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

“Killian’s not in camp.” Kennedy rushes through the screen door, letting it slam.

Annie’s having a panic attack on the sofa. She’s wrung her skirt to the point it’s wrinkled and damp with palm sweat. She’s not going to be able to make the mushroom run. She was cool yesterday, but having Killian howling outside all night long jangled her nerves. And they’re not steady on the best of days.

“Where is he?” I ease my backpack over my shoulders. I’ve carefully wrapped the jar of morels in a thick quilt.

“Old Noreen didn’t know, and I didn’t want to ask anybody else. I don’t smell him anywhere, though.” She squeezes Annie’s shoulder.

“I—I’m s—so sorry.” Annie’s eyes are tormented. She hates herself like this, but once the poison gets in her head, you can’t talk her out of it. Abertha’s calming tea doesn’t help. Even Kennedy’s weed doesn’t do much but blunt the worst of it.

“Nothing to be sorry about. We’re a team, right?” I hold out my fist.

She wrinkles her forehead.

“You bump it with your fist. It’s a human thing.”

She’s still hyperventilating, but she taps my knuckles.

“You gonna be okay?” I know she will be, but I worry. She’s tough, but her brain kind of has a mind of its own.

“G-go g-get ‘em.” She manages a watery smile. That’s my girl. A light breeze will knock her down emotionally, but she hauls herself back up every time.

“Are we clear?” I ask Kennedy, checking my phone. No new texts. About an hour ago, Shroomforager3000 said he was at the rest stop north of Chapel Bell.

“The males are all at the gym or the lodge. The patrols should be at the west and south perimeters. It’s now or never.”

“All right. I’ll be quick. A half hour there, ten minutes or so to make the exchange, a half hour home. I’ll be back way before dinner.”

“We’ll go down to the commons so if anyone’s asking for you, we can say you’re at the crone’s.” Kennedy peeks out the window.

“Has anyone ever asked for me?” I peer over her shoulder. The path is clear. I don’t scent anyone.

“First time for everything.” Kennedy holds up her palm, and I slap it.

“Keep an eye on Annie?” I ask her.

“You know I will.” Kennedy lowers her voice. “If anything seems weird, bail. We can sell the mushrooms another time. They’re dried. They’re not going bad.”

I lower my voice, too. “I’m a wolf. I’m not scared of a human man.”

“Yeah, but that’s not all that’s out there.” Kennedy and I exchange a look. We talk about this whenever she goes to her rented cabin to shift alone. There are still ferals outside our boundaries. Outcasts from the Last Pack. Humans who traffic in the fur trade. It’s not like it used to be, but the dangers are still there.

But not at the farmer’s market in Chapel Bell in broad daylight.

I give Kennedy the most reassuring smile I can muster, and she opens the door for me. After I hobble down the stairs, I force myself to walk at my usual pace. I look way too obvious when I hustle.

It’s not far to the garage, and the path is empty. I don’t run into anyone. It’s a beautiful afternoon. The sun is bright but cool, and a steady, mild breeze flows down from the foothills.

Liam’s not around when I reach the truck. He knows today is the run. I bet he’s going after plausible deniability. He really likes the moonshine I bring him back from town, but he’s not willing to take heat for us if he can avoid it.

I grab the keys from the corkboard in his office and go around back where the Ford is parked with the other junkers.

It takes a second to hoist myself into the cab. I don’t bother adjusting the mirror. It doesn’t swivel anymore.

Like I showed Annie, I really jam the clutch as I turn the key, and after a few wheezing false starts, the engine turns over. I give the dashboard a pat. She’s a rust bucket, and she’s temperamental, but she hasn’t let me down yet.

I head for town by way of the north access road. The two miles or so on pack territory are bumpy, and I’m jumping out of my skin, imagining I hear engines coming up from behind. I have to go slow because the asphalt’s busted with weeds growing in the cracks.

Road maintenance is not one of Killian Kelly’s priorities. He’s always fussing with energy efficient windows and solar panels, but there’s a pothole that could eat a lawn mower in the middle of our only road, and it’s been there forever.

Once I turn on to Rural Route 10, the ride is smooth. My hands are slick on the tacky steering wheel, and nerves riot in my belly, but I’m not as scared as the first few times I ventured into town. I’m not used to it by a long shot, but I can deal.

I am breaking pack law. Females are not allowed to leave the territory alone. That’s carved in stone. I don’t know what they’ll do to me if they catch me. I’ve never known anyone but Mari, Kennedy, and I to go into town without a male.

