The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(33)

I don’t know what to do.

Killian’s wolf butts us a third time, harder. My wolf huffs and grazes his side with her teeth. It’s a brief nip. Perfunctory. Irritated and indulgent.

And the air changes. The big wolf’s golden eyes fade to dusky blue. There’s a crack of bones, and Killian’s movements are masked by the weird fast-forwarding effect as he flip-shifts. In a split second, he’s looming above my wolf, buck naked, fists balled, every muscle tight and cast in sharp relief.

His teeth are bared. He’s furious.

He doesn’t waste a second. He scoops my wolf up in his arms like a naughty pup and strides toward the doors.





“Shift!” Killian commands.

My wolf instantly abandons our body. I barely stifle a scream as our spine breaks and reforms. It’s over in less than a minute this time, and the hardest adjustment is the return of color vision and the dulling of my sense of smell. I have to blink and sneeze a few times before the world comes back into focus.

I’m in a darkened alcove by the lodge’s front entrance, buck naked and shivering, and Killian’s looming, blocking me into the corner, so much wider and taller than me, furious. Seething. I’m almost more scared of the man than the wolf.

I hug an arm around my bare breasts and press my knees together, bending a little to hide whatever I can. I hate this. My wolf hates it. She has no hang ups about nudity, but she hates the feeling of being exposed and defenseless. She wants her fur.

I’m not showing my neck, but I am staring at Killian’s bare feet. He’s not fazed by his lack of clothes in the least.

“What’s wrong with you?” he booms.

My gaze flies up. He’s glaring.

“Lochlan tripped me. You attacked Gael.” I don’t know what the answer’s supposed to be.

He snarls. “Not that.” His chest rumbles. “Stop. Shaking,” he grits from clenched teeth.

“I can’t.” The adrenaline has ebbed, and I’m a ball of raw nerves. Every inch that I’m not holding onto for modesty is trembling.

He growls again. “Don’t move.”

And then he stalks off, back into the lodge, taut ass flexing, shoulders thrust back, arrogance personified.

I should run now while I have the chance, but my wolf is frozen in place. There was enough alpha command in Killian’s tone that I don’t think she’ll let me bolt. I’m impervious to Killian’s orders, but she’s in his thrall. To a degree. She did act like a rodeo clown for him just now.

The moon is full and high, and everything high is illuminated—the tops of the trees, the roofs of the cabins—and everything low is cast in shadow. The commons look ethereal, like the village in a Van Gogh painting. The storm never materialized, but there’s a stiff breeze whipping down from the foothills. I huddle in my corner and wait.

No one comes out the lodge’s front entrance until Killian, a few minutes later. He throws an orange cardigan at me.

“Put that on.”

I’m already buttoning it. It smells like Nuala, an elder who trades me for Bailey’s Irish Cream. It’s tight, but it covers my ass cheeks. Just barely, but it does.

Killian got himself a pair of athletic shorts, but he didn’t bother with a top. He’s got his arms crossed, glaring again, his pecs and abs and the V dipping into his shorts all carved with precision. There’s a fine dusting of fair hair down the valley of his six pack, disappearing into his waistband. It looks soft. The muscles look rock hard.

My fingers twitch. I quickly cross my arms, tucking my hands tight against my chest.

“We’re not mates,” he spits, finally breaking the silence. It sounds like an accusation.

It cuts, but no worse than a splinter or a bee sting.

“I know,” I say.

His jaw tenses into a sharp line. His expression is now beyond forbidding—it’s menacing. “This is the second time you’ve been the cause of disruption in the pack.”

How’s that?

I don’t actually reply. Pack protocol is so ingrained.

“I could have killed Gael.”

He’s putting that on me? No way.

He’s gearing himself up for something, pacing short steps, left and right, glowering at me in contempt.

Shit. Is he going to exile me?

“I will not tolerate this, this—disorder. You cannot—”

I panic. “Bullshit.” It flies from my lips.

He freezes mid-step, eyebrows slowly raising. I interrupted him. Oh, crap. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

I hug my arms tighter. “You can’t blame me because you can’t control your wolf.”

“I can’t control my wolf?”

“Or your males.” If I’m getting exiled, I’m laying it all out. “Lochlan tripped me on purpose. Are you okay with that? ‘Cause I remember having to sit through a bunch of lectures about how only pussies hit females and pups.”

It was early on, when Killian had just secured alpha rank, fending off three challenges in a row, including Eamon. Declan Kelly had passed a few months earlier. The power vacuum had made bad wolves worse, and all the males were posturing and jockeying for status. A lot of females and young were taking beatings from mates asserting dominance.

Killian was nineteen or twenty, and not anywhere near as articulate as he’s become, and he mostly grunts and curses now. Someone would slip back to the old ways, and he’d call everyone out to the grassy lawn in the middle of the commons, and spend an hour or two ripping the pack up for being a bunch of “limp dick bitches who can’t fight someone their own size.”