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

The further we get from Tye’s cabin, the more my tension eases. Killian lifts me down the stairs again, and then his hands don’t leave my body. He guides me by my elbow. The small of my back. My hip.

I’m not used to someone so close to my back, so focused on me. I trip a half dozen times, way more than usual.

And despite the crisp evening air, the wool in my brain is thicker than ever. The sun has sunk below the foothills. It’s almost dinner time, and I’m hungry, but as Killian and I walk side by side, I’m also drawn deeper, moment by moment, into a kind of tempting flow. I’m entranced.

I want to follow where Killian goes. Not for any reason, but because that’s the direction of the current.

I grasp the place our bond used to be, and it’s not empty anymore. The thread is a string now. The place where it roots into me tingles. Throbs.

Can it grow all the way back?

Abertha said the loss was permanent. No bond, no hope of children. Does she know for sure, though? She said she can’t predict what might happen. That the Fates have a tendency of getting their way in the end.

And I’m definitely not myself.

I’m always thinking. Planning. What needs doing? How can I get or make a new beekeeping veil? Who can I trade for sticker paper for my Cricut? Where can I find that vintage game called Street Fighter Alpha that Fallon’s been bugging me about?

But my brain’s quiet now. I’m going along, and there’s an ease to it. A pleasure and a peacefulness.

I walk beside Killian, his steps slow and measured so I don’t fall behind, his fingers wrapped around my arm, right above the crook of my elbow. As if I might bolt. Or I’m being arrested.

But the touch is gentle. And I know—somehow—it’s because if I trip, it’s the best way to keep me upright without hurting me.

“I’m usually pretty coordinated, you know,” I tell him as we pass B-roster’s row of cabins.

“You can show me when we get back to our den.” He smirks, teasing.

I roll my eyes. He tightens his grip on my arm. It’s not a warning, and it doesn’t hurt. It’s just firmer. More secure.

My heart beats faster.

I’m not going to sleep with him.

Just because he let me keep my phone, and he’s been decent for a few hours, doesn’t change the fact that he’s ruined my life. Or what happened the night I first went into heat.

You don’t get to take back something like that because it turns out you were wrong.

And I’m not a moonstruck kid. Not having a happily ever after isn’t going to break me. I already know that. I’ve gotten this far on my own, and it’s not half bad. As a matter of fact, I’m free, and free is pretty damn awesome.

I’ve got myself well in hand by the time we get back to Killian’s cabin. He lifts me up the stairs and throws open the front door like “ta da.”

At the same time, I see the brand-new sofa and rug, the smell slaps me in the face.

I force down the barf, eyes bugging.

Killian’s face falls. “What? It’s all new shit.”

“It smells like Cheryl now,” I manage between shallow breaths.

Killian drives his fingers through his hair, ruffling chestnut brown tufts. I’ve never seen him tousled before. His gaze darts back and forth, as if he’s looking for someone to bark an order at. There’s no one here but us.

“Just let me go home,” I say. Gently.

He heaves a sigh. “Stay here,” he orders. Then he disappears into the house. There’s a scraping sound. He emerges a few seconds later with a wooden rocking chair. It’s beautiful, polished and smooth in the way only really antique furniture gets.

“Sit,” he says.

I’m tired of sitting, but he looks at his wits’ end, and I’m almost beyond exhausted now. I’m hungry. Fuzziness is descending on my mind like drifts of fluffy snow.

I hear Killian call someone on his phone, and then it’s quiet for a while. I rock with my good leg and drift off. The sun sinks, and the foothills turn black against the pinkish orange horizon. Venus appears, super bright and all alone.

Thumps and thuds from the cabin wake me occasionally, but then I drift back off. Strange, almost waking dreams pass vaguely through my consciousness. A serious boy with Killian’s pale blue eyes, braiding my hair. Holding a cup of tea to my lips.

After what feels like a long time, but by the glow of the horizon, can only have been a half hour or so, the hum of a vacuum rouses me. I go peek inside.

Killian’s cleaning. He has the new rug rolled up, and he’s thrown all the windows open. Down the hallway, I can see the new sofa, armchair, and ottoman stacked by the back door. A mattress is leaning against them.

He has his shirt off. His chest, the slabs of his pecs, and the ridges of his abs are slick with sweat. The V that arrows down into his shorts. He moves so efficiently. So competently. He’s not pissed. I wouldn’t blame him if he was. I hate cleaning. But he’s just—intent. And thorough.

Cheryl’s scent has faded, replaced by lemon and pine.

And then a box truck comes down the path and pulls around to the back of the house.

When they cut the engine, Killian hollers, “Don’t touch a damn thing. I’ll get it.”

I watch through the window as Killian hauls everything out, all by himself, and carries in a new leather sofa—black this time—and a new mattress covered in plastic.

At some point, whoever’s making the delivery must step too close to the cabin because Killian’s wolf snarls, and a male stammers, “Sorry, Alpha.”

It’s well past dinner time now. I’m starving, but I want sleep more than food. This day has been eternal. If he lets me, I’ll pass out on the new sofa.

Killian disappears into the bedroom, and then, after what feels like forever, he comes out to the porch. I’m back in the rocking chair, dozing. He clears his throat, and I blink open my eyes.

He stands in the doorway, arms crossed. His chest is still bare. It’s perfect. Sculpted and strong. I want to lay my cheek against it and feel it rise and fall with his breath. The impulse yanks at something inside me. Synchronizes.

I smile drowsily. I don’t have it in me to be prickly at the moment. It’s too late, and I’m too damn tired.

“Beautiful mate,” he says, gruff and grumbly.

“Not your mate,” I murmur.

And there’s a tug inside me. Small and sharp. Enough to send my eyes flying wide open. It wasn’t my wolf. It came from outside of us. It came from him.

Killian grins. “Come on, mate. I’ve prepared your den for you. It should smell like nothing but Pine Sol and sweat.”

He turns, expecting me to follow.

I rock the chair to the count of ten—because there isn’t an almost nonexistent tether pulling me after him. I could walk away. There’s no bond. Nothing that counts. I’m not gonna end up desperate and hurting again.

Once I’ve calmed the panic, I go to him. The walk home, all the way up the hill, is too far. And I kind of want to see the alpha’s bedroom.