A few of the younger males, including Fallon, got drunk at a human bar one time. One came home reeking of sex. Killian beat them all to a pulp in the middle of the commons, and the one who had sex with the human got busted down to maintenance crew. He’s still not allowed to run with the pack at full moon. Fallon got off easy with an ass-kicking.

I’m smarter than them—I nearly scrub my skin off in the lake after I’ve been anywhere near a human—but I don’t want a beating, especially not in front of the entire pack. Not again.

I’m sweating bullets. My knee shakes when I depress the clutch to shift.

But I want the money. More than I ever have before.

These past few days, I’ve been yanked this way and pulled that. My body does what it wants. My wolf. I want my life back. The one where I’m in charge.

I straighten my spine and turn on the radio. It only gets a few staticky stations, but I find one that plays Top 40, and I sing along. I love human music. More melody, less howling.

I’m in town before the commercial break.

Chapel Bell has three stop lights, six cross streets, and a town square in the grassy expanse between northbound and southbound Main Street. That’s where the farmer’s market shares space with a weathered bandstand. There are also permanent shops on the street facing the park. An ice cream shop with a life-sized cow statue out front. A vintage jewelry store.

It’s a nice town. Very peaceful. No sparring or wrestling.

I park and check my phone.

Here. At the honey table.

My belly swoops. This is it. This is going to be the biggest deal I’ve ever made. Who knows? Maybe the beginning of a mushroom empire. I force myself to steady my breathing.

I’m not new at this. I’m a business woman. I’ve got almost a thousand dollars in the trunk of an oak tree that says it.

And I am not thinking right now about what it says that my capital is stored in the hollow of a tree.

I’ve been selling for years. This is just another sale. Only a couple more zeroes on the price tag.

I make my way past the produce vendors and the other regulars. A few folks wave. I don’t socialize, but I’ve been coming long enough that I’m recognized. The baseball card guy has his table laid out, and the cheese woman is here.

There’s a man loitering by the honey table. I haven’t seen him before. Shroomforager3000 said to look for a man with a beard, and this guy definitely has a beard. It’s waxed and pointy like a goat’s. His mustache swoops.

He’s wearing a short-sleeve collared shirt under a brown velvety vest. He looks like a cross between a lumberjack and a yodeler.

He sees me, and his lips curl. I am a wolf, and his smile seems wolfish.

I don’t like him.

I don’t have to. I just have to sell him mushrooms.

He kind of canters over, hands in pockets.

“Una?”

I nod.

“I can’t believe you got me all the way out here.” He gestures around him. “I’ve never even heard of this town before.”

I don’t know what to say. Humans are into small talk between males and females, but I’m not used to it. It was different with the glassblower. He talked incessantly, and he didn’t need you to reply.

I nod again and try to look friendly.

“Shy, eh?” He waggles his eyebrows. There’s something wrong with them. They’re tweezed. And arched to make him look perpetually surprised.

“I have the mushrooms.”

He laughs. “Whoa, whoa. You say it like that, people are gonna think things.”

I glance around. No one is close enough to hear us.

“Let’s go over here. I can see what you got.” He leads the way to a wrought iron bench at the edge of the lawn. I set my backpack down and carefully unfold the quilt.

Morels are ugly. They look like dried brains. Still, I hold the jar up proudly. They’re all whole. No pieces.

For a second, ShroomForager3000’s face lights up, but then his lips turn down, his thin, dark brows spearing together. “Oh, man. These aren’t as big as they looked in the pics.”

Yes, they are. These are the exact same mushrooms.

“Maybe it’s seeing them in a jar.” For the pictures, I laid them out on a table.

He shakes his head. “No, these are definitely, uh, you know, on the small side.” He scrubs his neck. “Man, this sucks. My guys, they’re looking for a certain size you know? They want to stuff them with crab. Turkey mousse. That kind of thing.”

“You can stuff these.”

He sighs. “They’re just not what I’m looking for, you know?”

My heart plummets. I want this money so bad I can taste it. I’ve been spending it in my head for months. Plenty of buyers are interested, but they want to pay online and have the product shipped, and whatever app you use, you need a checking account, and to open a checking account, you need identification. Shifter females don’t have ID.

Kennedy and I have looked at it from every angle. We can’t figure out a work-around. And this is the only guy who’s been willing to drive down and pay cash.

I hug the jar to my chest.

ShroomForager3000 lays his hand on my shoulder. “But, hey. I mean, I drove all the way down here, right. I could take ‘em off your hands. For maybe—” He licks his unnaturally red lips. “A hundred bucks?”

