The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(105)

Killian totally ignores him.

“But please don’t ever put yourself in danger, Una. I can’t bear it.” He pounds his bare chest with his fist, pacing still. “You can feel it, Una. I know you can. Don’t do this to me ever again, shy girl. I can’t handle it.”

He’s so worked up that fur sprouts along his happy trail. Crap. I need him to stop and think.

“I had to do something. You were going to kill everyone.”

“I still am.” A whiff of terror rises from the males behind him.

“I don’t think you should.”

Lochlan readjusts his grip on his knife. I freeze, willing Killian not to attack. I send every calming thought I have down the bond. He roars, but he stays where he is.

“You’re done, Killian,” Lochlan says. Under the braggadocio, there’s a tremor running down his arms. And his weak leg. He’s been favoring the right one since Killian kicked his ass. It’s the kind of thing a female like me notices. “Bare your neck, and we might exile you.”

It’s an obvious lie. He wants to humiliate his alpha before he kills him.

Killian doesn’t pay him any mind. “They took you,” he says to me.

“Because the Byrnes poisoned their minds.”

He sneers at the young males surrounding him. They’ve edged way back at this point. Last Pack is clustering around the one called Justus. “If these shits were worth a damn, they wouldn’t be so weak-minded that a bitter old fuck and a B-roster wannabe could convince them that females are the reason they can’t win a fight.”

Killian spares a glance over his shoulder at the gathered males. “And don’t think it’s escaped my attention that all of you have been losing your bouts. Ever bother to think that it’s because instead of hustling, you spend all your time bitchin’ about how messed up things are nowadays?”

He snorts in derision. “You want me to spare these pieces of shit?”

I can’t nod with the knife to my throat. “Yes.” I send my answer through the bond, too, so he knows it’s not because I’m afraid.

“Why?”

It’s so hard to say. The idea is new in my head. I struggle for a moment to find the words. “Because you’re the alpha. And I’m your mate. This is my pack. They’re my pack. Even the dumbasses. Not the Byrnes though. Fuck them.”

Lochlan begins to speak, and Killian roars him down. Leaves high in the tree tops flutter.

“You’re my mate?” His temple twitches, and he finally stops in his tracks. There’s a surge of pure, sparkling energy through the bond.

“You know I am.”

“You forgive me?”

“If you’re sorry, yes.”

“I said I was.”

“Because I have a knife at my throat.”

“You’re not nearly worried enough for a female in your position.” Killian is smirking now. Finn and Alfie exchange nervous glances.

“It’s because I know something Lochlan here doesn’t.”

“Yeah?” Killian’s smiling so wide, his eyes crinkle. His muscles are ready. We’re in tune now. The bond is flowing both ways. He knows my mind, and I know his.

Lochlan clears his throat, but I say my line before he can ruin it. “I know exactly how little pressure it takes to buckle a fucked-up knee.”

I slam my heel into his calf at the same time I shift, using the energy flowing through the bond to do it quicker than I have yet. Lochlan jabs with the knife, but my wolf is small. She’s not there anymore. She’s wriggling loose, tearing at him with her small but sharp fangs.

There’s a bone sticking out from Lochlan’s leg. I don’t know where I found the strength to land a blow that sharp. It must’ve come from the bond. Lochlan barely balances upright on the other one, and his gaze darts around the clearing in pure panic.

The instant Killian knew I was safe, he went on a rampage. He leapt—his body rippling as it became his wolf. He tore out Eamon’s throat in one bite, and he kept the bloody meat in his mouth as he dashed from male to male, ripping with claws in a frenetic blur, until each one lies groaning in the dirt, hands pressed to gaping flesh and gushing wounds.

The Last Pack wolves flee. Justus throws a Quarry male into Killian’s mouth so he has time to shift and bolt.

When it’s over, the dirt is red with blood, and the screams still ring in the foothills. Only Fallon is spared with nothing but a claw mark across his hairless cheek. He’s still plopped on his ass and crying.

Lochlan raises his knife. I sink my teeth into his good leg and shake. The knife thuds to the ground. Killian’s wolf lands on his chest and snaps his jaws around Lochlan’s head, crushing his skull with a horrible crunch. Things squirt.

The wolf grins at me. Blood and brain matter drip from his fangs as he wags his tail.

I sink to my butt. My wolf hangs her tongue out as far as it’ll go. She’d spit if she could. She doesn’t like the taste of viscera.

Killian’s wolf pads closer.

My wolf ducks her head. She hasn’t forgiven him for trying to dominate us in our nest. She’s pleased that he smote our enemies and spared Fallon and the lower ranking males. She’s protective of the pack in a way I’m not. The males’ lives are precious to her, even if she thinks they could use a little more roughing up to put them firmly back in their place.