The Tyrant Alpha’s Rejected Mate (The Five Packs Book 1)

After texting ShroomForager3000 to confirm the time for tomorrow’s meet, I shower off the lingering scent of potato salad, braid my damp hair, and put on a plain, white cotton nightgown.

I’m moving painfully slow. My bad leg throbs. There’s an ugly bruise on my hip from where I hit the floor, but it’ll be gone by morning. I flip off the overhead and plug in the fairy lights strung across the ceiling. The room fills with a soft, mellow glow, and I climb in between the clean, crisp sheets of my twin bed and exhale.

I’m home. Safe. Surrounded by my people. My things.

My fancy custom label maker. The rose petals, lavender, and orange peel I’m drying for potpourri. I’ve got Mari sewing some cute sachets with wolves on them. I’ll probably be able to sell the lot to the souvenir stand for at least two hundred bucks.

My trunk sits against the wall under the window. After Ma died and the Murphys claimed our cabin on the commons, I lived out of that trunk. Now I keep my jars and other supplies in it.

Everything feels different after the past few days, but it isn’t, really. I’m still a lone female. Bottom of the pack. And that’s good. I can do what I want. Make my own way. Nothing needs to change.

Annie is going to do the run into town tomorrow, but honestly, I bet I could get away with going myself. Despite the present weirdness, I can’t imagine anyone would come looking for me during the day. Literally no male ever has.

I really want this deal to work out. Crafts and such are a great side hustle, but mushrooms could be a real business. Everyone sells honey these days, but morels—they don’t grow on trees.

I smirk at my own joke.

My brain’s whirring. I fluff my pillow and turn on my good side so I face the window. The curtain is slightly parted, and I can see the moon. It’s high tonight. Waxing gibbous.

Why is the moon sometimes high and sometimes large and close? I’d search it on my phone, but I’m stingy with my data at the end of the month. I need it for work.

If I use the mushroom money to get us unlimited plans, I could search whatever I want whenever I want. Moon facts. New herbs to grow.

I could watch videos of the shifter fights.

Killian was brutal tonight. He took every bit of punishment Lochlan dished out as he waited for an opening. His face was totally intent. His eyes were pure blue. No gold. His wolf had nothing to do with it.

When he kicked, the control in his body, the force and fluidity—I shudder. He’s a powerful guy. He always has been. I’ve never had the urge to watch him fight before.

But I want to watch him do it again.

So does my wolf—she whines in agreement. I want to watch. I want the slow motion replay, to watch frame by frame, see Killian’s head snap back as Lochlan drives a fist into his jaw.

Not just ‘cause I want to see Lochlan eat the floor again. Or Killian take a few punches in the face.

I also want to watch the bunching of muscles as Killian spun and kicked Lochlan’s leg out from under him, how he smoothly returned to standing, bouncing ever so slightly on the balls of his feet, no victory or even exertion in his expression, only cold intent.

A shiver slides down my spine, curling into my belly.

I don’t like Killian but that doesn’t mean I can’t admire parts of him. I wish I was strong enough to kick Lochlan’s ass.

And it’s not like Killian did that for me. He’s the alpha. Lochlan broke his rule about females and young. Killian was making an example of him. It wasn’t about me—no matter what my wolf thinks.

She’s oddly reserved considering her earlier excitement. I thought she’d be urging me to shift and go hump his leg.

She was excited enough when he was doling out the beatdown. And there was a moment—when he delivered the first kick to Lochlan’s leg, and I figured out what he was doing. I got excited, too. Not sexually. But there were tingles. I know he didn’t do it for me, but that hopelessly naïve part of me that’s never grown up could pretend, for a second, that he’s our champion. Ours. And nobody better fuck with us.

Now I’m the silly one because the idea stirs something between my legs. What would it hurt if I let myself daydream a little? Only until I drift off to sleep.

Killian shifting in a rage when another male dares to touch what’s his.

Killian breaking a male who made the mistake of messing with me.

Another chair on the dais for me, a place of my own. He glances down. I nod. And then he destroys my enemies. Fangs and claws. Muscles and fists.