Oh.

He’s playing me.

I tense.

He squeezes, like a massage. My wolf growls. His hand drops, and he looks at me, really looks, much closer than before.

“Holy shit. You’re one of them, aren’t you? A shifter. I wondered—since this town is kind of known for being close to a pack. Wow. You’re a wolf, right?”

“Does that matter?”

His eyes flicker, and he licks his lips again. “Not at all. I vote pro wolf, all the way. You guys deserve citizenship. Most definitely.”

I’m not up on the pro wolf stuff. That’s more Moon Lake’s bag. Still, I guess pro wolf is better than anti.

“You know, I have an idea. If you really need the money. I mean, I really can’t do more than a hundred on the morels, but I did bring the whole three hundred.”

He pauses, his gaze flickering around the market, like he’s looking for something. My wolf’s hackles are raised. She really doesn’t like this guy. Neither do I.

“My van is just over there.” He jerks his thumb to a white work van with rust along the bottom. “We could, uh, come to an arrangement, if you want the rest?”

“I’m not having sex with you for money.” I hug my mushrooms tighter.

“No, no. You misunderstand.” He lowers his voice and leans in. “Just pictures. A little video. You, uh, become the wolf. Shift back. Pose. I’ll crop out your head. It’ll take five minutes. Ten tops.”

My stomach heaves, and a sour taste fills my mouth. “I’m not doing that. Give me the three hundred.”

“Come on. It’s just—”

My wolf growls, loud, a perfectly clear threat. He holds one hand up and digs the other into his pocket.

And then I catch a scent on the wind, and my heart leaps once, high in my throat, and then takes off in a gallop.

It’s Killian.

He’s close.

I scan the booths, and there he is, a blur rushing towards us, and I can’t get a word out, I can’t move an inch before he shoves me to the side and bowls into ShroomForager3000, sending him sailing into the air. My jar is knocked from my hands, and it falls to the sidewalk, shattering.

Killian’s tan work boots land on the mushrooms, crushing them into pulp, as he bounds to loom over the human, fangs bared, claws unsheathed.

Screams pierce the air. There’s the scent of piss. ShroomForager3000 scrambles backwards like a crab.

My mushrooms are brown goo. There are a handful intact, but they glitter with glass shards. Morels have so many ridges, even if I soak and rinse them, I can’t be sure to get them clean. They are all ruined.

Three hundred dollars, down the drain.

No unlimited data. No mushroom farm. Nothing.

All that time, gathering and drying, scouring the online forums, wasted. Finding this creep. Listening to his creepy proposition. And I’ve got nothing.

My eyes prickle, hot with tears.

Killian looms over ShroomForager3000. “You dare touch what’s mine?”

It’s a roar. He’s an enraged alpha. I should drop to my knees and simper, neck bared, but I don’t. I don’t care that my wolf is baring her neck and practically mewling. My hands curl into tight fists. He destroyed my mushrooms, and he doesn’t even care.

ShroomForager3000 sputters. He can’t manage a word.

“Stand,” Killian commands. “Fight me.”

ShroomForager3000 shakes his head hard, waxed beard swaying as a whole. “No way, dude. I didn’t know the shrooms were yours, man. If I had known, I wouldn’t have made an offer, hand to God.” He raises his hand. “I don’t want any trouble.”

Killian just stands there, growling.

My wolf whimpers, and in the silence, it resonates in my own throat.

ShroomForager3000 glances at me.

“You don’t look at her.” Killian steps to the side to block me from view, puffing his chest, broadening his stance.

“Whatever you say, man. You’re the guy with the fangs.”

Killian looks at me. “You smell—afraid? But also like you’re gonna puke? Why?”

I’m not telling him about the invitation to get in the shroom van. I loathe the dude, but I don’t want him dead. So I don’t say anything.

“Una?” Killian’s voice is louder.

I stare at the brown fungi slush with the footprint.

Killian huffs in exasperation.

My nose is burning now. I’m gonna cry. In front of humans.

From the corner of my eye, I see the woman from the souvenir stand slowly approach, her hands raised, the bangles on her wrist clinking. “Hey, Una. What’s going on over here?”

A siren wails in the distance. The humans have called their enforcers.

I’m not going to be able to come back. Everything I’ve worked for—everything—is busted and broken. A tear dribbles down my cheek.

“Are you safe, honey? You want to come over to my booth with me?” She offers her hand.

My heart cracks. A human can’t help me.

I scrub my face with my sleeve and sniff back the tears. “I’m leaving. Don’t worry. He won’t hurt the human. It’s against pack law.”