He leads me down the short hall to the room at the end. It definitely belongs to Killian. There are no paintings on the wall. There’s a utility bench and a rack of weights. A metal folding chair with a towel hung over the back. A plain chest of drawers, nothing on top. And a huge bed with a simple wrought iron frame.

The bed is made, covered in a thick Amish quilt. The room smells entirely of him. He didn’t lie. His sweaty musk masks any other lingering scent.

I’m so sleepy, I let him guide me to sit at the foot of the bed. He unzips the hoodie and slides it from my shoulders, his expression solemn.

Lazy swoops swirl in my belly, but I’m so tired. While he’s tossing the sweatshirt in a hamper, I unlace my boots, kick them off, and crawl under the covers. The pillows are firm and cool. The sheets are soft.

It’ll do.

I yawn so wide my jaw pops.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “Just let me sleep a little. Then I’ll go.”

He growls low in reply. It’s almost a purr. He flips off the lights, and a few moments later, he slips under the covers beside me. A faraway part of me wonders why I’m not freaking out. I don’t want to sleep with him.

Right?

But he doesn’t touch me. He lays on his back, an arm propped under his head, bicep bulging, staring at the ceiling. I can’t make out his face in the dark. His body is alert, but relaxed. He’s not getting ready to pounce on me or anything.

We lay side by side in silence for a while. Gradually, the tension seeps from my muscles. Looks like he’s going to stay over there. I nestle my nose into the pillow. Yum. Toffee. The case smells like detergent, but it can’t hide the delicious scent coming from the feathers.

Killian’s voice, when he speaks, almost startles me. “I should make you eat.”

“No, please. Eat tomorrow.” My heavy eyelids sink closed. I don’t know how late it is. It could be ten. Midnight. Later.

Time is inconsequential. I hover on the edge of sleep, but I can’t let go quite yet. I don’t want to lose this feeling.

The room is velvet black. It’s quiet except for the occasional clatter of the fridge’s ice maker in the kitchen. My body feels like it does after a long swim. Good tired. There’s not a single worry skulking in the back of my mind.

And it doesn’t make sense. My pack’s alpha is lying in the bed beside me, and he expects things, and I think he might have taken his clothes off.

But I feel—safe. Completely safe.

For the first time in so many years.

This is what it felt like when I lived with my mother and father. I could sleep. The grown ups were on guard. I could let go and drift away. They’d never let any harm come to me.

I don’t feel unsafe in my own bed at the lone females’ cabin. I know the pack will protect me. But I don’t sleep too deeply, either. A lot can happen while help is running to the rescue. I rub the scars on my thigh where the skin almost couldn’t knit back together. Abertha did her very best, but the wounds were bad, and she told me infection set in right away.

A memory bubbles up in my consciousness, another bed with a soft quilt, a woman slumped and snoring by a fire, but the past is murky and far away, and maybe it’s better to turn my face further into the pillow and close my eyes.

“Goodnight, Una. It’s all right. Whatever you’re worried about, you can worry about it tomorrow.” Killian’s voice rumbles in the dark.

And I do what he says. I let go.

I wake up hours later in the pitch black, panting. I know immediately where I am. Killian’s bed. He’s beside me. Closer. Awake.

I’m wet. Aching. My bra is twisted under my shirt, and my skirt’s hiked, making an uncomfortable lump under my butt. The waistline digs into the flesh above my hip bones. And I’m wearing my socks. I hate wearing socks to bed. My feet are hot. Everything’s hot.

And there’s something lodged in my chest. Between my breasts. It’s not my heart, but it pulses. Slow. Steady. Insistent.

I push my palm against it as if that could stop it, but even with my brain cranking too slowly into gear, I know. It’s the bond. It’s all the way back.

No.

It can’t be.

I sit straight up. I’m sweating, and I can’t see a damn thing. I yank my collar away from my neck as if that’ll help me catch my breath, but the problem isn’t in my throat or lungs, it’s in my head.

There’s going to be terrible pain. I won’t be able to handle it. I’ll break.

Killian eases up to sit against the headboard. I sense the movement more than I see it.

“It’s okay,” he says.

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re safe.”

I laugh, and it has a hysterical edge.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Again?” I try to straighten my bra, but it’s hopeless. The wire’s twisted to hell.

“Yes. Never again.”

“I hate you.” It comes out a sob. Nothing’s right. My skin is raw, and it’s too stuffy in here.

He takes a second to reply. “Yeah. I guess you would.”

“I don’t want a mate.”

“I do.”

I— My brain kind of stutters. Males always complain about being tied down and leg-shackled and ball-and-chained. I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard the older males wistfully expound on how Killian Kelly is the luckiest shifter alive—alpha, unmated, and drowning in eager pussy.

The only reason most males seem to want mates at all is to have pups and nail down their rank.

“You want young.” I’m not disappointed. I have no expectation that Killian is different from any other male.

“That’s part of it. I won’t lie.” He rolls to his side, folding a pillow and sticking it behind his head. “But I always wanted my female. The one who was mine, you know? Only mine.”

He reaches out and flicks the tip of my braid. It’s an unraveling, tangled mess. I don’t know how the band is still there.

“Is that why you hook up with all the—everybody?” Not me, though. He never looked at me twice.

He shrugs. “They offer. I don’t always turn it down. Didn’t see the harm.”

He’s only being honest. I have no right to feel hurt. His love life or whatever you want to call it is not my concern.

I distract myself by smoothing my skirt. I liked the texture when I put it on. Corduroy is cozy. But now, the fabric is annoying. Too swishy when it rubs.

“The other females upset you,” he says.

“It’s not my business.”

“It is. I’m your mate.”

“Well, it’s not like I can do anything about it.”

“That’s over now. You know that, right? You’re it.”

“I’m not asking you to, um, stop, uh—” I don’t know why my face is on fire. He can’t see me. And we’re both adults. We have pasts. It’s normal.

“You don’t have to ask. I’m telling you. You don’t have to worry. Even if you never let me in, Una, I’m not gonna disrespect you. I’m in.”

My mouth opens, but I forget what I was going to say.

He props his head on his hand. “You don’t understand. I’ve waited, Una.”

Bull crap. I’ve seen Haisley hanging on him, her hand shuttling back and forth under the water in the lake after a midnight run. And I’ve seen Rowan saunter out of the sauna, wiping her mouth, and Killian coming out a minute later, tugging up his shorts. He hasn’t waited for anything.