It’s a seductive fantasy. Dangerous and impossible. The stirring grows and spreads, though, growing wings, fluttering and swooshing below my navel. The stiff cotton of my nightgown teases my hardening nipples. My hand slips between my legs.

I’m restless. I part my thighs. I’m wet. I slip my fingers between my folds and find the stiff, aching nub.

I picture Killian’s wolf bowling into Gael, murder and possession blazing in his golden eyes.

There’s a howl from the porch right outside my window. My heart leaps into my throat.

I snatch my hand back and snap my knees together.

It’s him. Even without peeking through the curtain, I know.

The window’s cracked. Oh, Fate. There’s no way he can’t smell my arousal. It’s thick in the air.

Killian’s wolf howls again.

Come outside.

I scramble for resolve. My wolf is gonna bolt. She’s awake and on edge, and he’s so close, and she’s—I’m—so off center. So needy.

There’s a scuffling at the window. He’s wedging his snout into the opening. Thank goodness the wood is old and swollen. The sash is not gonna budge.

He growls in frustration, and then backs off to howl again.

Let me in.

I tense my muscles, prepare to fight my wolf for our skin.

But she doesn’t make a move. She plops herself down, and puts her snoot in the air. She’s ignoring him.

More howls, so loud they shake the window pane.

Come out. Come out. Come out.

My wolf lets forth a series of yips and snarls.

Go. Go to the other female. Go on. Go.

Then, she daintily crosses her paws, rests her chin on them, and dramatically closes her eyes.

No way. She’s pissed that he let Haisley rub up on him. I guess the rush of his dominance show has worn off, and she’s remembered that she has beef.

His wolf is quiet for a few moments, but then he howls again, louder, blustering and bombastic. I don’t need my wolf to understand him. He sounds like any male called on the carpet by his female—it wasn’t his fault the other female came onto him. My wolf’s being too sensitive. Making a mountain out of a molehill. He’s sorry, but he didn’t do anything wrong, and my wolf’s being a real bitch, but he won’t do it again.

Since she’s so mad.

Over nothing.

She has no more time for him. She snuffs and lets herself fade in my consciousness.

He howls like he’s been done all kinds of wrong.

I’m jumpy—he’s a monster, and he’s losing it on my porch, and I can’t forget what he interrupted—but I’m not scared. Because my wolf’s not scared. She’s put his wolf in time out. And I’m a million miles away from cracking a smile, but—it’s funny.

After a few more minutes of Killian’s wolf howling at the moon, I creep over and shut the window. He keeps on going, but it’s somewhat muffled.

I return to bed, tug the sheet up to my chin, and wait for him to give up. My “phases of the moon” clock ticks on the wall. After a while, Mari and Annie come knocking on my door.

Mari pokes her curly blonde head in, squinting toward the window. The moon reflects off Killian’s silver coat. He paces the porch, and his howls have become more plaintive. Almost grumbly.

“How long is he going to do this?” she whispers.

“I don’t know,” I whisper back.

“Should we let him in?”

“No!” Kennedy shouts from the other room. “Or at least gimme a minute!”

“She’s hiding her consoles,” Annie explains, squeezing past Mari to come sit on the edge of my bed. I scoot over.

“We’re not letting him in,” I reassure her.

If he shifted to his human skin, he could barge right in. He’s alpha; we couldn’t stop him. And honestly, he could easily break our door down in wolf form. Or come through the window.

But he doesn’t. He trots back and forth, growling, casting aggrieved looks at the cabin every now and then.

Mari joins us, sliding under the covers. When Killian first moved us to the cabin, she was only eleven, and she’d come looking for midnight snuggles a lot. She hasn’t done that in a long time.

“How much trouble are we in if he finds the consoles?” Mari asks.

“And the phones.” Annie keeps a wary eye on Killian’s wolf.

“And Kennedy’s weights.” Mari pulls the sheet to her chin. “And the liquor.”

“And the mushrooms.” Annie’s actually trembling.

How is she going to drive to Chapel Bell by herself and do the deal with ShroomForager3000? He’ll take one look at her and rip her off.

“He’s not coming in. He’s just, I don’t know, hanging out?” Killian’s by the stairs now, looking up at the moon. He’s grown quiet.

