The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(68)

“Besides, where’s the fun in going easy on the pup?” Killian flashes a smile that barely shows his teeth. The other males relax. There are a couple chuckles. The tension dissipates, and the air thins.

My wolf shakes herself and plops down to lie on her side. I hadn’t been aware, but she’d been on alert. She didn’t like the vibe—males arguing, her mate the focus of the attention. She was ready to leap into the middle of something.

That would’ve been a debacle.

Not our mate, I tell her.

She yawns and rests her muzzle on her paws.

“All right.” Tye claps. “Next order of business.”

Oh. That’s not it?

It is not.

It keeps going. There’s a piece of gym equipment that needs to be replaced, but Alfie and Tye disagree on the vendor. There’s an issue with the budget. Dermot and Ivo cover the coffee table in spreadsheets, and at one point, Ivo gets so pissed over an equation, he sprouts fur.

But it’s mostly boring as hell.

I stare out the window for a while, but there’s not much to see. Folks are getting ready for dinner. Old Noreen has put the roasts in the oven. The scent is winding up from the lodge. I lick my lips. I’m hungry.

A silence falls. I look up, and everyone’s staring at me. Especially Killian. His eyes burn gold, and he’s focused on my mouth. Without thinking, I gnaw my bottom lip nervously. His wolf growls. It rattles the windows in their frames.

As one, the males’ heads drop. Then Killian clears his throat and asks Ivo to repeat himself.

I finger my phone. I tucked it into the hoodie pocket on my way out of my cabin. I have unread messages.

Dermot launches into a story about a time when Killian’s father bought a cut of some kind of fight club up in North Border. It’s supposed to back up his point about the spreadsheet, but it meanders. And meanders.

Has ShroomForager3000 trashed me on the locavore message board already? It’s not like it matters. I don’t know these people in real life. And the shroom business is dead in the water.

Did he tell everyone I’m a shifter? I guess people on the internet must love drama as much as a shifter pack because even on the Loca-voracious server, I’ve read posts putting people and restaurants on blast. Am I on blast?

Is he telling everyone that my boyfriend assaulted him, and I’m a sad, pathetic female shifter who isn’t even allowed to sell the mushrooms she collected herself?

Aren’t I a sad female shifter who isn’t allowed to sell her own mushrooms?

Stuck in the naughty chair. Ignored. Because I’m a dependent, not a person. No value except my biology. I don’t like thinking this way, but this chair is uncomfortable, and I’m hangry, and there’s something weird going on in my body.

So I focus on being mad at Killian.

Yeah, my braid is fascinating now. Only a couple of days ago, I was buck naked in front of him, and he had his buddy put me out back with the trash.

But at least I had unsquashed product then.

Ugh. My own mind is a quagmire of squashed shrooms. I need a distraction.

I slip my phone out and tap in my code. I have a lot of missed calls. Annie and Kennedy and Mari. There’s a text from Abertha about how she moved the dry cat food to the shed. There’s nothing on the server from ShroomForager3000. I breathe a little easier and relax in my chair.

And then I notice that the room has grown silent again.

Everyone is gaping. What? Did I lick my lips again?

They’re focused on my hands. Oh. Duh. Because of the phone. No phones for females.

Oops.

I guess shit is going to hit the fan now. I knew what I was doing. It’s just my brain is so fuzzy. I didn’t really realize what I was doing.

Eamon, Alfie, and Finn look indignant as hell. Almost horrified. Tye and Ivo have wiped their expressions clean. Killian’s eyes are drilling into me.

“Females can’t have phones,” Eamon says, glaring at Killian expectantly.

I slide the phone back into my pocket. If they come for it, I’m going to let my wolf out. She’s back up on her feet, not too keen on three males looking at us like that with our mate right there. She hasn’t decided yet who she’s pissed at—Killian or the others—but she’s pissed.

She’s content to wait a beat, though, and so am I. I honestly don’t know what to say. Your sexist, backwards rules are bullshit? It’s true, but I don’t think the argument would go very far.

And it’s not really my style to say that kind of thing out loud.

At least, it didn’t used to be.

Killian rises slowly from his armchair. His face is inscrutable, mouth a slash, eyes narrowed so the blue is shadowed.

He stalks across the room to stand right in front of me. He gazes down.

He’s going to demand I hand over my phone.

My fists ball in my pockets.

I’m going to have to give it to him, and it’s going to feel awful. Worse than being beat in front of the whole pack. At least then I had a shot.

But he’s strong. I’m not. I’m female. And he’s the alpha. And this is his pack. His rules. I’m outnumbered. Outranked.

I lower my head.

He gently pushes my chin back up with his forefinger. His lips soften, curving at the corners.

“Guess females can have phones now,” he says, never breaking eye contact with me.