And Killian is pack law. He decides, and it is so. I’m not his mate. I belong to him. Whatever he says.

My nails dig into the flesh of my palms.

It’s not fair. None of this is. And I’m not standing here a moment longer with humans staring at me. Pitying me.

I turn my back, and I walk across the lawn toward the truck, back ramrod straight, leg dragging in the grass. Killian can do what he wants. I don’t care. My wolf growls her accord.

And yet, every step I take, his scent dogs my heels. I want to scrub it out of my nose.

I reach for the door handle, and his hand is there, blocking me. He’s crowding me, his chest pressed to my back, his breath on my neck.

“Keys,” he says.

They’re in my backpack. I don’t want to hand them over. I want him to die and fall in a deep hole and go flying out the other side of the world. I want someone to ruin everything he worked for. I want him to have to ask permission and sneak around and hustle for every penny because he doesn’t have a choice.

There’s a zip and the backpack straps tug my shoulders. He helped himself. Of course he did.

“Come on.” He grabs my elbow and pulls me around the hood of the truck. His grip has no give. I have no hope of pulling myself loose, so I hobble beside him and let him open the door and lift me into the passenger seat.

I’m frozen, not like ice, but like stone. Because if I ease my grip on myself, even the smallest bit, I’ll burst into flames and burn him down. I’ll go for his jugular—and I know I’m no match for him, and I’ll end up humiliated again. Knocked down. Again.

He ruined everything. With one shove. That’s all. He didn’t even notice the crushed mushrooms. For years, I’ve been coming to the market. I learned bees. Jams. Herbs. I learned how to deal with humans, how to deal with the chemical reek of their plastic and Styrofoam and synthetic perfume.

The girls and I have a brand. Cottage Industry. That’s what we’ve decided to call ourselves. Kennedy’s designing us a logo.

We had a purpose and reason to get excited about the day. And Killian Kelly comes in like a wrecking ball and takes it all away without blinking, and there is nothing I can do about it.

I’m a hostage. He rules everyone and everything I love.

My fists are shaking. He circles the hood and hops in. Somehow, he gets the truck to start on the first try. He puts his arm behind me while he reverses, and it’s all I can do not to rip it off and beat him with it.

What am I going to tell the girls?

No farmer’s market means no money. No phones. No hotspots. No games for Kennedy and Fallon. No music and fancy shoes for Mari. Nothing to make life bearable. Nothing to look forward to.

I hate his guts.

He’s glowering, all put out because I broke his rules. That’s the worst thing that can happen to him. Somebody gets a little out of line. Maybe earns a little something for themselves that he didn’t provide. He’s such a big man, he has to keep everyone else small.

“You got something to say, say it.” His jaw flexes. He doesn’t even look at me.

I lift my chin and turn to stare out the window. The passing fields are blurry. My eyes are still wet. At least the tears aren’t falling.

I make my eyes real wide and blink. He’s not going to see me cry.

“You’re in big trouble,” he says. “You know that.”

There is nothing he can do to me worse than losing the market. Also, fuck him.

He sighs, blowing out his cheeks. “What the hell were you doing? I could have killed that man.”

I didn’t barge into a situation I had no idea about and assault a human. That was him. I’m not taking the blame for his unhinged behavior. I was trying to sell some mushrooms. And I’m not sorry. I’m mad. Furious.

His huge hands tighten on the steering wheel. “You just gonna sit there and ignore me?”

Why shouldn’t I? He’s ignored me his whole life. And I’m grateful for it. He should go back to ignoring me. It’s the best I can hope for in this shitty, backwards pack.

“You’re acting like a child,” he says.

And it erupts, bursts out of me so hot it scorches my throat. “You followed me. You ruined my mushrooms. You ruined everything. You’re a—you’re an asshole.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

And then he laughs. From his belly. Like I’m genuinely funny. If I had a knife, I’d plunge it into his throat and listen to him gurgle, and then I’d laugh, too. I’d laugh and laugh.

I clutch my arms to my chest, as if that’ll hold my wolf in. She’s snapping, lunging, bloodthirsty and wild. She’s going to bite his face off.

When he’s done laughing at me, he wipes his eyes and asks, “What mushrooms?”

My wolf surges at the same time I drop the reins. Our switches flip simultaneously, and we go off. She barrels through my skin, embodying me, and I welcome her, let her wiry strength join the fury seething in my veins. My spine snaps. My limbs realign. The sizzle of ozone fills the cab.

I can taste his face already.

