The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(2)

Tye is our beta now. If Lochlan wins, he can demand the rank, and Killian would be going against tradition to deny him. If Tye wins, Lochlan has to step back down. For now. My stomach aches. I spend a lot of time worrying about what would happen if Lochlan and his backers took over. It wouldn’t be good for me and my roomies, that’s for damn sure.

Killian’s a dick, but Lochlan is a “back in the day” type. You know, “back in the day” bitches presented at command. None of this mating-for-life bullshit. “Back in the day” the alpha put down defective wolves. For their own good. This, of course, is always said within my hearing while eyeing my bum leg.

I’m not afraid of Lochlan, but I’m terrified of all the packmates who think like him and keep it on the down low. I’m scared they’ll outnumber Killian’s crew, and I won’t see it coming in time to run.

I can live with our current level of backwards, but I’m not going face down, ass up because some higher-ranking male wants to scratch an itch. Screw that. I’ve got cash in a jar buried behind my cabin. I’ve got options.

As Tye and Lochlan make their way to the center of the room and square off, Killian bends forward in his metal folding chair, bracing his forearms on his thick thighs. It might as well be a throne. The huge fireplace at his back frames him in stone and fire, and no one dares approach unless he gives them the nod.

Tye and Lochlan bump fists and crouch. It’s gonna be a wrestling match. I edge along the wall. They’re cutting off my direct route, but I can pick my way to the table that needs the beers.

With a grunt, the males collide.

Killian’s cruel lips soften into what might be considered a smile, but it’s a lot closer to the look a snake has after it swallows a rat.

I don’t know why I’m watching Killian. Usually, I avoid eye contact with higher ranks at all times. Saves a lot of getting asked to fetch something.

Killian’s not looking at me, though. He’s intent on the fight. There’s no clear favorite at the moment. It’s a two-man rugby scrum.

My arms are getting heavy, and somehow, it’s hotter in here than the kitchen. Sweat trickles down my temples, and I can’t wipe my face.

I inch further toward the front table, but as soon as I step near the open floor, the fighters sprawl in front of me. Tye scrabbles for dominance. There’s a crackle in the air—like he might shift.

I’m stuck. If I venture closer and they change, I’m wolf meat. If I’m in their way, they’ll plow me over.

Sweet Fate, someone needs to crack a window. Now there’s sweat dripping down my back. Standing puts more pressure on my leg than moving, and my thigh muscles are starting to ache. This is miserable.

Why did I wear a flannel? It’s sticking to me. So gross.

I need to drop this tray and get some air. What if I just skirt them—

Lochlan slams Tye into the ground, barely missing my foot. Okay. Guess I’ll wait right here.

After several long moments of grunts and growls, Tye gains the upper hand. Half the room roars. Then there’s a reversal; Lochlan wrangles Tye into a headlock, and the other half goes wild.

Killian watches, fingers steepled, gaze flickering from male to male. Our king. He’s wearing a plain white tank top, faded jeans, and tan work boots. It’s pretty much a uniform in this pack.

Killian should look basic, but he doesn’t.

His shirt clings to every defined muscle, and like his gargantuan wolf, he’s in a whole other weight class than the other males. His jeans hug his thighs, and they’re more solid, too. His sculpted shoulders are broader, his posture more arrogant, his dusky blue eyes flintier.

Every angle on his face is harsh. His nose is crooked, his Adam’s apple pronounced, his lips a slash. Even when he smiles, they barely curve.

I’m really thirsty. I swallow, but my mouth is bone dry.

Why am I looking at Killian Kelly’s lips?

I drop my gaze, and my face blazes. It’s the heat in here. It’s muddling my brain.

Killian Kelly is strong, but he’s not attractive. He looks mean—which is what he’s always been. He’s only two years older than me. I’ve known him since the day I was born, and I’ve never been into him like the other females. I’m not a rank groupie.

I shake myself off as best I can with a full tray. Tye and Lochlan are still blocking my way. I could go back, circle around behind the tables, but that’d take forever. It’s getting muggier and more humid by the second, and my shirt is sticking to me. I’ll wait a few more seconds. Tye looks to be making his comeback.

He’s not going to lose. Killian wouldn’t have ordered him to fight if it wasn’t a sure thing. Killian and Tye are closer than brothers, and in this pack, everything goes the way Killian wants.

That’s because unlike the other packs, Quarry Pack is ruled by strength, not blood. Any male can challenge for rank at any time. Theoretically, Killian could have to fight every day to keep the lead, but he doesn’t because he cannot be beat. It’s a fact.

Besides having the biggest wolf in the five packs, Killian’s a flip-shifter. He can change from skin to fur and back again whenever he wants, without effort, in the blink of an eye. It’s an unbeatable advantage.

Abertha says flip-shifting isn’t magic, but it sure as hell looks like it when he morphs back and forth mid-air. No one wants to challenge an alpha touched by the moon.