“What’s he doing?” Mari asks.

“He wants me to shift, but my wolf doesn’t want to.”

“Una, you have to get him to leave.” Kennedy appears in the doorway, breathless. “If he comes inside, we’re busted.”

It’s true. Except for Kennedy’s game systems, we keep the sitting room pretty clean, but he’ll be able to smell the bar we keep in the pantry and Kennedy’s marijuana gummies.

Lone females aren’t supposed to drink. There’s no rule about gummies, but I can guess what it’d be.

Our cabin is pretty much bursting with contraband. Nothing but the alcohol and phones are explicitly forbidden, but the place is full of evidence that we have access to human money and that we’ve been leaving the territory.

“Shit.” I swing my good leg over the side of the bed.

“That’s our fearless leader.” Kennedy grabs a green knit shawl from a hook and drapes it over my shoulder as I pass. “I’m sure he just wants to talk.”

A howl shakes the window frame.

I check in on my wolf. She’s pretending to sleep. Guess I’m on my own. I wrap the shawl tight around my shoulders.

As I step onto the porch, I hear the girls fighting for seats on my trunk. I guess whatever happens, I’ll have an audience.

I shut the door quickly behind me and lean against it. There’s a bite to the air, and a crispness to the night sounds—bullfrogs and rustling leaves and a distant hoot.

Killian’s wolf turns to glare at me expectantly, the gold blazing.

“She won’t come out,” I tell him.

He pads over, noses my belly, and then gazes soulfully into my eyes. He’s really bummed. I shouldn’t care, but I’m not made of stone.

“I’m sorry.”

He cocks his head.

“She’s tired.”

He snuffles, and it sounds exactly like a human snort.

I sigh. “She’s mad that you let Haisley rub up on you—him.”

He peels back his lips, revealing his fangs. I stiffen. He’s pissed. At me? My wolf?

He paces to the edge of the porch and howls again, a litany this time that drags on and on.

And then, suddenly, silence falls and Killian is standing there, moonlight bathing his chiseled back. His sculpted ass. I curl my bare toes. They’re cold. That’s why.

I clear my throat. “I—uh—did you, um, want something else?” I reach behind me for the door knob.

For a moment, he doesn’t turn, and when he does, my breath catches. I can hear the girls gasp through the closed window. So can Killian. His gaze flies over my shoulder. The curtain sways. Kennedy lets out a wolf whistle.

My face flames. I step forward, holding out my shawl. “Here. You can, er, cover up.”

He doesn’t move to take it. He stares at me, searching for something. I fight the compulsion to bend my neck. If I did, I’d be looking straight at his dick.

How is he so confident? My face is on fire, and he’s just standing there in his birthday suit with a massive erection, lord of all he surveys.

It’s a long, thick, ruddy erection.

Not that I ogled him. Only for a second. I couldn’t miss it. It’s—

I swallow.

It’s notable. I noted it.

I shake the shawl at him.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” he asks.

“Tie it around your waist?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m not doing that.”

Mari giggles. It’s abruptly cut off. Probably by Annie’s hand.

Killian snatches the shawl and wraps it around himself like a towel. Now his cock is making a huge tent, stretching Nuala’s cat’s paw stitches.

But I’m not looking.

“Your face is red,” he says.

My gaze flies to Killian’s face. Shit. I was totally looking down.

“I, um, do you, uh, need something?”

His lips soften the slightest bit. A Killian smile. “You got pants?”

“Not men’s pants. No.”

His eyes darken, and there’s a low rumble in his chest. He steps towards me.

Muffled by the glass, Mari blurts, “What’s he doing?”

Annie hisses at her to shush.

Killian grabs my elbow and leads me to the far corner of the porch. At the edge, he glances down. There’s no railing, and it’s maybe three feet off the ground. There’s a flower bed below. Purple allium and lavender and phlox.

He seems to consider, and then he leaps down, grabs my hips, and before I can react, he sets me gently on the edge. Then he vaults to sit beside me.

There are two big footprints in the flowers.

“You crushed the phlox,” I say.

“What’s phlox?”

I point below us. The moon casts a spotlight on the blooms, the illumination turning the petals into glowing jewels. The scent of lavender rises from their broken stems.

