The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(57)

He pushes up, and in one fluid motion, he sits on his butt, knees bent, a few feet from me.

It takes me a lot longer to get myself upright. I have to roll to my side, and it’s awkward, and I can’t stand that he’s watching. I draw my legs to my chest, even though the bad one aches, and I wrap my arms around my calves.

He doesn’t even bother to close his legs. His erection lays flush with his belly. It’s purplish-red and thick and there’s a drop of moisture on the tip. His balls hang so low they rest in the dirt. He stares at me, brow furrowed.

How can he just ignore—that?

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

I lower my gaze to the ground between us, scattered with leaves and twigs.

“You don’t believe me?”

I shake my head once.

“When have I ever hurt you?” There’s a note of impatience in his voice.

“You trashed me in front of the whole pack. And then you had Tye throw me out.” My voice wobbles, and I hate it. “Y-You stepped on my mushrooms. You ruined my deal.”

“I—” I can hear his bafflement. “You’re gonna need to explain that last one to me.”

I clench my teeth.

“Una.” It isn’t a reprimand. It’s—tentative. A hesitant prompting.

“Didn’t you see them? You made me drop my morels, and then you crushed them, and you scared off my buyer, and you made a scene, so I’m never going to be able to go back to the farmer’s market, and everything I’ve worked for is gone.” I snap. “Like that.”

When he speaks, his voice is very deliberately calm. “You were selling mushrooms?”

“Yes.”

“Like magic mushrooms?”

“No. Morels. They’re a delicacy.”

“Have I had them before?”

How the hell would I know? My gaze flies to his face, and there’s a softening at the corner of his lips. He’s not being serious. He’s not taking this seriously at all.

It feels like a slap. I stare at a fallen log over to his left. I smash my lips so they don’t quiver.

“Come on, now, Una. Don’t be like that. Look at me again.” His voice is coaxing.

“Why did you have to come to town? You don’t care what I do. How does selling some mushrooms hurt you or the pack? Why can’t you just leave well enough alone.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

I shrug. I’m busted. What does it hurt to tell him? “Almost ten years.”

“You’ve been sneaking off pack territory for a decade?”

“I’ve been driving a truck five miles to a farmer’s market to sell honey and jam.” I snort. “I’m a criminal mastermind.”

“You could have asked for an escort.”

“You would have said no.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. You don’t get it.” My gaze flies to his face, and I know there’s hurt in my eyes, and I wish there wasn’t. I wish I was unrepentant and bold and I didn’t give a shit, but I can’t help it. I care. More than I should. “You can live a few yards away and never really notice I exist, but you’re the alpha. We all know you backwards and forwards. We have to for our survival. And no, you wouldn’t have given me an escort to go to the farmer’s market. You wouldn’t have let a fighter miss training. Never.”

“Yeah? You can read my mind?”

“Yeah. I can.” I hike my chin.

“What am I thinking now?”

His cock bobs, the thick base swelling and flushing a darker red. My cheeks flame. He chuckles. I want to bash him over the head with a log.

“I’m thinking that I have a mate,” he says softly. “And she’s cold and angry and sitting in the dirt. I’m thinking I’m an asshole.”

I sniff the tears back. It is chilly in the shade. It hadn’t really registered until now, but there are goosebumps on my arms.

“I’m thinking about how I’m gonna convince her to get back in the truck. And into my cabin. And my bed.”

More blood rushes to my head, and now I’m dizzy. My wolf has gotten quiet, and her ears are perked straight up.

“I’m not getting into your bed. If you talked to the crone, you know she severed the bond.”

“No, she didn’t. Not all the way. I can feel it.”

He can? His blue eyes hold mine, steady and cool. All the confidence he carries zips along a new thread between us. It’s heady. Like a shot of whiskey. Is it real?

“Here,” he says, laying his palm on a sculpted pec. A vein runs diagonally, past his pale brown nipple. It pulses with his heartbeat.

“What does it feel like?” I ask quietly. I can’t remember anything but pain.

His lips turn down and a crease appears on the bridge of his nose. “Like I have another heart, and I didn’t know I had it, and now I do.”

“I don’t feel anything.”

He offers me a sad smile. “Yet.”

“Ever.”

“Come back to camp with me, Una.”

“I hate you.”

“I’ll buy you more mushrooms.”

Tears fill my eyes again, and he stiffens, his blue eyes darkening. “I don’t want your mushrooms. I want mine back.”