“You don’t believe me,” he says.

“I don’t understand what you mean. Waited for what?”

He exhales. “I don’t know if it even makes a difference. I mean, I didn’t touch a female for a long time. I figured my mate would come, right? After I put the pack to rights. So, I won some fights. Trained up Ivo and Tye so we’ve got enough money coming in to keep the kitchen stocked for the winter. And I figured now I’ll get my mate.”

He laughs, short and bitter. “Didn’t happen. Then when I shut down that shit that went on in the lodge basement. And behind the commissary. I figured now it’ll happen for me.”

He looks over. It’s dark, but I can make out his eyes. They gleam pale blue. “After a while, I figured I had no mate. The crone said ‘your path follows a different way.’ What the hell does that mean?”

I don’t know. Abertha speaks in riddles. And when she’s drunk, puns.

“I told myself if it’s just a mouth or a hand, it doesn’t count, you know? I’m not shutting the door. If my mate shows up from North Border or something, it’ll all be good.”

Is he saying he’s never had sex? Like the penis in vagina kind? It’s a good thing it’s pitch black. My jaw just dropped.

This cabin smelled like a lot of fluids, but I guess that makes sense if he’s been doing everything but. Messier out than in.

Holy crap. He’s twenty-nine. I’ve had more sex than him. Two hundred percent more. The alpha is a virgin. Kind of.

My mind is boggled.

How does the whole pack not know?

But then again, Haisley and Rowan and Tierney and all of them get a nice bump in rank when everyone thinks they’re banging the alpha. That’s a lot of incentive to let folks think what they will. I guess none of the females are gonna lose status by admitting they only got to third base. If that’s the blowjob base. I don’t know that much about human sports.

Is it a big secret among them or do they all think the others are doing the deed, and they’re the only one on “B-roster” so to speak?

This is wild. And also, how do I feel about it?

I don’t know.

What I do feel—I probably shouldn’t.

I’m a little, tiny bit, and very regretfully, pleased as punch. Or is it my wolf?

He waited for us. A little. He’s never been inside another female. Well, another female’s pussy. That shouldn’t matter. I’m not more or less valuable since I’ve experimented. And if he thought I was, I’d drop him like a hot potato. That’s bullshit.

But even that doesn’t make sense. I can’t drop him like a hot potato. He’s not mine to drop.

But he’s not any other female’s, either.

There’s a tingling in the bond. He reaches over and takes my braid, fisting it tightly but careful not to tug my scalp.

“I didn’t ruin it, Una, did I? Did I break it before it started?” His voice roughens like tumbled rocks. It washes over me. “It was never what I wanted. It was never like this. Now.”

My dumb heart melts into a gooey mess at the same time another part of me gets hot. Ragingly pissed. I jerk my braid out of his grasp, I don’t even care that it stings.

His sexual history is not the thing that ruined this. And it’s such a Quarry Pack male thing to think. Must be my dick.

He hurt me. He rejected me in front of everyone. He let everyone laugh at me when I was naked and bleeding. He didn’t have my back when I needed someone more than I ever have in my adult life. And he thinks that him getting his knob slobbered on could hurt worse than that?

And the horrible, embarrassing, lowering fact is that I do hurt, and I hate it, and it makes me want to barf. I wish I could blame it on my wolf, but she’s conked out and nowhere near this conversation.

And also, holy crap, Killian Kelly just admitted to me that he’s a virgin.

Killian reaches out and grabs my braid again. Then he waits in silence. I guess I’m supposed to say something.

I don’t know what to say; I’m so freaking hot. This quilt has too much stuffing. I kick my feet free. Then I wriggle higher—Killian has to adjust quickly to not pull my hair—and I try to adjust my clothes again, get comfortable, but I can’t find the right position.

I need to say something. Killian is tensing, and I’m not such a jerk that I won’t acknowledge he just opened up to me big time. It’s surreal. It’s the middle of the night, I’m alone with the alpha in his bed, and he’s so close I can feel the heat radiating off his skin.

He’s not barking orders for once. He’s talking like a normal person. Telling me he’s never gone all the way.

If this were a female confiding in me, I’d respond in kind. Maybe I’d tell him about how—so deep down I’m not sure I’ve ever formed the words in my head before—I thought I didn’t have a mate because Fate didn’t want to curse a pup with a mother too weak to defend it.

How I don’t want us to be ruined, either, even though we are.

How I needed him, and he let me down, so none of this can matter, and I hate that, and I wish I was like other females who can forgive and forget and be happy.

A wave of sadness, almost grief, rolls over me, but immediately, it’s washed away by a wave of heat and the prickling of my skin. My thinking muddles. Narrows.

I don’t have time for regrets. There’s something I have to do.

My wolf is in total agreement. She’s wide awake now and yipping.

I do a crunch and reach beneath me to rearrange the pillows. Everything is in the wrong place.

And my nerves are raw. Jangling. What am I doing laying here? I gotta get started. I’m going to be too late.

Killian sits up. “Una?”

He flicks on the bedside lamp. Three clicks.

The light drives a jolt of pain into my brain. I snap my teeth.

“Okay. No worries.” He dials it down to the dimmest setting.

That’s better. Now I can see to work. A flat sheet covers Killian’s lap, and that’s okay, too, for now. I press my fingers to his bare chest. It’s firm. I squeeze his biceps. They’re hard, too. Good. Very good.

I lick the smooth muscle. He lets out a throaty moan. He tastes perfect. He’ll do.

Now for the nest. I kind of tumble out of bed, trailing sheets, and I glare at it. It’s all wrong. And he’ll need to get up.

“Go stand there.” I snap and point to the corner by the door. He can stand guard. That’s where he belongs for now.

Killian frowns, and he doesn’t go. Goodness gracious. It’s not hard. “Go over there so I can fix the bed.”

“It needs fixing?”

Obviously. I grunt. I don’t have time for this, and frankly, the bed needs more than fixing. I’d burn it and start fresh if I could, but that would take too long.

“Are you okay, shy girl?” he asks cautiously.

I will be once the bed isn’t all jacked up. I grab the fitted sheet and tug it free. Finally, he gets a clue and hops up, stalking over to hover by the hamper. Not where I told him to go. My wolf and I growl under our breath. At least he’s out of the way.

