this,” Eamon says.

Dermot snorts. “Which elders? You know they all got phones, right? Cheryl. Nuala. Tippety tap. All night long. Sneakin’ off to the kitchen. Air bombing each other.” He shakes his head. “That horse has done left the building. We closed the barn door long after he left.”

“It’s called air dropping,” Finn says.

Dermot waves him off. “It’s called progress. You can’t stop it.” Dermot rests his folded hands on his round belly.

“Well, the mated males are going to have something to say about it,” Eamon insists. He’s not letting it go. Under the sideburns, his cheeks are red. His knee jiggles.

“Good thing I’m prepared for that.” Killian smiles, and it sends a shiver down my back. It’s a warning. Eamon is treading on dangerous ground. He bends his neck ever so slightly, but his disgruntled expression doesn’t change.

My wolf snaps at him. The males startle. Eamon flashes his fangs and then snaps his lips closed, turning away. Then Dermot, Tye, and Ivo crack up.

“Better watch it, Eamon.” Tye slaps him on the back. “The alpha’s female doesn’t like you challenging her mate.”

I watch Eamon fake a smile. This isn’t a joke to him.

I remember the run-in on the path and goosebumps break out on my forearms. I hug myself and ignore the males as they go back to the spreadsheets. At one point, Ivo calls Killian over to the coffee table to show him something. At the same time, Tye bounces into the kitchen, asking if anyone else wants a beer. Alfie sidles up to Killian to peer at the papers.

I don’t realize for a moment that Eamon and Finn used the general movement to wander over to me. They aren’t close. I have no doubt that would grab Killian’s attention. But they’re near enough for me to overhear their conversation. I can’t avoid it.

“It’ll be a shame,” Eamon says, turning his head left then right, loose-jowled.

“What will?” Finn asks like he’s delivering a line. Badly.

“Females who don’t know their place. They’ll bring a strong male down, every time.”

Finn sighs. “No one to blame but themselves.”

“And when the dust settles, no one to call.” Eamon skewers me with his cold, rheumy eyes.

“You don’t need a phone when you’re on your knees in a Last Pack den,” Finn says, smirking.

Eamon smacks him upside the head and turns away as Tye comes back, announcing, “Beers!”

My blood runs cold.

Killian glances over, brows knit, but I’m sitting here alone. He frowns. He must not have noticed Eamon and Finn lingering nearby. He raises an eyebrow. I don’t know what to do, so I lower my gaze. When Ivo nudges his arm, Killian turns back at the documents.

A steadying thrum comes through the thread between us, though. Like a soothing scritch behind the ears. It’s stronger now. No more avoiding the fact that Abertha was wrong. It wasn’t forever. The bond is growing back, which is terrifying, but not the problem in front of me right now.

Should I tell Killian what Eamon and Finn said? I’m not scared of them. In a room with other packmates.

But Killian’s not always there. He wasn’t on the path that day. And he can’t be everywhere at once. Right now, Kennedy, Mari, and Annie are alone at the cabin. And who’s been tasked to watch the place? Lochlan? A B-roster male who wouldn’t bat an eye if Lochlan told him to scram?

Right now, it’s just words. Males who got taken down a peg, blowing off steam, asserting dominance so they aren’t the lowest on the ladder.

If I told Killian, though, it’d become a challenge. He has too much pride for it not to be. Killian would win against either Eamon or Finn, of course, and I’d have an even bigger target on my back with the Byrnes and their backers.

And Killian is all about me today, but when was the last time he declared I wasn’t his mate? Last night?

The reality is—when whatever weirdness is happening now is over—I’m going to have to live in this pack. Better keep my head down and my mouth shut. It’s served me fairly well in life so far.

Killian flashes me another glance. The corners of his eyes are creased. I give him a smile. He looks even more worried.

“That’s enough,” he says, cutting off Ivo mid-sentence. “My mate needs to rest before dinner.”

And at exactly that second, when everyone’s staring, I spontaneously yawn.

The males laugh.

Eamon’s laugh in particular is loud with a cutting edge.