The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(71)

He has his shirt off. His chest, the slabs of his pecs, and the ridges of his abs are slick with sweat. The V that arrows down into his shorts. He moves so efficiently. So competently. He’s not pissed. I wouldn’t blame him if he was. I hate cleaning. But he’s just—intent. And thorough.

Cheryl’s scent has faded, replaced by lemon and pine.

And then a box truck comes down the path and pulls around to the back of the house.

When they cut the engine, Killian hollers, “Don’t touch a damn thing. I’ll get it.”

I watch through the window as Killian hauls everything out, all by himself, and carries in a new leather sofa—black this time—and a new mattress covered in plastic.

At some point, whoever’s making the delivery must step too close to the cabin because Killian’s wolf snarls, and a male stammers, “Sorry, Alpha.”

It’s well past dinner time now. I’m starving, but I want sleep more than food. This day has been eternal. If he lets me, I’ll pass out on the new sofa.

Killian disappears into the bedroom, and then, after what feels like forever, he comes out to the porch. I’m back in the rocking chair, dozing. He clears his throat, and I blink open my eyes.

He stands in the doorway, arms crossed. His chest is still bare. It’s perfect. Sculpted and strong. I want to lay my cheek against it and feel it rise and fall with his breath. The impulse yanks at something inside me. Synchronizes.

I smile drowsily. I don’t have it in me to be prickly at the moment. It’s too late, and I’m too damn tired.

“Beautiful mate,” he says, gruff and grumbly.

“Not your mate,” I murmur.

And there’s a tug inside me. Small and sharp. Enough to send my eyes flying wide open. It wasn’t my wolf. It came from outside of us. It came from him.

Killian grins. “Come on, mate. I’ve prepared your den for you. It should smell like nothing but Pine Sol and sweat.”

He turns, expecting me to follow.

I rock the chair to the count of ten—because there isn’t an almost nonexistent tether pulling me after him. I could walk away. There’s no bond. Nothing that counts. I’m not gonna end up desperate and hurting again.

Once I’ve calmed the panic, I go to him. The walk home, all the way up the hill, is too far. And I kind of want to see the alpha’s bedroom.





He leads me down the short hall to the room at the end. It definitely belongs to Killian. There are no paintings on the wall. There’s a utility bench and a rack of weights. A metal folding chair with a towel hung over the back. A plain chest of drawers, nothing on top. And a huge bed with a simple wrought iron frame.

The bed is made, covered in a thick Amish quilt. The room smells entirely of him. He didn’t lie. His sweaty musk masks any other lingering scent.

I’m so sleepy, I let him guide me to sit at the foot of the bed. He unzips the hoodie and slides it from my shoulders, his expression solemn.

Lazy swoops swirl in my belly, but I’m so tired. While he’s tossing the sweatshirt in a hamper, I unlace my boots, kick them off, and crawl under the covers. The pillows are firm and cool. The sheets are soft.

It’ll do.

I yawn so wide my jaw pops.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “Just let me sleep a little. Then I’ll go.”

He growls low in reply. It’s almost a purr. He flips off the lights, and a few moments later, he slips under the covers beside me. A faraway part of me wonders why I’m not freaking out. I don’t want to sleep with him.

Right?

But he doesn’t touch me. He lays on his back, an arm propped under his head, bicep bulging, staring at the ceiling. I can’t make out his face in the dark. His body is alert, but relaxed. He’s not getting ready to pounce on me or anything.

We lay side by side in silence for a while. Gradually, the tension seeps from my muscles. Looks like he’s going to stay over there. I nestle my nose into the pillow. Yum. Toffee. The case smells like detergent, but it can’t hide the delicious scent coming from the feathers.

Killian’s voice, when he speaks, almost startles me. “I should make you eat.”

“No, please. Eat tomorrow.” My heavy eyelids sink closed. I don’t know how late it is. It could be ten. Midnight. Later.

Time is inconsequential. I hover on the edge of sleep, but I can’t let go quite yet. I don’t want to lose this feeling.

The room is velvet black. It’s quiet except for the occasional clatter of the fridge’s ice maker in the kitchen. My body feels like it does after a long swim. Good tired. There’s not a single worry skulking in the back of my mind.

And it doesn’t make sense. My pack’s alpha is lying in the bed beside me, and he expects things, and I think he might have taken his clothes off.

But I feel—safe. Completely safe.

For the first time in so many years.

This is what it felt like when I lived with my mother and father. I could sleep. The grown ups were on guard. I could let go and drift away. They’d never let any harm come to me.

I don’t feel unsafe in my own bed at the lone females’ cabin. I know the pack will protect me. But I don’t sleep too deeply, either. A lot can happen while help is running to the rescue. I rub the scars on my thigh where the skin almost couldn’t knit back together. Abertha did her very best, but the wounds were bad, and she told me infection set in right away.