I strip the sheets down to the mattress pad. It smells new. It can stay.

The position of the bed is okay. I push the frame a few feet either way to make sure, but it’s fine. Unless it’d be better a little to the right. No. It’s good. Centered.

Killian inches forward and moves the mattress in the direction I’m pushing. And now it’s too far to the left.

What is he doing? I don’t need help. This is my job. My wolf snaps her teeth at him. He raises his hands and backs away.

“All right. I’ll stay over here.”

He watches intently as I remake the bed, occasionally stroking his hard cock. That’s okay. As long as he stays out from under foot. He’d only mess it up.

I get everything put together, but it’s not right, so I take it apart again. At some point, Killian goes to his closet and comes back with a stack of blankets. Some are good, but some reek, and they have to go. I throw them out into the hallway, but even with the door shut, they bother me, so I take them out back and shove them into a metal trashcan.

Killian tails me, which is fine, because his scent masks the blanket stink. And the trashcan stink. And I don’t like the smells coming from the nearby cabins, either. Too plastic, chemical, processed.

I need nose plugs like swimmers have on TV.

And food.

I’m ravenous.

I head back inside, stopping in the kitchen.

“I’m hungry.”

“Okay.” Killian already has the refrigerator door open. “What do you want?”

“Meat.”

“I don’t have any defrosted.”

Frozen meat? That’s wrong, too. I huff and head back to the bedroom. I’ll finish my nest and then go hunting. There’s just enough time if I hurry. The hour’s growing late. But that doesn’t make sense.

None of this does.

But that doesn’t matter. The nest is the only important thing, and I’m almost done. I pile a down comforter in the middle and cover it with the best smelling sheets and the contents of the hamper. There’s not much. A few pairs of jeans and T-shirts, but it’ll have to do.

I stalk around the bed, examine what I’ve made from all angles.

“I need more.” I catch Killian out of the corner of my eye. He’s leaning against the wall, still watching. He’s wearing drawstring pants now. When did he put them on?

“I need those.” I snap and point.

“My pants?”

I snap again. He needs to listen.

“Una, I’m not sure you know what you’re doing,” he says in a very rational tone which makes me want to rip off his face.

I bare my teeth. Arrogant male. I know what I’m doing.

And it’s so damn hot in here. “Put them on the pile.”

I let my wolf growl at him a few times so he knows we’re serious while I throw open a window. The moon is full and high. I draw the night breeze deep into my lungs. It’s cool and sweet.

My body is a live wire.

The ache in my bad leg is so faint it hardly registers. There are so many more things to feel.

Like my breasts. They’re full and tender. And this bra has got to go. I peel off my top, fling it into a corner, and send my bra sailing after.

Out of nowhere, Killian plunges between me and the window, snatching the curtains closed.

“No.” I slap his hand and go for the fabric.

“You’re not giving a show to whoever walks past,” he growls.

“I want to see the moon.”

He’s tense, and he grabs my wrists so I can’t pull the curtains back open, but his voice is conciliatory when he says, “I know, shy girl. Next time, I’ll take you out to the old dens, okay?”

Yes. That’s where I’m supposed to be. Deep in the woods behind the old quarry. Surrounded by bark and brush and moss. Stone and soil. Running water and the hum of winged insects and croak of bullfrogs in the rushes.

That’s the right place.

“Take me there now.” I turn, and he’s right there. So close. So sweet smelling. I brush my nose across his pecs, listening to his heart pound. Ka-thunk. I remember the sound, but it’s fainter in my memory. He was smaller then.

“I can’t,” he says. “It’s not safe without scouting first. I’d need other males to guard us.”

“Okay. Go get males.”

He chuckles, gently prying my fingers off of the curtain. “I wouldn’t be able to tolerate other males around you like this.”

“Like how?”

“You’re in heat.”

“No, I’m not. Heat hurts.”

His eyes crinkle in sadness. “No, baby. It doesn’t.”

But I’m nodding. “Yes, it does. It’s the most awful pain you’ll ever feel.” My eyes brim with tears.

I tug my hand from his and wander back to my nest. I don’t want to think about it. The memory of the blackberry patch pierces the muzzy languor in my brain, and I don’t want to go back to reality. I want this. Even if it’s foolish. Even if I shouldn’t.

I expect Killian to follow like he has been, but he stays at the window, although his eyes track me.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he says.

No. I don’t want to go down that path. It’s ugly, and I’ll remember, and I’ll hurt. That’s not what I want. I unbutton my skirt, letting it drop to the floor, twisting my waist. That feels better.

I peel off my panties, too, and stretch my arms way over my head, arching my back. Now I can breathe.

Killian’s wolf rumbles. I smile. I like him. He has never betrayed me.

The air in the room is thickening, and it’s a heady scent, like incense. Toffee and sweets fresh from the oven. My tummy growls.

“I need to feed you,” Killian murmurs, his gaze riveted on my body, raking down the slopes of my breasts, feasting on the slight swell of my belly, the curve of my hips. He scans my legs, and the scars are nothing to him—instantly dismissed—as his eyes travel past my knees all the way to my bare toes.

His cock is hard, and his wolf is loud in his chest.

He wants me. Which is right. As it should be.

I absently rub the throbbing behind my breastbone and climb into my nest, graceful for once because the stiffness in my leg is gone. My body is strong. The heat in my veins is powering me, charging me like streaks of purple lightning in an electrical storm. I’m a force. I can sway nature; I know it in my bones.

I kneel in my soft pile and smile at my mate. “Come on, now.”

His eyes flash gold. He crosses the room in a blur, jerking to a halt inches from the foot of the bed. Why did he stop?

I pat the soft pillow next to me.

His shoulders bunch, and he grimaces as if he’s straining against himself.

And then it’s like someone flickers the lights on and off in rapid succession. He’s standing; he’s in mid-motion. His fangs glint; he’s gritting his blunt white teeth. And there’s a terrible sound—a garbled howl that rattles the dresser and the mirror on the wall.

I scramble to the headboard, huddle as small as I can, my power gone. Something’s wrong.

He flip-shifts so quickly I can’t track it. He becomes a blur. His naked body is a mirage.

