The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(78)

Killian’s not here, but the bedroom door is wide open, and I can hear him in the kitchen. There’s a thump, and he curses under his breath.

I’m buck naked, and I’ve kicked off the covers.

I should grab a sheet and cover myself. I should be embarrassed. Last night, I let Killian touch me. Oh sweet Fate, I ground myself against his palm until I came. My cheeks burn, but I also stretch, arching my back and reaching toward the headboard until I can touch the metal bars with the tip of my fingers.

My body feels good. And I don’t feel like I did after the human or the male from North Border. I’m not in the wrong place. I don’t need to scrub myself clean, hide the scent.

I’m good. This is my nest.

I sit up, cross legged, and adjust some of the blankets that have been shoved to the foot of the bed.

Even my leg feels fine.

Of course, last night was a bad idea, and it’s going to smack me in the face as soon as I wake up fully, but in this moment, it’s so peaceful in this room. The light streaming in the crack between the curtains illuminates the tiniest motes dancing in the air, and the wood floor and polished dresser shine. The stucco ceiling is crisp white, and the clattering of pans makes it not the least bit lonely. This is a good place.

I close my eyes and breathe deep. This is what it would be like if I had a mate.

I reach out with my mind and find the cord running through the sun beam, out the door, and down the hall. The farther I get, the more it tends to slip from my fingers, and I have to stop, fumble a bit and focus with all my might before I’m sure of it again.

It’s like following a very old scent in the woods in spring. There’s so much else clamoring for attention, and the trail is so faint, you have to lean on intuition and luck to take the next step and the one after.

I hit a point where all I can do is hold the bond. I can’t follow any further. I’m lost somewhere in the hallway to the living room.

And then there’s a sharp tug.

Killian.

And another. It’s strong. Sure.

Meat.

Tug.

I grin. Breakfast is ready.

It’s like playing telephone with tin cans and string. My empty stomach clenches, and I throw my legs over the side of the bed. I have no idea where my clothes are in the pile, so I snag a big T-shirt and pull it on. It comes down to my knees.

I wish I had panties, but from the smell of my nest, the pair from yesterday is ruined.

The back of my neck heats. I’ve never done the walk of shame in a male’s house before.

Tug. This one is impatient. A little worried.

I run my fingers through my hair. I’d feel better with it braided, but I have no idea where my hair band went.

I make my way toward the kitchen, noticing all the things I didn’t last night. Killian doesn’t have anything hanging on his walls.

Correction. In the main room, the interior wall is nothing but mounted weapons. Bows. Spears. Swords. It’s not decorative; it’s utilitarian. There’s also fishing rods, nets, and traps hanging from hooks screwed into the drywall.

There aren’t pillows on the sofa or a coffee table. Several metal folding chairs are stacked in a corner. I guess for company?

Next to the sofa, where you’d expect there to be an end table with a lamp, there’s a rack of weights, bigger than the one in his bedroom.

Overall, it doesn’t really feel like a den. It feels like storage.

The kitchen is towards the back of the cabin. I vaguely remember standing there last night, wishing a meal would fix itself. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry.

I still don’t rush through the door.

Tug.

I let the bond go as I step through the door. Killian’s muscular back is towards me. He’s messing with something on the counter.

He’s wearing gray sweatpants low on his hips, and there’s a faint shadow where the waistline doesn’t quite come up past the cleft of his ass. It’s a nicely sculpted ass. I drop my gaze. He’s barefoot. So am I.

My toes curl. I’m a mess of nerves, all the muzzy tranquility I felt in my nest gone. I’m in the alpha’s kitchen, and last night, I let him touch my pussy. I demanded that he touch my pussy.

I sink into a seat at the table. Yeah, here’s the embarrassment. It’s not enough to mess with my appetite, but my face is on fire. I fuss with my hair so it covers my cheeks, and I examine the salt and pepper shakers with a great deal of interest.

“Here.” A plate heaped with food slides under my nose, followed by a fork and knife. Scrambled eggs. Steak. Ham. He drops a second plate in front of his chair.

He stalks to the refrigerator and returns with a plastic carton of Greek yogurt.

“Shit.” He goes to a drawer and comes back with a spoon, and then he glares at the spread. “Oh, yeah. Orange juice.”

He grabs two cups and the OJ, and then he stands over the table, hands on hips. Is he going to watch me eat?

I’m starving. If he doesn’t sit in a second, I’m going to dig in, and it’s gonna be really, really weird.

But then he sighs and takes the seat across from me. He grabs a fork and starts shoveling eggs into his mouth.

I go for the steak. It’s perfect. Almost mooing. No seasoning to get in the way of the flavor. My wolf is stoked. She gives a few appreciative yips.

Killian’s stern lips lift for a brief second, and his fork pauses midair.