Killian startles, eyes widening in alarm. “What the fuck? No. Shift back. We’re in a fucking vehicle.”

But I’m the wolf, and she doesn’t recognize his authority. We’re tangled in the seatbelt, but that’s not stopping her. She swipes at him, snapping her jaws, contorting her neck to sink her teeth into his thick thigh, ripping through denim so she can gnaw flesh from his bones. Make him sorry. Make him hurt.

What mushrooms? He’s gonna learn.

“Holy crap, Una.” He jerks the wheel, skidding onto the shoulder, and he unbuckles himself, trying to dodge my muzzle and my claws. I’m tearing up the upholstery. My good back leg nails the window and it cracks like a spiderweb.

“Stop. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” It’s an alpha command. I fight harder, and I manage to rip his shirt, scrape his shoulder and draw blood.

It’s sweet. It’s what we want. We lunge again.

He throws open his door, and as fur sprouts on his exposed skin, he uses his claw to cut me free of the seatbelt, wrestling my writhing body out of the cab and then pitching me through the air. I land wonky, my bad back leg immediately giving out.

My wolf shrieks with pain.

His wolf howls.

Shit.

I crawl away, front legs dragging the back, as quick as I can, so when he bounds out of the truck, six hundred pounds of fur and fangs, he doesn’t land on top of me.

I look over my shoulder, panting, to see how close he is. How angry.

I swear, his wolf smiles. He raises his snout and howls again at the clear blue sky. It’s a warning. A promise. He’s not holding back anymore.

I run.

We’re in a fallow field, and I bolt as fast as I can on three legs, dragging the fourth. There’s a windbreak in the distance, and I head there on instinct, even though it’s not thick enough to lose him, and I’m small and lame and my human mind knows that if he wants to, he can catch me in one modest leap.

My wolf and I aren’t scared. We’re furious. We sprint, tongue out, and the sensation is still so new, and yet so natural, that it almost distracts us from our fury. The dirt is dry and clumpy beneath our paws, and the rich scent of life returning to the earth wafts from the ground.

There are squirrel tracks. A groundhog hole. Crows pecking in the distance. The pain in my bad leg fades as my limbs warm. The world is alive. It’s bright and satisfying and soothes my bitter disappointment, tempers my rage.

There’s a hawk circling high above, and a stream babbles ahead, the wet mossy slickness of it fizzing in my snout like soda pop bubbles.

We’ve been the wolf, but we’ve never run free before. And it’s amazing.

It’s so distracting, so wondrous, that at first, I don’t realize Killian’s wolf isn’t chasing us. He’s trotting a few feet behind, keeping an even distance. My wolf snarls at him over her shoulder on principle. He slows his pace so he’s a foot further back.

This is what his wolf wanted last night, both of us in fur.

What is he going to do?

Whatever he wants. He’s a giant.

Shit.

I pick up speed and duck into the windbreak, but of course, he has no trouble keeping up. The trees are spaced evenly, elderberry and dogwood, then arborvitae and oak.

My wolf isn’t mad anymore. She doesn’t really give a crap about mushrooms or the market, and now that Killian’s wolf is trailing her heels, as she thinks is right, she’s fine. She slows down and turns, letting out a series of sharp, bossy yips.

Killian’s wolf skitters to a halt, standing still and tall, and then he lowers his head, baring his neck the slightest bit, a sly, unrepentant look in his bright golden eyes.

She better not fall for it. He’s a jerk, and he does what he wants.

She pads forward and nips his exposed neck. He rumbles. She licks the fur where she pricked him with her delicate fangs. He nuzzles her, licking, nipping in return. She squirms, tongue lolling. She likes it. She wants more.

She fell for it.

His rumble picks up volume.

She whines and bats him with a paw. He rolls onto his back, cuffing her gently. She slides her flank against his exposed belly, an echo of his purr in her throat.

Oh, dear Fate. They’re making out.

She’s going to present. I can feel the urge rising. She doesn’t care about anything except rubbing her scent on him. Everything is forgiven. Already forgotten. What does anything matter but that he’s here, where he’s supposed to be, and the sun is shining, and all is right with the world?

He prods us with his snout until we’re on our belly, and he’s above us.

Heat flares in our core.

He straddles us. My wolf arches her back and huddles her ribs to the ground. She pushes up on her good hind leg.

Oh, no. This isn’t good. I grab for our skin, but she’s inhabiting it totally.

Killian’s wolf runs his snout down our spine, and then he noses our backside.

He’s sniffing us.