And then it’s over. He’s standing as a man, panting, hands clenched. Trembling.

I wait a few seconds, but when he stays in human form, I slowly crawl to him. My wolf wants a closer sniff. She needs to know her mate is still in there.

He groans, balling his fists so tightly, all the veins in his arms pop. “You’re gonna make me suffer, aren’t you, shy girl?”

Yes, it’s good that he’s suffering, even though I can’t recall exactly why. My heartbeat’s calming down. The receding fear allows more feelings to flow through me—excitement, satisfaction, an exquisite anticipation.

I’ve never felt this amazing. Neither has my wolf. She’s inhabiting me, melded in my muscle and blood, pure spirit. We’re together in this. We need the same thing.

I lay back, propping myself up on a stack of pillows, and let my knees fall apart.

“Come on, then,” I tell Killian.

“You want this?” His voice is gravelly, torn from his throat.

“Yes. Come now.” I spread my pussy lips so he can see how wet I am for him. So he will come to me. I have no patience left.

He sucks down a ragged breath. “You’re not yourself.”

My wolf growls. My skin is flushing hotter than I can bear, and the pleasant pulsing in my pussy has crossed the line into an ache. He can make me feel better. Why is he just standing there at the end of the bed, staring?

The human can’t be trusted. My wolf howls, calls to her mate.

“You don’t really want this,” Killian says.

I snarl. He won’t come. My wolf knows. The human is not right. But I’m stronger than him. I hold more inside me—the moon, the night, the future. It doesn’t matter if he’s broken. I’m stronger than him.

I roll to all fours and crawl to him, kneeling at the very edge of the bed. Except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest, he’s frozen. His jaw is a knife. I stretch my spine so I can reach it with my mouth, and I taste the harsh line, test the solidity of the bone with my teeth. He remains completely still, but his breath is ragged.

He should be still. I’m dangerous. He has wronged me, and I haven’t decided yet whether he is forgivable or not.

I lick down his slightly salty neck, explore the knot of his Adam’s apple, the ridge of his collar bone. His skin quivers under my tongue. An agonized rumble emanates from deep in his chest.

He suffers. I can taste it on the tip of my tongue.

He should suffer. He should cry alone with thorns stuck in his hide.

I press my heavy breasts to his chest so his hurt is closer to my heart. The grinding of his teeth is sweet in my ear.

I drag my sensitive nipples down his front, and it feels so good. Why do I want to torment him? He has what I want, and he needs to give it to me.

I need to take it.

I explore with my fingertips, my nails. The ridges of his abs. The valley below his hip bones. The hard, flat place above his cock bobbing in the air. Every muscle on his body is taut and straining.

“If I do this when you’re—when you’re not in your right mind, you’ll hate me.” He’s panting.

“I already hate you.” I don’t remember why, but it’s true, although less true than it was even minutes ago. Past wrongs don’t matter. He’s big and fierce. He can protect our young. And he can make me feel good, and that’s what I need.

Everything else is inconsequential.

I wrap my fingers around his throbbing cock. He hisses, abs clenching. I stroke down, let the velvet heat warm my palms. There’s a drop of seed at the tip. I catch it with the fleshy base of my thumb, and then I lift it to my mouth and lick my hand clean.

Killian breaks, tossing me onto my nest, lunging after.

I laugh in victory.

My nest is soft and welcoming. I wiggle to get comfortable. My mate kneels between my legs, hovering over me, fangs extended. His eyes blaze blue and gold.

Is he going to bite me again? I touch the still tender marks on my neck and smile. I want that. He growls, and it doesn’t stop, it rolls on and on like a distant engine, stoking the gentle spasms beginning in my core.

“Who do you belong to?” he snarls.

My lips curl higher. “My mate.”

He grumbles, seizing my wrists and pinning them beside my head. My breasts graze his chest again, my nipples impossibly hard now and unbearably sensitive. Every glancing touch feeds a current surging to my aching pussy, priming it, readying it for his knot. I lift my torso, hunting more sensation, and he snaps, pressing me down to the mattress with his weight.

“Who do you belong to?” he says again, this time so close to my ear his incisor nicks my earlobe.

“My mate,” I moan.

He pushes up on his arms, scowling. He doesn’t like my answer.

“Who?” It has the resonance of an alpha command, but I can’t tell him. His wolf has no name. And the question doesn’t quite make sense. There’s something we’ve forgotten.

He’s not doing this right. I struggle under his weight, nipping at the flesh of his bicep and wriggling my hips until he lets me up. He sits back on his heels. Frustration pours from him.

He runs a hand through his hair. “What do I do to make this right?”

My cheeks are damp. It’s not sweat. It’s tears. I’m frustrated, too. I need, and he’s supposed to do.

“Why do you ask me?” I sob. “I don’t know.”

It’s too much. The air’s too heavy. All the good feelings are twisting and turning and slipping away, and my head is full of wool.

I flop back and close my eyes. Why is this so hard? It always has been, from the second I knew he was mine, but I know deep down it’s not supposed to be.

I plunge my fingers between my legs, finding my slick passage and the swollen nub that begs for attention. It’s not what I want, but what else can I do? There’s no relief from this male, only the stoking of a fire that somehow makes me hungrier, thirstier, and angry. So angry.

“Okay. Okay.” Killian’s talking to himself. I have no patience left for him.

And then his rough fingers slip through my folds, sending a shock of pristine pleasure through my belly. My channel squeezes on air. My clit throbs.

His hand covers mine, and for a while, he leaves it there, adding to the pressure as I touch myself the right way, stirring the breaking storm closer and closer, coiling it into a whirl of delicious shivers and cascades of molten delight.

Nothing has ever felt this good.

He gazes into my eyes, nervous and full of wonder, and the severe slash of his lips are curved because he sees that I need him—that I want him.

We breathe each other’s air, eyes locked, together. Finally.

I’m almost there when his hand bats mine away. Now, he’s the one teasing, circling, easing the terrible gnawing need inside me. His other hand cups my breast reverently, and he raises the nipple into his searing wet mouth.

“You can let go, baby. You can trust me.”

And he suckles my tit at the same moment he slips a thick finger inside me, all the way to the knuckle. I groan, bucking, chasing the feeling. He slides in and out, testing speed and angle, and it’s not quite right. There’s something missing.