“Oh. My bad.”

I don’t know what to do with my hands. He’s too close. I can’t rest them on the ledge.

It’s chilly out, but I don’t want to hug my arms. I don’t want him to think I’m intimidated. Or that my nipples are hard because of him. They are hard, but it’s because of the chill. I’m not wearing a bra, and the cotton of my nightgown is thin.

I don’t know why I care what he thinks. He’s the one being weird.

I settle on clasping my hands in my lap. It feels awkward.

We fall into an uncomfortable silence. If he’s waiting for me to say something, I’m at a loss. I already asked him what he wanted.

Finally, he says, “I’m not your mate.”

It hurts, but this time, it’s only a twinge. It passes quickly. I swear, my wolf snorts.

“But, ah, my wolf—apparently, he’s into your wolf.” He almost sounds embarrassed. Like his wolf’s a pervert or something.

He’s such a dick.

“She’s not interested.” I hike my chin.

He’s quiet again. He stares down the path toward the commons. The lodge is still ablaze, but most of the cabins are dark. The families with young have long since put them to bed.

“He won’t—” Killian clears his throat. “He won’t let me leave.”

Oh.

I dart a glance at his face. His jaw is rigid. His temple’s ticking.

“You’re pretty far out up here,” he says.

Where’s he going with this? The back of my neck prickles. This isn’t good.

“It’s peaceful.” And there’s no one to watch us come and go.

He sighs. “You know, I put you guys up here to keep you away from—” He cracks his jaw. “From, uh, males who’d take advantage.”

I never knew why he did it. We’d been living various places until one day, Cheryl told the four of us that Alpha said to pack our shit and move up the hill.

Seems weird, though. To put all us lone females out here alone for our protection.

Killian seems to read my mind. “My cabin’s straight down wind. Anyone approaches, I know.”

Oh.

“And I got the patrols overlapping up there.” He points to the crest of the ridge behind our cabin.

I had no idea. Oh, shit. Why don’t we scent them? They can definitely smell us from that close. Kennedy smokes her pipe on the back deck.

Killian cracks a slight grin. “We know you ladies cut loose sometimes up here.”

“I—”

He raises a hand. “Keep it up here, and we don’t have a problem.”

“We didn’t—Why can’t we smell the patrols?”

“If they didn’t have the sense to stand downwind, they wouldn’t make good scouts, would they?”

I guess that’s true.

“Listen. I know what you all think, but I do shit for a reason. Do you remember what it was like before?”

I was sixteen when his father died. I remember. I kept my head down. Mixed with the pack as little as possible. If I wasn’t at school, I spent my time in the kitchen, the laundry, and up at Abertha’s. You couldn’t avoid the gossip, though. Packmates disappearing, coming back hurt and not saying where they’d been. Packmates who didn’t come back. And you saw the bruises.

And the females who broke down and cried in the middle of dinner.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Males—they took what they wanted. Females got hurt. Young got beaten.”

I know it used to be worse.

“I changed that,” he says. “You’re safe now.”

He pauses. Does he expect me to thank him?

I guess he deserves it.

Old Noreen is always bringing up the bad old days. She thinks we’re ungrateful, so she reminds us—in Declan Kelly’s time, that male would have bent you over the table. Be happy he just slapped your ass.

In Declan Kelly’s time, if a babe was born small, they’d leave him out in the woods. If he was still alive in three days’ time, his dam could keep him.

And don’t get her started on the dens. In the dens, females weren’t allowed to wear clothes, except furs in winter. In the dens, enforcers didn’t just eat first, they ate their fill. Low rank got scraps—if there were any left.

We all roll our eyes, but we’re not unaware that we’re lucky. Even though it doesn’t feel like it.

Killian hasn’t gone on, so I say, “Um. Thanks?”

He huffs, annoyed, clasping his hands behind his head and stretching. He tilts his head up toward the moon. “I don’t need your thanks. I’m just saying you’re safe here.”

“I’ve got the patrols above on the ridge at fifteen-minute intervals. I keep my window open so I can scent any approaching threat at night. I keep you all in the kitchen or the laundry, away from the males. They know not to get near any of you alone.”