I’m going to burst from embarrassment like a squashed tomato. Splat. Like the mushrooms. I am never telling anyone about this. Ever.

He nips our back haunch. She wriggles her hips. Her want floods my mind. It’s joyful. Fated.

I tug as hard as I can, but she’s on another plane. Blissed out and quivering with excitement. She gets real low, raising her hindquarters, whimpering. Killian’s wolf purrs his approval, and she eats it up.

He covers us. Something hard brushes my good leg. I’m flailing, banging, screaming inside, and she’s oblivious. She wants it so bad; she has for so long. He’s hers, and she wants what belongs to her. It’s only right.

There is hot breath on the crook of our neck. I whine.

Sharp teeth scrape our fur, and then they sink into our hide, piercing fur and flesh, deep, ripping muscle, clamping down and holding on. She howls. It hurts like hell, but we love it. We go limp. Pliant.

He slowly extricates his fangs, licking the wound gently and methodically with his raspy tongue, soothing the hurt.

I stretch my neck to test the tendon. It works. Everything is still attached. There’s no pain.

Something thumps in my chest.

And then there’s hot skin on my back.

“Shift, baby.” Killian’s human voice is gravel.

My wolf whines. He’s above us, pushed up on his arms, shielding us.

“Come on, baby. Shift back.” He infuses the words with alpha command. My wolf doesn’t have a choice. Our body complies, breaks and remolds itself, and it aches, but not nearly as bad as my wolf’s disappointment. She wails inside me.

Killian stokes my bare back. I’m laying on my naked stomach. My neck throbs, and my muscles are limp. Wrung out. He’s on top of me, braced on his forearms, nuzzling and lapping at the bite wound. He bit us. Claimed us.

No, he didn’t. His wolf did.

I try to buck him off, but I have no strength. All I manage to do is press my bare ass closer to his groin. He groans.

“Baby, hold still.”

And the haze from the shift clears some more. I register his weight, his hard cock pressing against my butt cheek. His thick thigh is nestled between my thighs. His knee is firm against my pussy. And I’m wet.

I don’t want to be. I’m not my wolf. My brain’s all muddled, but I’m pretty sure I still hate him. I want to toss him off, but I’m scared to move. His body is too entwined with mine, and the touch isn’t bad. It’s—interesting.

His licks slow and then stop. “You’re not bleeding anymore. It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. Nothing is.

His lips brush the wound. It’s pulsing now. Hot. It makes me squirmy inside. Unmoored. The place where the bond was feels different. More raw. And prickly.

He continues down my shoulder blade, his lips brushing my skin, his nose skimming lightly down my spine. He’s breathing me in.

A tangled web tightens in my belly like a cord was pulled.

I stay very still and screw my eyes shut.

I want this to be over.

And I don’t want him to stop.

My wolf is demanding, prowling, angry now. Mate.

He ruined my business. He crushed my dreams. I have to hate him.

“You can relax,” he says. “You’re safe. I’m not angry. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

I snort in the dirt.

He chuckles. “There’s my grumpy mate.”

Mate? Oh, fuck him.

“I’m not your mate.”

“I talked to the crone. She says you are.”

“I reject you.”

He chuckles. “You can’t reject me. My bite mark is on your neck.”

Every word he speaks, his lips tease my skin. No one has ever lingered on my back like this. Shivers race down my spine, and my breasts are responding, growing heavy, aching where they’re smooshed against the hard ground.

“Let me up.”

“You presented.” He brushes my hair to the side and kisses the back of my neck, right under my hairline. My knees clench, gripping his thigh tighter. I’m getting his leg wet with my slick.

“That was my wolf.”

“The wolf and the man are one.”

I draw my stiff arms closer to my sides, all my muscles clenching. Unease chases away the shivers. “Tell yourself whatever lies you want.”

He pauses. Then he rests his nose in the crook of my neck, the opposite side as the bite. “You’re scared.”

I wasn’t. But now I am. A little. I hate it. I don’t want to be afraid of him.

He pushes up, and in one fluid motion, he sits on his butt, knees bent, a few feet from me.

It takes me a lot longer to get myself upright. I have to roll to my side, and it’s awkward, and I can’t stand that he’s watching. I draw my legs to my chest, even though the bad one aches, and I wrap my arms around my calves.

He doesn’t even bother to close his legs. His erection lays flush with his belly. It’s purplish-red and thick and there’s a drop of moisture on the tip. His balls hang so low they rest in the dirt. He stares at me, brow furrowed.

How can he just ignore—that?

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

I lower my gaze to the ground between us, scattered with leaves and twigs.

