The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(77)

He kisses the corner of my mouth.

“You’ll forgive me for this, won’t you?” He licks at my lips, and I welcome him, let him taste. Plunge. Own. “You’ll forgive me everything, won’t you?” he mumbles against my mouth.

And I combust—explode in a million directions—a starburst so intense it’s not only happening in my body and my mind but in the air, the forest and the foothills, in the very fabric of the world.

I’m whole. And it is wondrous.

And then, like sand, the feeling slips away, almost imperceptibly at first, like the very beginning of a sunrise. As it fades, I grow aware of the thick cord in my chest. Strong. Whole. It begins in me, but it doesn’t end there. It spirals outward like a fresh shoot toward the male sitting beside me, somber faced, forearms resting on his bent knees.

Cold seeps through my veins. Fear cascades inside me.

I just made a bad, bad bet.

I scramble for a sheet to cover myself. My eyes are bugging so wide, they water.

“What did we do?” I ask very quietly. It’s not the question shrieking in my mind, but it’s all I can manage to say.

“You’re going into heat. We took the edge off.”

“It’s gone now, though. Right?” My brain is dull, but I’m thinking somewhat clearer. I need to get out of here.

But this is my nest.

So Killian needs to get out of here. How do I kick the alpha out of his own bedroom?

But we’re so far past that, aren’t we? He’s not the alpha to me anymore. He’s—more.

My head pounds.

“I don’t think so. But, uh, I think it kind of comes in waves at first. Before the, uh, main show.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know. What do the other females say?”

I don’t know, either. It hurt to listen to the mated females talk about something I believed I’d never have. I’ve always ducked out of those conversations when they get going. All I know is heat is intense and messy, it can come on out of nowhere, and you’ve got to make sure you prepare enough packed lunches for the pups ahead of time or your mother-in-law will give you crap.

I shiver. It’s going to get worse than this, isn’t it? I’m going to lose my mind entirely like I did in the blackberry patch. My stomach aches. I can’t go through that again.

Killian shifts closer, so his leg rests against my thigh. He’s facing the headboard, and I’m facing the foot. The blankets have piled into peaks around us.

His fangs have retracted. For some reason, he seems much younger like this. More his actual age, a guy in his late twenties.

“You hate me now,” he says. It’s not a question, but then again, it kind of is.

There’s a shivery sensation creeping through the bond connecting us. A seeking. A hesitant presence. A soft knock on the door.

If I lied, he’d know. But I don’t want to lie. I’m not spiteful. And I’m not a stone. But I am terrified and on the verge of panic.

“You hurt me,” I say.

His face goes hard, and even though it doesn’t betray him the slightest bit, I feel my words land like a blow.

He’s used to taking hit after hit and showing no pain, but I have a keyhole now.

I grasp for the bond and follow it, feeling my way in the dark, navigating by an intuitive sense I didn’t know I had. It’s a path, but it’s faint. Like trampled underbrush in the woods that has already sprung back straight.

The feelings are quiet, muted, but clear.

He hurts.

He regrets.

He’s immersed in the kind of prideful fear that drives males to posture and fight. And underneath it all, if I don’t let the ugliness distract me, there’s something else, glittering, strange and marvelous.

Gratitude.

In this moment, as the room turns gray with the first rays of a new day, I can feel what he feels, and he hurts, and he is grateful for it.

Because I’m here. With him.

I search his face, but there’s no evidence of any of it there. Only in the whispering between us.

Does he know I can see into him?

What do I do with something so huge and impossible?

I fold myself tight, squeezing my knees to my chest.

He sighs, fishing a quilt from under a tangle of thin sheets and placing it carefully over my shoulders.

“You need to rest. It’s okay. You’re safe. I swear.”

“I’m not tired,” I say, and then I yawn. I release the bond, and as his being ebbs in my consciousness, a wave of exhaustion takes its place.

I guess it wouldn’t hurt to nap a little. I’m too worn out to make any decisions. My wolf has already conked out. Now that I notice, she’s been down for a while.

Killian’s wolf growls softly, echoing the sentiment. I’m here. No harm can come to you. Sleep, mate.

So I do. I pull the quilt tight around me, and burrow into my nest. I’ll figure everything out tomorrow when I’m stronger.

For now, I fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

I’m not alone.

Killian keeps watch at my back.

And I am safe.

He’s here.

And amidst all the wrong, that is perfectly, undeniably right.





When I wake up, I’m alone, and there’s meat cooking. My stomach growls almost louder than my wolf ever has.