The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(17)

“’Cause they are.”

“And when they’re not? Like Jimmy and Dierdre?”

“They still are. The story’s just more—complicated. But people don’t want to think about that too much. Strains their little pea-sized noggins.”

“My little pea-sized noggin is strained.”

“I bet. Drink something.” She smiles wickedly. “Your choice.” She taps the plate of muffins. “And eat.”

“So Killian and I are fated mates?”

“Yes.”

“But he doesn’t think we are?”

“Appears so.”

“And we’re not anymore. You severed the bond.”

“I did sever the bond.”

“So I’m good with the Fates. None of them have any interest in me now, right?”

“Wouldn’t say that.”

“Abertha.”

Abertha shrugs. She’s got a mouthful of baked goods.

Mates or not—fated or not—it doesn’t really matter. I can’t bear the thought of going back to camp.

“Can I stay here?”

Abertha takes a moment swallowing. “I don’t do roommates.” She pats my hand to take the sting away. “I don’t like people eating my food.”

“And yet you’re pushing these muffins pretty hard.”

“They’re three days old. If we don’t eat them, they’ll go to waste.”

“Wouldn’t want that.”

“No, we wouldn’t.” Abertha grabs another one and carefully peels the paper cup. “Don’t worry. Killian will be sorry before all is said and done.”

“I don’t want him to be sorry. I just want to never see him again. Or if he was eaten by bears. That’d be okay.”

“No bears around here. Just wolves and rats.”

Abertha stands and crosses the kitchen to the fridge. A wave of exhaustion crests over me.

“It was humiliating,” I confess to her back. “He asked what I’d done to earn the rank I claimed.”

He’s an asshole, but in the end, he’s right. I’ve won no challenges. Matter of fact, I’m zero for one.

Abertha snorts. “For all that Killian Kelly’s a thousand times smarter than his father was, he still knows nothing. He’s gonna learn, though. Or maybe I should say ‘remember’.”

I can’t follow her mysticism right now. I eye the plate, but instead of taking the offering, I lay my head in my hands. I don’t have enough energy to grab the butter, and I can’t eat a three-day old muffin dry.

“He’s going to live happily ever after,” I mumble into my elbow, yawning. “Getting pawed at by females and barking orders from a metal folding chair.”

“I doubt it.” Abertha plops a crock of home-churned butter in front of me and drops into a chair with way too much oomph for a sixty—seventy?—year old woman. “I yanked the mate bond out of you.” She waggles her arched eyebrows. “Didn’t touch his now, did I?”





Abertha lets me sleep in her bed—just this once, she’s careful to say—and in the morning, I’m stiff and sore, but the scalding humiliation is—well, it’s freaking awful, but at least it’s a little less visceral. I’m not glowing red anymore.

I lay still for a minute, staring at the bundles of herbs hanging from the cottage’s exposed beams to dry, inhaling the lavender and sage as I listen to Abertha snore.

I want to sink through this sagging mattress, under the floorboards, down and down until I pop out the other side of the earth.

How do I face the pack?

I went from top of the lowest quartile to dead last in rank the instant Haisley’s fangs sank into my shoulder.

How do I serve in the lodge, or hell, pass Killian in the commons, without cringing to death?

The thorn patch is a blur, but I remember forcing my beaten, bloody carcass to present. For my mate who never came. I wish you could scrub memories from your brain with sandpaper.

I count to three. That’s how many more seconds of self-pity I get.

I’m alive.

I’m healing.

The humiliating heat is gone.

I’ve picked myself up after worse things before. Like the attack that mangled my leg.

I force myself to remember what I can. I was only seven. Da had already passed, and Ma was bedridden and failing fast. There was no cure for wasting sickness back then.

Ma had sent me out to play in the commons so I’d stop making a racket in the cabin. Rowan Bell and I were weaving dandelion crowns. Rowan was supposed to be watching her baby cousin Mari, but she didn’t want to, so she stuck her in a straw laundry basket.

Mari was the sweetest little critter with the perfect button nose, wobbly chin, and blue saucer eyes. I wanted to hold her, just nibble her fat cheeks, but Rowan wouldn’t let me. She didn’t want to play with Mari, but she didn’t want to share her, either. I contented myself with staring.

I was painfully lonely, even then. I hadn’t learned to live with it yet. I wore it on my sleeve. It made me weak. Easy to dominate.

Rowan had wandered off when Mari’s father, Thomas Fane, staggered down the lane, drunk and raving. He was shouting about his mate fucking Declan Kelly. She may well have been. Killian’s father considered it his right as alpha to rut any female in the pack if she wasn’t in heat.