“You don’t believe me?”

I shake my head once.

“When have I ever hurt you?” There’s a note of impatience in his voice.

“You trashed me in front of the whole pack. And then you had Tye throw me out.” My voice wobbles, and I hate it. “Y-You stepped on my mushrooms. You ruined my deal.”

“I—” I can hear his bafflement. “You’re gonna need to explain that last one to me.”

I clench my teeth.

“Una.” It isn’t a reprimand. It’s—tentative. A hesitant prompting.

“Didn’t you see them? You made me drop my morels, and then you crushed them, and you scared off my buyer, and you made a scene, so I’m never going to be able to go back to the farmer’s market, and everything I’ve worked for is gone.” I snap. “Like that.”

When he speaks, his voice is very deliberately calm. “You were selling mushrooms?”

“Yes.”

“Like magic mushrooms?”

“No. Morels. They’re a delicacy.”

“Have I had them before?”

How the hell would I know? My gaze flies to his face, and there’s a softening at the corner of his lips. He’s not being serious. He’s not taking this seriously at all.

It feels like a slap. I stare at a fallen log over to his left. I smash my lips so they don’t quiver.

“Come on, now, Una. Don’t be like that. Look at me again.” His voice is coaxing.

“Why did you have to come to town? You don’t care what I do. How does selling some mushrooms hurt you or the pack? Why can’t you just leave well enough alone.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

I shrug. I’m busted. What does it hurt to tell him? “Almost ten years.”

“You’ve been sneaking off pack territory for a decade?”

“I’ve been driving a truck five miles to a farmer’s market to sell honey and jam.” I snort. “I’m a criminal mastermind.”

“You could have asked for an escort.”

“You would have said no.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. You don’t get it.” My gaze flies to his face, and I know there’s hurt in my eyes, and I wish there wasn’t. I wish I was unrepentant and bold and I didn’t give a shit, but I can’t help it. I care. More than I should. “You can live a few yards away and never really notice I exist, but you’re the alpha. We all know you backwards and forwards. We have to for our survival. And no, you wouldn’t have given me an escort to go to the farmer’s market. You wouldn’t have let a fighter miss training. Never.”

“Yeah? You can read my mind?”

“Yeah. I can.” I hike my chin.

“What am I thinking now?”

His cock bobs, the thick base swelling and flushing a darker red. My cheeks flame. He chuckles. I want to bash him over the head with a log.

“I’m thinking that I have a mate,” he says softly. “And she’s cold and angry and sitting in the dirt. I’m thinking I’m an asshole.”

I sniff the tears back. It is chilly in the shade. It hadn’t really registered until now, but there are goosebumps on my arms.

“I’m thinking about how I’m gonna convince her to get back in the truck. And into my cabin. And my bed.”

More blood rushes to my head, and now I’m dizzy. My wolf has gotten quiet, and her ears are perked straight up.

“I’m not getting into your bed. If you talked to the crone, you know she severed the bond.”

“No, she didn’t. Not all the way. I can feel it.”

He can? His blue eyes hold mine, steady and cool. All the confidence he carries zips along a new thread between us. It’s heady. Like a shot of whiskey. Is it real?

“Here,” he says, laying his palm on a sculpted pec. A vein runs diagonally, past his pale brown nipple. It pulses with his heartbeat.

“What does it feel like?” I ask quietly. I can’t remember anything but pain.

His lips turn down and a crease appears on the bridge of his nose. “Like I have another heart, and I didn’t know I had it, and now I do.”

“I don’t feel anything.”

He offers me a sad smile. “Yet.”

“Ever.”

“Come back to camp with me, Una.”

“I hate you.”

“I’ll buy you more mushrooms.”

Tears fill my eyes again, and he stiffens, his blue eyes darkening. “I don’t want your mushrooms. I want mine back.”

He hisses, and then he hops to his feet, holding out a hand. “You don’t have a choice.”

I feel small and stupid, naked and huddled on the ground. There’s dirt on my butt. I’ve ruined another outfit and pair of shoes. And it’s all his fault.

“You can’t stay here.” He says it very reasonably. There’s even a hint of compassion in his voice. I want to choke him to death with his patronizing bull crap.

“You’re not my mate,” I say. He can hear it as many times as I’ve had to. He winces, and my mean streak is happy.

He waits, though, patient, hand extended.

I roll to my hip, draw up my bad knee, push up on my good leg. I don’t touch him. When I’m standing, I glare over his shoulder and wait.