I growl and cant my hips, and then it’s perfect, his finger crooked just enough to graze the sensitive patch in my channel wall that makes me bear down and tumble quicker and quicker toward ecstasy.

“Is that the spot, then?” he mumbles, smirking.

I spread my arms wide, hiking my knees so he can nestle his hips between them. I’m ready.

He pushes up on one arm to gaze down into my face, never stopping the rhythm that’s turning my thighs to jelly.

He kisses my nose. I wrinkle it.

I want his cock. I want him to fill me up.

He brushes his lips across my cheek.

“You are so beautiful like this,” he whispers in my ear.

I’m on the edge. I’m going to tip over any second. I can’t take the circles anymore. I grab his tormenting hand and hold it in place while I grind my clit against the heel of his palm, taking what I need, what I can’t wait for a moment longer.

He kisses the corner of my mouth.

“You’ll forgive me for this, won’t you?” He licks at my lips, and I welcome him, let him taste. Plunge. Own. “You’ll forgive me everything, won’t you?” he mumbles against my mouth.

And I combust—explode in a million directions—a starburst so intense it’s not only happening in my body and my mind but in the air, the forest and the foothills, in the very fabric of the world.

I’m whole. And it is wondrous.

And then, like sand, the feeling slips away, almost imperceptibly at first, like the very beginning of a sunrise. As it fades, I grow aware of the thick cord in my chest. Strong. Whole. It begins in me, but it doesn’t end there. It spirals outward like a fresh shoot toward the male sitting beside me, somber faced, forearms resting on his bent knees.

Cold seeps through my veins. Fear cascades inside me.

I just made a bad, bad bet.

I scramble for a sheet to cover myself. My eyes are bugging so wide, they water.

“What did we do?” I ask very quietly. It’s not the question shrieking in my mind, but it’s all I can manage to say.

“You’re going into heat. We took the edge off.”

“It’s gone now, though. Right?” My brain is dull, but I’m thinking somewhat clearer. I need to get out of here.

But this is my nest.

So Killian needs to get out of here. How do I kick the alpha out of his own bedroom?

But we’re so far past that, aren’t we? He’s not the alpha to me anymore. He’s—more.

My head pounds.

“I don’t think so. But, uh, I think it kind of comes in waves at first. Before the, uh, main show.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know. What do the other females say?”

I don’t know, either. It hurt to listen to the mated females talk about something I believed I’d never have. I’ve always ducked out of those conversations when they get going. All I know is heat is intense and messy, it can come on out of nowhere, and you’ve got to make sure you prepare enough packed lunches for the pups ahead of time or your mother-in-law will give you crap.

I shiver. It’s going to get worse than this, isn’t it? I’m going to lose my mind entirely like I did in the blackberry patch. My stomach aches. I can’t go through that again.

Killian shifts closer, so his leg rests against my thigh. He’s facing the headboard, and I’m facing the foot. The blankets have piled into peaks around us.

His fangs have retracted. For some reason, he seems much younger like this. More his actual age, a guy in his late twenties.

“You hate me now,” he says. It’s not a question, but then again, it kind of is.

There’s a shivery sensation creeping through the bond connecting us. A seeking. A hesitant presence. A soft knock on the door.

If I lied, he’d know. But I don’t want to lie. I’m not spiteful. And I’m not a stone. But I am terrified and on the verge of panic.

“You hurt me,” I say.

His face goes hard, and even though it doesn’t betray him the slightest bit, I feel my words land like a blow.

He’s used to taking hit after hit and showing no pain, but I have a keyhole now.

I grasp for the bond and follow it, feeling my way in the dark, navigating by an intuitive sense I didn’t know I had. It’s a path, but it’s faint. Like trampled underbrush in the woods that has already sprung back straight.

The feelings are quiet, muted, but clear.

He hurts.

He regrets.

He’s immersed in the kind of prideful fear that drives males to posture and fight. And underneath it all, if I don’t let the ugliness distract me, there’s something else, glittering, strange and marvelous.

Gratitude.

In this moment, as the room turns gray with the first rays of a new day, I can feel what he feels, and he hurts, and he is grateful for it.

Because I’m here. With him.

I search his face, but there’s no evidence of any of it there. Only in the whispering between us.

Does he know I can see into him?

What do I do with something so huge and impossible?

I fold myself tight, squeezing my knees to my chest.

He sighs, fishing a quilt from under a tangle of thin sheets and placing it carefully over my shoulders.

“You need to rest. It’s okay. You’re safe. I swear.”

“I’m not tired,” I say, and then I yawn. I release the bond, and as his being ebbs in my consciousness, a wave of exhaustion takes its place.

I guess it wouldn’t hurt to nap a little. I’m too worn out to make any decisions. My wolf has already conked out. Now that I notice, she’s been down for a while.

Killian’s wolf growls softly, echoing the sentiment. I’m here. No harm can come to you. Sleep, mate.

So I do. I pull the quilt tight around me, and burrow into my nest. I’ll figure everything out tomorrow when I’m stronger.

For now, I fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

I’m not alone.

Killian keeps watch at my back.

And I am safe.

He’s here.

And amidst all the wrong, that is perfectly, undeniably right.

When I wake up, I’m alone, and there’s meat cooking. My stomach growls almost louder than my wolf ever has.

Killian’s not here, but the bedroom door is wide open, and I can hear him in the kitchen. There’s a thump, and he curses under his breath.

I’m buck naked, and I’ve kicked off the covers.

I should grab a sheet and cover myself. I should be embarrassed. Last night, I let Killian touch me. Oh sweet Fate, I ground myself against his palm until I came. My cheeks burn, but I also stretch, arching my back and reaching toward the headboard until I can touch the metal bars with the tip of my fingers.

My body feels good. And I don’t feel like I did after the human or the male from North Border. I’m not in the wrong place. I don’t need to scrub myself clean, hide the scent.

I’m good. This is my nest.

I sit up, cross legged, and adjust some of the blankets that have been shoved to the foot of the bed.

Even my leg feels fine.

Of course, last night was a bad idea, and it’s going to smack me in the face as soon as I wake up fully, but in this moment, it’s so peaceful in this room. The light streaming in the crack between the curtains illuminates the tiniest motes dancing in the air, and the wood floor and polished dresser shine. The stucco ceiling is crisp white, and the clattering of pans makes it not the least bit lonely. This is a good place.