They do? I guess that’s another reason the run in with Eamon and Lochlan was so unsettling. Males will be gross at dinner or at the swims after runs, but they don’t corner us.

I don’t understand what he’s getting at, though.

“You’re safe,” he says again, emphatic. He glances over at me, his eyes intense. “So why can’t I leave?”

I blink.

He wants me to answer? I don’t know.

“Well, maybe your wolf—”

He cuts me off. “It’s not just my wolf.” He sort of pounds his chest once with his fist. “I can’t leave.”

“Oh.”

A surge of something, something tingly, almost sparkly, rushes through me. My belly flutters.

“Well, um, we are perfectly safe here. Like you pointed out.” I sniff the breeze. “I don’t smell anything.”

He inhales, and his eyes drift shut. He groans softly. “I do.”

Now he blinks. He glares at me, tense, frustrated. “You smell like bread.”

“Thank you?”

I guess it could be worse. I try to casually duck my nose toward my shoulder and inhale. I don’t smell anything but fabric softener.

“Maybe you should come back to my cabin,” he says.

His voice lowers. His expression is somehow less alpha. It’s not exactly friendly, but he’s set aside the usual domineering bluntness. He’s trying for charm. It doesn’t quite work, but it’s interesting to see.

I’ve seen him look at females at the lodge like this, late at night. Then they follow him outside.

“No.” I swallow past the tightness in my throat.

“It’ll be good. I’ll do you, too, if you want.”

What does that mean?

There’s a rumble to the words. He strokes the tip of his fingers down my cheek, and while my brain spins, every inch of my skin comes alive.

“No, thank you.”

“Aren’t you curious?” he says.

Am I?

I can’t afford to be. I don’t want to be.

But sitting next to him is like sitting next to an energy source. Sensation arcs in the space between us.

He’s so strong, so above everyone else. We’ve lived together all our lives, but his orbit has never intersected mine. But now he’s here.

It’s like sitting on a jetty in a stormy sea.

The power makes you feel small and magical at the same time.

My body is responding. My belly swirls. My nipples rub against the cool cotton, creating an achy heat. My pussy lips swell. I press my thighs together as hard as I can, but the next time he inhales, his nose quivers.

His lips rise until they’re almost curved. “You are, aren’t you?”

“No. I—” I shake my head, but inside, my body hums in agreement. I clasp my hands until my knuckles blanch white. This is a bad idea. Dangerous. Stupid.

My wolf isn’t feigning sleep anymore. She’s alert and pissed and letting me feel it. Bad male. Go to the other female’s cabin. She huffs and turns her back.

Killian twists his torso, reaches over, and gently lifts my chin. Then he bends down and brushes his firm, dry lips against mine.

Time freezes.

I exhale a sighed, “Oh.”

And suddenly, I can feel it all at once, his touch shining a floodlight on the emptiness inside of me, the years of touchlessness after Ma and Da passed when I was fostered, the cold ache that settles into your bones, and remains, no matter how much your friends care for you when you’re grown.

It’s the place left when Ma no longer brushes your hair for a hundred strokes. When Pa’s no longer there for you to rest your head on his furry belly and scratch behind his ears.

It’s raw, always—still—and Killian’s touch exposes it and soothes it at the same time.

It’s what I needed.

What I missed.

And the thoughts don’t make sense, but it doesn’t matter because I’m rapt.

He draws his nose along the side of mine and then kisses my forehead. His hands stroke over my shoulders and down my back. He draws me closer. My fingers land on his bare chest. It’s hot to the touch.

My heart pounds. We’re both breathing heavily, and it stirs the air between us, creating a heat, an urgency.

An intimacy.

I let my fingers explore, slide up his pecs, and they twitch and tense. His lungs hitch.

I did that.

There’s a rumble in his chest, and I lay my cheek against it to see if I can feel it.

I can.

He smooths my hair, dropping a kiss to my hairline, the tip of my nose. I sigh and cling tighter, winding my arms around his neck, lifting myself so I can kiss him back.

This is perfect. This is designed. This can make up for it all if I let go, if I just give in to the mysterious swirling rising inside me.

