The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(52)

It’s not far to the garage, and the path is empty. I don’t run into anyone. It’s a beautiful afternoon. The sun is bright but cool, and a steady, mild breeze flows down from the foothills.

Liam’s not around when I reach the truck. He knows today is the run. I bet he’s going after plausible deniability. He really likes the moonshine I bring him back from town, but he’s not willing to take heat for us if he can avoid it.

I grab the keys from the corkboard in his office and go around back where the Ford is parked with the other junkers.

It takes a second to hoist myself into the cab. I don’t bother adjusting the mirror. It doesn’t swivel anymore.

Like I showed Annie, I really jam the clutch as I turn the key, and after a few wheezing false starts, the engine turns over. I give the dashboard a pat. She’s a rust bucket, and she’s temperamental, but she hasn’t let me down yet.

I head for town by way of the north access road. The two miles or so on pack territory are bumpy, and I’m jumping out of my skin, imagining I hear engines coming up from behind. I have to go slow because the asphalt’s busted with weeds growing in the cracks.

Road maintenance is not one of Killian Kelly’s priorities. He’s always fussing with energy efficient windows and solar panels, but there’s a pothole that could eat a lawn mower in the middle of our only road, and it’s been there forever.

Once I turn on to Rural Route 10, the ride is smooth. My hands are slick on the tacky steering wheel, and nerves riot in my belly, but I’m not as scared as the first few times I ventured into town. I’m not used to it by a long shot, but I can deal.

I am breaking pack law. Females are not allowed to leave the territory alone. That’s carved in stone. I don’t know what they’ll do to me if they catch me. I’ve never known anyone but Mari, Kennedy, and I to go into town without a male.

A few of the younger males, including Fallon, got drunk at a human bar one time. One came home reeking of sex. Killian beat them all to a pulp in the middle of the commons, and the one who had sex with the human got busted down to maintenance crew. He’s still not allowed to run with the pack at full moon. Fallon got off easy with an ass-kicking.

I’m smarter than them—I nearly scrub my skin off in the lake after I’ve been anywhere near a human—but I don’t want a beating, especially not in front of the entire pack. Not again.

I’m sweating bullets. My knee shakes when I depress the clutch to shift.

But I want the money. More than I ever have before.

These past few days, I’ve been yanked this way and pulled that. My body does what it wants. My wolf. I want my life back. The one where I’m in charge.

I straighten my spine and turn on the radio. It only gets a few staticky stations, but I find one that plays Top 40, and I sing along. I love human music. More melody, less howling.

I’m in town before the commercial break.

Chapel Bell has three stop lights, six cross streets, and a town square in the grassy expanse between northbound and southbound Main Street. That’s where the farmer’s market shares space with a weathered bandstand. There are also permanent shops on the street facing the park. An ice cream shop with a life-sized cow statue out front. A vintage jewelry store.

It’s a nice town. Very peaceful. No sparring or wrestling.

I park and check my phone.

Here. At the honey table.

My belly swoops. This is it. This is going to be the biggest deal I’ve ever made. Who knows? Maybe the beginning of a mushroom empire. I force myself to steady my breathing.

I’m not new at this. I’m a business woman. I’ve got almost a thousand dollars in the trunk of an oak tree that says it.

And I am not thinking right now about what it says that my capital is stored in the hollow of a tree.

I’ve been selling for years. This is just another sale. Only a couple more zeroes on the price tag.

I make my way past the produce vendors and the other regulars. A few folks wave. I don’t socialize, but I’ve been coming long enough that I’m recognized. The baseball card guy has his table laid out, and the cheese woman is here.

There’s a man loitering by the honey table. I haven’t seen him before. Shroomforager3000 said to look for a man with a beard, and this guy definitely has a beard. It’s waxed and pointy like a goat’s. His mustache swoops.

He’s wearing a short-sleeve collared shirt under a brown velvety vest. He looks like a cross between a lumberjack and a yodeler.

He sees me, and his lips curl. I am a wolf, and his smile seems wolfish.

I don’t like him.

I don’t have to. I just have to sell him mushrooms.

He kind of canters over, hands in pockets.

“Una?”

I nod.

“I can’t believe you got me all the way out here.” He gestures around him. “I’ve never even heard of this town before.”

I don’t know what to say. Humans are into small talk between males and females, but I’m not used to it. It was different with the glassblower. He talked incessantly, and he didn’t need you to reply.

I nod again and try to look friendly.

“Shy, eh?” He waggles his eyebrows. There’s something wrong with them. They’re tweezed. And arched to make him look perpetually surprised.

“I have the mushrooms.”