I close my eyes and breathe deep. This is what it would be like if I had a mate.

I reach out with my mind and find the cord running through the sun beam, out the door, and down the hall. The farther I get, the more it tends to slip from my fingers, and I have to stop, fumble a bit and focus with all my might before I’m sure of it again.

It’s like following a very old scent in the woods in spring. There’s so much else clamoring for attention, and the trail is so faint, you have to lean on intuition and luck to take the next step and the one after.

I hit a point where all I can do is hold the bond. I can’t follow any further. I’m lost somewhere in the hallway to the living room.

And then there’s a sharp tug.

Killian.

And another. It’s strong. Sure.

Meat.

Tug.

I grin. Breakfast is ready.

It’s like playing telephone with tin cans and string. My empty stomach clenches, and I throw my legs over the side of the bed. I have no idea where my clothes are in the pile, so I snag a big T-shirt and pull it on. It comes down to my knees.

I wish I had panties, but from the smell of my nest, the pair from yesterday is ruined.

The back of my neck heats. I’ve never done the walk of shame in a male’s house before.

Tug. This one is impatient. A little worried.

I run my fingers through my hair. I’d feel better with it braided, but I have no idea where my hair band went.

I make my way toward the kitchen, noticing all the things I didn’t last night. Killian doesn’t have anything hanging on his walls.

Correction. In the main room, the interior wall is nothing but mounted weapons. Bows. Spears. Swords. It’s not decorative; it’s utilitarian. There’s also fishing rods, nets, and traps hanging from hooks screwed into the drywall.

There aren’t pillows on the sofa or a coffee table. Several metal folding chairs are stacked in a corner. I guess for company?

Next to the sofa, where you’d expect there to be an end table with a lamp, there’s a rack of weights, bigger than the one in his bedroom.

Overall, it doesn’t really feel like a den. It feels like storage.

The kitchen is towards the back of the cabin. I vaguely remember standing there last night, wishing a meal would fix itself. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry.

I still don’t rush through the door.

Tug.

I let the bond go as I step through the door. Killian’s muscular back is towards me. He’s messing with something on the counter.

He’s wearing gray sweatpants low on his hips, and there’s a faint shadow where the waistline doesn’t quite come up past the cleft of his ass. It’s a nicely sculpted ass. I drop my gaze. He’s barefoot. So am I.

My toes curl. I’m a mess of nerves, all the muzzy tranquility I felt in my nest gone. I’m in the alpha’s kitchen, and last night, I let him touch my pussy. I demanded that he touch my pussy.

I sink into a seat at the table. Yeah, here’s the embarrassment. It’s not enough to mess with my appetite, but my face is on fire. I fuss with my hair so it covers my cheeks, and I examine the salt and pepper shakers with a great deal of interest.

“Here.” A plate heaped with food slides under my nose, followed by a fork and knife. Scrambled eggs. Steak. Ham. He drops a second plate in front of his chair.

He stalks to the refrigerator and returns with a plastic carton of Greek yogurt.

“Shit.” He goes to a drawer and comes back with a spoon, and then he glares at the spread. “Oh, yeah. Orange juice.”

He grabs two cups and the OJ, and then he stands over the table, hands on hips. Is he going to watch me eat?

I’m starving. If he doesn’t sit in a second, I’m going to dig in, and it’s gonna be really, really weird.

But then he sighs and takes the seat across from me. He grabs a fork and starts shoveling eggs into his mouth.

I go for the steak. It’s perfect. Almost mooing. No seasoning to get in the way of the flavor. My wolf is stoked. She gives a few appreciative yips.

Killian’s stern lips lift for a brief second, and his fork pauses midair.

“There’s more once you finish that,” he says.

There are at least three eggs, twelve ounces of steak, and another eight of ham on this plate.

“This is good.”

He makes a noncommittal grunt and goes back to conveyor-belting food into his mouth. His hair’s stuck up in the front. I’ve seen it this way before. When he fights, he gets sweaty and disheveled. This messy is different, though. It makes me squirm. Makes my chest feel wide open.

It’s just the two of us in this peaceful, sun-filled cabin.

I’ve never been alone with a male in his home. That’s how things are arranged now, right? So that the lone females aren’t ever alone with males. I’m either at my place with the girls, or up at Abertha’s cottage, or we’re at the lodge helping Old Noreen, or we’re at the laundry with Cheryl and whichever protected females pulled the short straw that week.

In Killian’s father’s time, it was different. Lone females had to attach themselves to someone to get fed, a sympathetic mated pair or a male. Or males.

That would’ve been worse. But that doesn’t make how things are now good.

There’s a knock on the front door. I startle. Killian doesn’t even turn his head.

“Ignore it,” he says.

I sniff. It’s hard to make out with all the food, but it smells like Tye.

Killian growls. His dusky blue eyes flash gold. He points his fork at me. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Sniff.”

I snort a laugh. “I can’t not smell.”

He glares. A tic in his temple flutters. “Try.” And then he sighs. “It’s Tye. He’ll come back later. After you’re fed.”

I set my utensils down. I’m full anyway.

He glowers. “You’re not done.”

“I’m full.” After a second, I tack on, “Thank you.”

“You didn’t have dinner yesterday.”

I lift a shoulder. My nerves are too jumpy to get any more down, but I say, “You don’t double up when you miss a meal.”

“I do.” He grins, pops a bite of steak in his mouth, and chews. I can’t stop watching his jawbone work. It’s cut so sharp, it’s like watching a machine.

My stuffed belly clenches. Not with hunger.

Oh, crap. It’s not heat again? So soon?

I flutter the collar of the T-shirt. I’m not particularly hot, but it can’t hurt to get some air moving.

Killian’s eyes track my movement. “You in need again?”

I gulp and choke on nothing. “No.”

I push the plate away and cross my arms tight to my chest. And I stop looking at his jaw. And his throat bobbing as he swallows.

I should get up and start the dishes. That would give my hands something to do.

But my body is heavy. I don’t want to move further away. I can’t.

What’s going on with me?

Panic flares, skittering inside me, and then there’s a pulse through the bond, cool and calm.

My gaze flies to Killian’s. He’s watching me. And he seems confused, too. Perturbed.