He’s exploring, traveling from my lips to my temple to my jaw, as if he’s tasting the differences, as if he’s swept away, too.

We’re thigh to thigh, the shawl bunched and tented as we twist to reach each other. I want more. I want to touch everything. I grab his shoulders to lift myself, but my leg is stiff, and I can’t get a good enough grip. I growl, frustrated.

He chuckles. “I got you.” He picks me up and resettles me sideways in his lap, returning my hands to his shoulders and then massaging the thigh of my bad leg.

He kisses me, eyes closed, as he cradles me, and I feel floaty and surrounded and gobsmacked. I feel held.

He’s so strong. I run my fingers down his bulging arms, the veined tops of his hands, his hard knuckles. He has a fighter’s hands, a fighter’s body. But he’s docile beneath me. Patient. Coaxing.

Waiting for me.

For what?

He nips my bottom lip with his sharp teeth, and something inside me bursts open.

Oh, now I know. For this.

I want. Heat courses through my veins, and I squirm.

I don’t like this position. I want to be able to climb, crawl, roll.

I dig my fingers into the bunched muscles of his shoulders and lift up. This is too slow motion. I know what I need. He knows too, that’s why he matches me, urges me closer, cradles my neck in his palm.

I lick his mouth, and when he parts his lips, I devour him. I clutch him, plastering my breasts to his hard chest, inhaling with him because he’s air, he’s home, he’s everything.

I need, and he has what I want. The deprivation is a chasm inside me, and he can fill it, he has it, and I can make him give it to me, with my mouth, my hands.

He folds his arms around me, tight, and rubs my lower back, soothing me and murmuring, “You taste so good, baby. Let’s go back to my place. We’ll get this out of our systems.”

Yes.

That’s the best idea.

We need space. So I can put things in order, and we can touch all over, and we can—get this out of our systems.

My brain crashes headfirst into the words. There’s almost an audible tire screech.

Hold up.

Wait a minute.

I’m the only one swept away here.

He’s in full control.

He’s smirking, self-satisfied, tugging the shawl where it’s bunched under my thigh.

Oh, hell. I’m making a fool of myself.

I’ve never stood so quickly. I hop down into the phlox, landing with my weight on my bad leg, and thank goodness, it holds me. My wolf is snarling, raging, utterly pissed on my behalf. I’m gonna barf.

I stumble through the flower garden toward the stairs.

My hands are shaking. I wipe my mouth. I want to spit him out. I want to suck on a bar of soap.

What’s wrong with me?

I trip. He reaches to steady me—he’s right behind me—but I stagger forward, putting as much distance between us as I can.

He keeps following, but a few more steps behind. When I get to the steps, he lifts me up then backs off again.

“What’s going on?” He’s genuinely confused.

I don’t know. The mate bond is gone. I’m not in heat. My body’s gone bonkers—and my feelings are all over the place—but this isn’t like back in the briar patch. I never want to feel that way again. And yet, here I am, thirsting after this asshole like a teenage fangirl, gobbling up any crumb he throws my way.

I tell the roomies all the time—just because this pack treats us as less than doesn’t make it true. But no matter how much I tell myself that, no matter how far I’ve gotten from the “poor lone female” mentality, here I am, my lonely orphaned self, clinging to the alpha, desperate to feel less abandoned.

This is more humiliating than the briar patch.

“Nothing. I want you to leave. Just go.”

His brow furrows.

“My wolf does, too,” I add like that’ll help.

I stare at his feet and the rough wood planks beneath them.

“Una. Look at me.”

My name on his lips stokes the strange excitement in my chest, and it doesn’t make sense. I’m hurt. Bristling. And awake and aware in a way I’ve never been before, not even on a full moon.

I jerk my head no.

He sighs in exasperation and paces a few feet away. “You gotta tell me what’s going on in your head. I’m not a mind reader.”

It comes out so easily. He’s definitely said this to a female before. My wolf growls and tosses her head. I’m with her.

“No, I don’t,” I say to the weathered porch boards. “I didn’t come to your house. I didn’t howl outside your window. I didn’t start any of this, and I—” My voice breaks just a little. “I don’t have any problem leaving.”

