The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(104)

I step forward, heading for the firepit. Lochlan and Eamon look up.

“Una,” Mari hisses. “What are you doing?”

“Bitch, sit your ass back down.” Eamon points his knife.

I keep coming, sucking down a deep breath. My bad knee hurts like hell, but I make my way toward the pair of them. They’re still sitting like they haven’t got a care in the world. The Last Pack wolves are sniffing the breeze, growling low in their throats.

Killian’s almost here.

I don’t want to do this. My leg drags more than usual, but I put one foot in front of another.

I round the log the instant Killian’s wolf breaks into the clearing. Lochlan seizes me at the same moment. There’s a prick at my neck. His arm crushes my chest, and his knife presses against my carotid.

This is the worst idea I’ve ever had.

Killian’s wolf rears back, lifts his muzzle, and goes insane, howling at the sky, lunging and snapping his fangs. He doesn’t come any closer, though.

The other males creep out of hiding, careful not to get too close to his beast, surrounding him in a loose semi-circle. Last Pack backs up to form a cordon around the perimeter. Our males are all in human form, and they carry weapons. A tire iron. Knives. They reek of fear.

Adrenaline gallops through my veins. I’m betting on Killian, but what if he’s already been pushed too far?

I have to trust him.

How do I do that?

I shout down the bond with all my might—simmer down. Think. Don’t kill everyone. It’s like hollering into a paper towel tube, muffled and garbled. There’s too much static from his panic and rage.

So I try something else.

“Shift.” I make my voice sound as much like his as I can. “Shift now.”

With a righteous howl that sends birds as far as the foothills into the sky, Killian shifts back to a man. His shoulders heave, and he curls his lips back to show his fangs. He is every inch the fighter who’s never lost a bout.

“Let her go.” There is all the force of an alpha command is in his voice, and Lochlan’s hold loosens for a split second.

“We will,” Eamon says. “Once you’re dead.” He slaps a wrench against his palm.

Killian eyes it and snorts. “You weak males need weapons to defeat me? Aren’t twelve of you and the trash you brought in from Last Pack enough?”

He hasn’t spared the others a glance, but he knows their number. I have no doubt he’s decided the order he’s going to kill them.

Finn and Alfie’s eyes are eager, but some of the others flick uneasy glances at each other. This must be getting real for them. There’s a whine coming from the back of Fallon’s throat that he can’t quite stifle. He’s trying to catch my eye, like I can get him out of this mess. I’m gonna try, but if he gets a beatdown before it’s over, I’m not crying over it. All those video games we’ve hooked him up with, and he chose these idiots over us.

I bet reality is a lot different than sitting in a basement, blowing off steam about how bitches rule everything these days, and someone should do something about it.

“None of you have the balls to challenge me one-on-one?” Killian sneers.

“You’re the one who changed the rules.” Some of the others lower their gazes, but Eamon has no shame. “So have we. It’s never been a fair fight with you—wolf versus flip-shifter. And now we all see the consequences of letting an aberration lead the pack. Anarchy.”

Is he calling females with phones “anarchy?” But it’s fine to invite Last Pack onto our territory? To barter with them for our females?

“Shut up,” Killian snarls. “I’ll kill you in a minute.”

He focuses on me, and I can feel how hard it is for him to hold himself back. I don’t even need to grapple for the bond. It’s just there, as if it always has been, and it’s blasting at me. He’s pissed, and he’s terrified to his marrow.

Killian’s eyes are a searing blue, ringed with gold. There is raw pain there.

“Why did you do this, Una?” His face is drawn, tormented. “Is it because of what I said back at the cabin? If you don’t—If you want to get away from me, I’ll let you go. You don’t have to do this.”

He paces, but away from the Byrnes. As he moves, the other males shuffle backward. I don’t think they’re even aware they’re doing it. Most are still trying to look fierce, but the longer the minute stretches, reality seems to sink further in. More faces blanch. Gazes dart around the clearing, searching for a way out.

They must have made Killian small in their minds while they groused in their basements, but he’s larger, faster, and stronger than all of them—than any shifter before. They’d need a hundred more males to have a hope of taking him down.

This will be a bloodbath if I don’t figure out what to say. Last Pack is eyeing the woods. I bet everything they’re out of here as soon as the fur flies.

If I don’t stop this, no one else will. And it’s a real bitch that I’m the one who has to save their sorry, backwards asses.

While I’m stuck on words, Killian goes on. “I’m sorry. I said it before, but I—I need you to know, I mean it.”

“Weak,” Eamon spits.

Behind me, Lochlan tenses, readying for an attack.