The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(96)

Of course she’s going to want to leave. She didn’t want to be here in the first place.

Is she hurt? She ripped herself off the knot. I didn’t see a tear or smell blood, but what if the damage is internal? I seek out the bond, feel for pain, but it’s all a kind of—shrieking.

I have never fucked up anything this badly before.

I roll the wheelbarrow to Darragh—who’s wisely staying just outside my property line—and he dumps his contribution with a loud thud. Then he carefully places a thick, double-wrapped package on top. It’s labeled “Mari” in thick black grease pencil.

“You’ll make sure she gets it?” he asks.

His white T-shirt is covered in blood. He peels it off and drops it in the path. His sweatpants follow. He’s become so uncivilized, I’m surprised he can still write.

“You know she throws it in with the rest,” I tell him with maybe more sympathy than I have in the past. It’s not the first time I’ve told him Mari wants nothing to do with his gifts.

Darragh and I go back a long way; I’m real with him. He backed me during my alpha challenges, and more importantly, he didn’t step up to challenge me himself. I would’ve won, but it would’ve been close.

“That’s her prerogative.” He sighs, scrubbing his furry chest. Dude spends so much time as a wolf, a lot of hair stays when he shifts.

“That doesn’t piss you off?”

“She’s well-fed. That’s all I care about.”

“You don’t care what she’s doing when you’re not around?”

A glowing bronze ring appears around his pupils. “You tryin’ to tell me something?”

“No, man, no.” This is my own shit. I don’t need to fuck with his head.

“Does she need anything?” he asks.

“No. She’s got everything she could want.” I snort, remembering the stash of contraband at the lone females’ cabin. “She’s got herself a cell phone and a video game system.”

“Who?” The syllable is a deadly promise, and I recognize the tone.

“Not what you’re thinking. Seems Mari and her roommates have been running an underground honey and mushroom ring. Una’s the ringleader.”

“What the hell?” He’s not as amused as I am. I’ve had time to get over the initial freak out. “They’ve been selling shit? Where?”

“Chapel Bell.”

Darragh groans and rubs his gut. I’ve become familiar with the gesture. Let the acid indigestion begin.

“And you’re letting them?” he asks.

“We’re working it out.”

He raises a thick eyebrow.

“You want to take away Mari’s spending money?” I ask him. “Confiscate her phone?”

“Hell, no.”

“We’re working it out,” I say again. “They’ll be protected.” The statement’s more hopeful than true, but I’ve calmed now. I’m not in the fever of a looming rut. It’s ebbed for the moment, leaving me room to think. To feel.

I threatened her. Dominated her. Scared her.

I acted like my father. The shame is bitter in my mouth.

“So who’s ‘we?’” he asks.

“The ringleader and I.” I cast a glance at the cabin. Her scent is subtle but obvious. I attend to the bond. Sadness. Fury. It makes my skin burn. Still no pain, though. Because this wasn’t her first time.

“And you’re hanging out here while your mate’s inside because—” Darragh’s really enjoying kicking me when I’m obviously down. Dick.

“It’s a nice night.” The clouds have thickened, hiding the moon. It’s humid, and the mosquitos are out. “I’m getting some air.”

“You want some advice?”

I lift a shoulder. Not sure what the pack’s mountain man can tell me about females, but clearly I don’t know what I’m doing.

“Oil the meat, not the pan. And you want to use a low, wet heat.” Darragh nods sagely as he smirks through his salt-and-pepper beard. Then he winks. “Did you think I was gonna tell you what to do with your female?”

I chuckle. “Maybe.”

“I know shit-all about females.” Darragh jerks his chin toward the porch, asking permission. I nod. We walk over, lower ourselves to the steps. Wish we had cigars. I’ve got some in the cabin, but I haven’t got the courage to go back in yet.

I lean back, resting my elbows on the rough porch boards. “What would you do if Mari, uh, took up with some other male?”

His chest rumbles, and his nails lengthen into claws. “Give me a name.”

“I don’t mean Mari. She’s got no interest in—in that sort of thing. I’m asking, like, for example.”

“You tell me if some asshole starts sniffing around her. Kill him first. Then let me know.” He’s not joking. I understand completely. I nod, and we’re silent together for a while.

Somewhere, there are males who know what my mate’s pussy feels like. They’ve seen her—felt her—come. And what was I doing?

Training. Fighting. Busting skulls so half-feral males would fall in line? Doing the bills?

She could’ve been hurt. She could have been stolen.