I turn toward the door so quickly that I catch Mari’s wide eyes as the curtain falls back into place.

I stop mid-stride and take a deep breath. I’m not going to run away like I’m scared. I force myself to look him in the eye. “I’m not your mate. You said so yourself, and you’re the alpha. And I don’t want a ‘with benefits’ kind of thing. Or any kind of thing with you.”

“What’s ‘with benefits?’” he asks.

“And you’re not in my system.”

“Hold up. Go back. What benefits?”

“There aren’t any. That’s what I’m saying. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine, and just, just—get off my damn porch.”

I fumble with the door knob, and when I get it open, it slams into the wall. My insides are sparking. I carefully shut the door so it doesn’t seem like I’m upset, and I drive the deadbolt home.

Mari, Annie, and Kennedy huddle in the hall, gawking.

“H-He can break down that door,” Annie says.

“We should put the couch in front of it.” Kennedy’s already pushing up the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

“We can’t take him just the three of us,” Mari says, her sweet voice quavering. “I’m gonna call Abertha.”

And whoosh, the temper drops out of me like a row in Tetris. I’m not accustomed to anger. Big feelings aren’t my register. I’m calm, cool, and collected.

And my roomies are the best. I’ve done okay with them, I think. We’re taught every day to bend and show our necks, but all three are making to move the couch. They’ve got my back.

“You don’t have to. The kitchen door’s right there.” I hike a thumb over my shoulder. “And I don’t think he’s going to bust in.”

Mari peeks outside. “He’s sitting on the edge of the porch again.”

“Wolf or man?” Annie asks.

“Man.”

“What’s he doing?” Kennedy elbows Mari away so she can see for herself.

“Staring at the moon.”

They’re all looking to me, but I don’t know what to say. “I think he’s guarding us. He’ll probably go home in a little bit.”

They seem skeptical.

“What do we do?” Annie asks.

“Go to bed. I’m sure everything will go back to normal in the morning.”

From the looks on their faces, none of them believe me. I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile, and head back to my room.

I glance quickly out the window as I pull the curtains closed. Killian is still there, his shoulders curved, a sprig of lavender in his hand. He’s popping the flowers off, one by one.

His posture isn’t defeated or upset. If I had to say, I’d call it contemplative.

I touch my lips. They feel the same as they always have.

I let my mind skim the place where the mate bond used to be. No difference there. Tender but healing. No pain.

But there’s a new rawness in me, beneath the confusion and hurt. My wolf is so confident in Killian’s wolf. She’s snoozing now, perfectly happy and assured that he’s miserable.

Killian’s rejected me a handful of times at this point.

But he’s sitting in human form on my porch.

I turned him down, but he didn’t get angry. He didn’t force the issue.

And he didn’t stick us out here in this cabin because we don’t belong. He did it to protect us.

I do remember what it was like, even though the memory feels much longer ago than it actually was. I remember the Butlers and the Campbells forbidding me to walk anywhere alone.

I remember Eileen Campbell hurrying me past the commissary one afternoon. She hissed at me to look down. There was a circle of males out back by the picnic table. A female was sobbing.

There was always a feeling of dread anytime the pack met—at meals or bonfires or full moon runs. That’s where I learned to be small. And quiet.

If anyone was trying to change things, they were doing it in secret, and I was too young to know.

Then Killian came to power, and overnight, the rules were different. He burned the picnic table behind the commissary. The unprotected females were moved to this cabin.

Why did he change things?

I’d like to know, but I can’t imagine asking.

Even after tonight.

The kissing.

He’s alpha. I’m a lone female. We’re never going to talk like equals. On the most primal level, we aren’t.

I crawl under the covers, certain that it’ll take forever to fall asleep, but I drift off right away. I have strange dreams, and I wake often and steal to the window.

Each time, Killian’s there, staring at the moon, and then later, laying on his side, sleeping on a bent arm, my shawl bunched around his middle.

When the sun rises, he’s gone, a pile of plucked lavender next to where he sat.

I sweep them into the flower bed before the others wake up, and I can’t stop my lips from curving.

The alpha of Quarry Pack slept on my porch. And he took my shawl when he left.