The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(53)

He laughs. “Whoa, whoa. You say it like that, people are gonna think things.”

I glance around. No one is close enough to hear us.

“Let’s go over here. I can see what you got.” He leads the way to a wrought iron bench at the edge of the lawn. I set my backpack down and carefully unfold the quilt.

Morels are ugly. They look like dried brains. Still, I hold the jar up proudly. They’re all whole. No pieces.

For a second, ShroomForager3000’s face lights up, but then his lips turn down, his thin, dark brows spearing together. “Oh, man. These aren’t as big as they looked in the pics.”

Yes, they are. These are the exact same mushrooms.

“Maybe it’s seeing them in a jar.” For the pictures, I laid them out on a table.

He shakes his head. “No, these are definitely, uh, you know, on the small side.” He scrubs his neck. “Man, this sucks. My guys, they’re looking for a certain size you know? They want to stuff them with crab. Turkey mousse. That kind of thing.”

“You can stuff these.”

He sighs. “They’re just not what I’m looking for, you know?”

My heart plummets. I want this money so bad I can taste it. I’ve been spending it in my head for months. Plenty of buyers are interested, but they want to pay online and have the product shipped, and whatever app you use, you need a checking account, and to open a checking account, you need identification. Shifter females don’t have ID.

Kennedy and I have looked at it from every angle. We can’t figure out a work-around. And this is the only guy who’s been willing to drive down and pay cash.

I hug the jar to my chest.

ShroomForager3000 lays his hand on my shoulder. “But, hey. I mean, I drove all the way down here, right. I could take ‘em off your hands. For maybe—” He licks his unnaturally red lips. “A hundred bucks?”

Oh.

He’s playing me.

I tense.

He squeezes, like a massage. My wolf growls. His hand drops, and he looks at me, really looks, much closer than before.

“Holy shit. You’re one of them, aren’t you? A shifter. I wondered—since this town is kind of known for being close to a pack. Wow. You’re a wolf, right?”

“Does that matter?”

His eyes flicker, and he licks his lips again. “Not at all. I vote pro wolf, all the way. You guys deserve citizenship. Most definitely.”

I’m not up on the pro wolf stuff. That’s more Moon Lake’s bag. Still, I guess pro wolf is better than anti.

“You know, I have an idea. If you really need the money. I mean, I really can’t do more than a hundred on the morels, but I did bring the whole three hundred.”

He pauses, his gaze flickering around the market, like he’s looking for something. My wolf’s hackles are raised. She really doesn’t like this guy. Neither do I.

“My van is just over there.” He jerks his thumb to a white work van with rust along the bottom. “We could, uh, come to an arrangement, if you want the rest?”

“I’m not having sex with you for money.” I hug my mushrooms tighter.

“No, no. You misunderstand.” He lowers his voice and leans in. “Just pictures. A little video. You, uh, become the wolf. Shift back. Pose. I’ll crop out your head. It’ll take five minutes. Ten tops.”

My stomach heaves, and a sour taste fills my mouth. “I’m not doing that. Give me the three hundred.”

“Come on. It’s just—”

My wolf growls, loud, a perfectly clear threat. He holds one hand up and digs the other into his pocket.

And then I catch a scent on the wind, and my heart leaps once, high in my throat, and then takes off in a gallop.

It’s Killian.

He’s close.

I scan the booths, and there he is, a blur rushing towards us, and I can’t get a word out, I can’t move an inch before he shoves me to the side and bowls into ShroomForager3000, sending him sailing into the air. My jar is knocked from my hands, and it falls to the sidewalk, shattering.

Killian’s tan work boots land on the mushrooms, crushing them into pulp, as he bounds to loom over the human, fangs bared, claws unsheathed.

Screams pierce the air. There’s the scent of piss. ShroomForager3000 scrambles backwards like a crab.

My mushrooms are brown goo. There are a handful intact, but they glitter with glass shards. Morels have so many ridges, even if I soak and rinse them, I can’t be sure to get them clean. They are all ruined.

Three hundred dollars, down the drain.

No unlimited data. No mushroom farm. Nothing.

All that time, gathering and drying, scouring the online forums, wasted. Finding this creep. Listening to his creepy proposition. And I’ve got nothing.

My eyes prickle, hot with tears.

Killian looms over ShroomForager3000. “You dare touch what’s mine?”

It’s a roar. He’s an enraged alpha. I should drop to my knees and simper, neck bared, but I don’t. I don’t care that my wolf is baring her neck and practically mewling. My hands curl into tight fists. He destroyed my mushrooms, and he doesn’t even care.

ShroomForager3000 sputters. He can’t manage a word.

“Stand,” Killian commands. “Fight me.”

ShroomForager3000 shakes his head hard, waxed beard swaying as a whole. “No way, dude. I didn’t know the shrooms were yours, man. If I had known, I wouldn’t have made an offer, hand to God.” He raises his hand. “I don’t want any trouble.”