He narrows his focus, and the pulse between us becomes a flow from him to me. The cool and the calm develops dimension, a smoothness, almost a scent. Toffee.

I press my palm to my chest. The sensation runs over the back of my hand, like a shaded stream in summer, a lazy current that soothes feverish skin.

I can’t suppress a small smile. This is magic.

Killian feels it, too. I know he does. He’s blown away, too, he’s just playing it cool by focusing on his food.

Killian’s lips curve the slightest bit, and he scoops up his last forkful of eggs. “After this, we’ll shower and head to the gym.”

We will? I thought I’d go home. Shower. Process.

“Can’t leave ‘em unsupervised for too long. They start brawling.”

“Don’t they go to the gym to train to fight?”

“Yeah, but if you don’t watch them, they break shit.”

“I can go back to my cabin.”

He shakes his head before I finish the offer. “You know you can’t, Una.”

“Why not?”

“Heat,” he says as if it’s obvious.

Which it is.

I’m not even sure why I’m arguing. Yeah, I want to hide in my room, and tell Kennedy everything, and brush my teeth, and think. But the reality is that I can’t even bring myself to walk across the room to the sink. I can’t fathom being so far from him that I can’t hear him breathe.

My wolf is pretty much rolling her eyes at me, but some weird biological event doesn’t magically change everything. Yesterday, I had my own business. My own place. My own life.

So now, just like that, I’m tethered to Killian? Like the dog Eamon Byrne’s mate keeps in their backyard so that when he sneaks out at night, she knows? I don’t want to be Max.

If I’m going to try and figure this thing out with Killian, I want to decide—not my primal instinct.

Eventually, after the silence has stretched well past awkward, Killian sighs and lets his fork clatter to his plate. “We should get going.” He reaches for my dishes and stacks them. Finally, I can stand, too. He clears the table, and I wander to the doorway.

The way out is right there. Less than fifteen feet away. Nothing but open space between me and the front door. I step toward it. The bond stretches. I take another. The bond is taut now, but it doesn’t hurt.

“Una?”

I don’t turn around. I don’t choose this. Killian rejected me. I can’t just say, “Oh, well. Everyone makes mistakes. Now we’re a couple.” He controls everything in this pack, but not me.

I stagger forward on my good leg, dragging the bad. There’s a sharp, shooting pain. I can bear it. As I cross the living room, it eases. See? I’m stronger than whatever this is between us.

I go on, and with every step, it gets better. I reach for the knob and throw the door open. It’s past noon, and it’s a glorious day. The sky is robin’s egg blue, not a cloud in sight. The green leaves at the very tops of the tallest trees flutter in the breeze, but otherwise, it’s perfectly quiet, fresh, and still.

I step out onto the porch.

Killian steps beside me.

I blink up.

He quirks the corner of his lip, ruefully.

“Were you following me the entire time?”

He nods, and then he exhales. “So I guess we’re going where you want today then?”

He props his hands on his hips and surveys the cabins clustered further down the path, resplendent with his usual arrogance and command.

No one’s out and about. At this hour, everyone’s working. He’s not standing like this to impress or intimidate. This is how he stands. The lord surveying his kingdom.

And he just followed at my heels while I tried to walk out on him.

“Maybe we could go back in first, though?” he says. “Get me a shirt. Get you some pants?”

He shifts to his heels and scratches his back as if we’re ordinary folks, settling on our plans for the day. And oh, it’s tempting. To let go. Let this new future carry me away. My wolf is already onboard.

But I’m stuck. And it’s not only because of the hours in the briar patch or Killian’s rejection in front of the pack. Somehow—and I don’t understand, but it’s true anyway—the wound is a lot older than a few days. The hurt goes back to long ago before I can remember. And that doesn’t make sense, but it’s real.

I can admit it now. Every time he touched Haisley or one of the other females, I knew it wasn’t my business, and it was wrong to feel, because I’m not a jealous person—I don’t begrudge people happiness—but it hurt. In the back of my mind, I thought it was because I wanted what I’d never have, and I was ashamed to feel that way. But still. It burned.

It’s too confusing. Too much.

“I don’t want to be your mate,” I say.

“You’re stubborn as shit, aren’t you?”

“Not usually.”

“I am.”

I bend my neck to squint up. Killian’s still surveying his kingdom. He doesn’t look down to meet my gaze.

“Pisses folks off, but comes in handy,” he says.

An elder appears at the bottom of the path. I shuffle a step behind Killian. I don’t have pants on, and I’m standing on the alpha’s porch past lunch time with my hair a knotty mess. Maybe we should get dressed. Figure things out from there.

I can’t solve anything here and now.

“I don’t have any clothes.”

“You do.” He turns and gestures me back into the cabin. “I sent someone to get some of your things from Mari this morning while you were sleeping.” He nods to a bag I hadn’t noticed by a rocking chair.

I grab it and hold it to my chest. “Thank you.”

He shrugs.

“And thanks again for breakfast.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” His voice is gruff like I’ve insulted him.

“I guess we can go to the gym.” We might as well. It’s better than being alone together in this cabin with the nest nearby and the air growing thicker.

Fate, I wish Abertha was here. It’s not like she’d definitely give me answers about what’s happening—she’s way too invested in her mysterious crone persona to give it to me straight, but she might. And I wouldn’t feel so powerless. I’d have a friend who can kick ass.

That’s the worst of this.

Everything I had control over is gone, and I can’t even hide in plain sight, head down, like I’ve done my whole life. Killian’s eyes are on me now. Always.

And I don’t know what to do with that. It’s like a killer lion is really infatuated with you—but not quite in a “wants to eat you” way.

Do you feel scared? Or excited?

“You can have the first shower,” Killian says, interrupting my train of thought. “There are clean towels hanging up.” He jerks his chin down the hall.

I nod and head toward the bathroom, expecting the bond to tighten again, but it doesn’t. It’s slack, almost imperceptible, even when I’m all the way across the cabin, ready to shut the door. I glance over my shoulder and check. Killian’s still standing where I left him, his face is somber, deep in thought.

Even all by himself in the middle of the open floor, he dominates the space. He would look like a king anywhere. A light thrumming begins near the root of the bond, and I quickly turn my back. But not before I see the black band around his wrist.

It’s my missing hair tie.