The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(75)

“Like how?”

“You’re in heat.”

“No, I’m not. Heat hurts.”

His eyes crinkle in sadness. “No, baby. It doesn’t.”

But I’m nodding. “Yes, it does. It’s the most awful pain you’ll ever feel.” My eyes brim with tears.

I tug my hand from his and wander back to my nest. I don’t want to think about it. The memory of the blackberry patch pierces the muzzy languor in my brain, and I don’t want to go back to reality. I want this. Even if it’s foolish. Even if I shouldn’t.

I expect Killian to follow like he has been, but he stays at the window, although his eyes track me.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he says.

No. I don’t want to go down that path. It’s ugly, and I’ll remember, and I’ll hurt. That’s not what I want. I unbutton my skirt, letting it drop to the floor, twisting my waist. That feels better.

I peel off my panties, too, and stretch my arms way over my head, arching my back. Now I can breathe.

Killian’s wolf rumbles. I smile. I like him. He has never betrayed me.

The air in the room is thickening, and it’s a heady scent, like incense. Toffee and sweets fresh from the oven. My tummy growls.

“I need to feed you,” Killian murmurs, his gaze riveted on my body, raking down the slopes of my breasts, feasting on the slight swell of my belly, the curve of my hips. He scans my legs, and the scars are nothing to him—instantly dismissed—as his eyes travel past my knees all the way to my bare toes.

His cock is hard, and his wolf is loud in his chest.

He wants me. Which is right. As it should be.

I absently rub the throbbing behind my breastbone and climb into my nest, graceful for once because the stiffness in my leg is gone. My body is strong. The heat in my veins is powering me, charging me like streaks of purple lightning in an electrical storm. I’m a force. I can sway nature; I know it in my bones.

I kneel in my soft pile and smile at my mate. “Come on, now.”

His eyes flash gold. He crosses the room in a blur, jerking to a halt inches from the foot of the bed. Why did he stop?

I pat the soft pillow next to me.

His shoulders bunch, and he grimaces as if he’s straining against himself.

And then it’s like someone flickers the lights on and off in rapid succession. He’s standing; he’s in mid-motion. His fangs glint; he’s gritting his blunt white teeth. And there’s a terrible sound—a garbled howl that rattles the dresser and the mirror on the wall.

I scramble to the headboard, huddle as small as I can, my power gone. Something’s wrong.

He flip-shifts so quickly I can’t track it. He becomes a blur. His naked body is a mirage.

And then it’s over. He’s standing as a man, panting, hands clenched. Trembling.

I wait a few seconds, but when he stays in human form, I slowly crawl to him. My wolf wants a closer sniff. She needs to know her mate is still in there.

He groans, balling his fists so tightly, all the veins in his arms pop. “You’re gonna make me suffer, aren’t you, shy girl?”

Yes, it’s good that he’s suffering, even though I can’t recall exactly why. My heartbeat’s calming down. The receding fear allows more feelings to flow through me—excitement, satisfaction, an exquisite anticipation.

I’ve never felt this amazing. Neither has my wolf. She’s inhabiting me, melded in my muscle and blood, pure spirit. We’re together in this. We need the same thing.

I lay back, propping myself up on a stack of pillows, and let my knees fall apart.

“Come on, then,” I tell Killian.

“You want this?” His voice is gravelly, torn from his throat.

“Yes. Come now.” I spread my pussy lips so he can see how wet I am for him. So he will come to me. I have no patience left.

He sucks down a ragged breath. “You’re not yourself.”

My wolf growls. My skin is flushing hotter than I can bear, and the pleasant pulsing in my pussy has crossed the line into an ache. He can make me feel better. Why is he just standing there at the end of the bed, staring?

The human can’t be trusted. My wolf howls, calls to her mate.

“You don’t really want this,” Killian says.

I snarl. He won’t come. My wolf knows. The human is not right. But I’m stronger than him. I hold more inside me—the moon, the night, the future. It doesn’t matter if he’s broken. I’m stronger than him.

I roll to all fours and crawl to him, kneeling at the very edge of the bed. Except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest, he’s frozen. His jaw is a knife. I stretch my spine so I can reach it with my mouth, and I taste the harsh line, test the solidity of the bone with my teeth. He remains completely still, but his breath is ragged.

He should be still. I’m dangerous. He has wronged me, and I haven’t decided yet whether he is forgivable or not.

I lick down his slightly salty neck, explore the knot of his Adam’s apple, the ridge of his collar bone. His skin quivers under my tongue. An agonized rumble emanates from deep in his chest.

He suffers. I can taste it on the tip of my tongue.

He should suffer. He should cry alone with thorns stuck in his hide.

I press my heavy breasts to his chest so his hurt is closer to my heart. The grinding of his teeth is sweet in my ear.