“Have you always been this salty, shy girl?” His lips are turned up at the corners.

“You know everything. You tell me.”

“I like a mouth on a female.”

My belly fizzles. I clench my abs, and it doesn’t help.

He draws in a deep breath, and his lips curve so high, he almost flashes his teeth. “You don’t have to fight this. It’ll be good.”

I start back toward the truck, one arm wrapped around my breasts, the other covering my butt the best I can. “No, it won’t.”

He follows, and after a few steps, he takes the lead. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, and I don’t have to worry so much about trying to cover myself.

“I don’t see how you can say that,” he says. “I’ve had no complaints.”

“No complaints in Quarry Pack. Nut up or shut up.” I throw his tired lines back at him.

He snorts. “You know, I say that, but the elders sure as shit don’t think that rule applies to them.”

He slows his pace a little so he doesn’t get too far ahead. It’s hard to navigate the furrows in human form. I keep tripping on dirt clods.

“Yeah, the rules are a sliding scale.”

“What do you mean?” He sounds genuinely curious.

“High rank can do whatever they like. Low rank has to toe the line.” The rules you can get away with openly breaking kind of reflects your rank, in a way.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Sure.”

“It’s not that way.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t fuckin’ do that.” He’s irritated. Good. So am I. I just twisted my ankle again, and we’re getting close to the road. I don’t want to be here, buck naked when someone I know from town could drive past.

“Do what?” I pick up my pace.

“’Okay’ me.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

He’s gotten far enough ahead that he waits for me to catch up. His arms are folded, and he’s scowling.

I hold my head high as I pass him. I refuse to cover my butt. He’s seen it before. And he can kiss it.

“The rules are the rules.” He falls in beside me.

I don’t bother arguing.

“For everyone.”

We get to the truck, and he darts around me to open the passenger door. I ignore his hand and lift myself up to the seat.

He hops into the driver’s seat, wincing as his bare ass hits the sunbaked vinyl seats. “You can’t justify breaking the rules by saying everybody does it. That’s weak.”

I reach for the seatbelt, and then I remember it got sliced. The whole interior is wrecked. There are rips in the upholstery, my window is cracked, and the glove box is open and won’t stay shut. I try a few times before I give up. Liam is gonna be pissed.

“Giving me the silent treatment now?” Killian jerks the truck into gear. It starts again on his first try. It’s got to be luck.

“What did you want me to say, Alpha? You know everything.”

He huffs, exasperated. I stare at the spiderweb crack on the window. My eyes blur. For a little while there, I forgot, but now it hits me again. It’s all over. I’m not going to be able to casually go into town again. Not after Killian assaulted a human.

The girls and I have worked so hard. We built the bee hives. The herb garden. It took so long for the cuttings to sprout. We killed a lot before they took root. And then after we mastered growing them, there were the plagues: slugs, spider mites, whiteflies.

One step forward, two steps back. Another honey vendor showed up one day, and they had dandelion honey and sourwood honey and all different types, not just clover. Then another showed up. Then every farmer had honey, and our profits hit the crapper.

So we went back to the drawing board. Diversified. Mari learned to craft. Kennedy tried to make a still, but after two of them blew up, Abertha put the kibosh on that. Then I found the morels.

And now they’re smeared on a sidewalk, my buyer is a grade A creep and traumatized to boot, and Killian Kelly wants to lecture me like I’m a child.

I don’t have any energy left to be angry.

Killian rolls down his window. He keeps glaring at me and glancing away. He’s pissed, and it eats at me. You just can’t totally ignore biology. An angry alpha is an overriding danger. But the whole suckiness of the day muffles the instinct enough that I don’t feel compelled to show my neck and try to smooth things over.

He can stew. Dirty looks can’t hurt me. Much. My belly does ache.

We’re silent for a mile or two, and then he turns on the air conditioner to full blast. “It reeks in here,” he mutters.

I sniff quietly. I don’t smell anything besides old truck, which, granted, does stink. But it’s not that bad.

He drums the steering wheel. His nails really are a mess. As if he bites them. He turns on the radio, flips through the stations without stopping, and then turns it back off.

Finally, he huffs, frustrated, “Can you stop? I’m getting pissed.”

“Stop what?” And he’s already pissed. So am I.

“You smell sad. It’s stinking up the cab. And it’s fucking with my wolf.”

Un-freakin’-believable.

“Yes, Alpha.” I close my eyes and picture the mushrooms smeared on the sidewalk. I picture the girls’ faces when I tell them. I don’t even try to fight the tears. I set them free to flow, but of course, now they won’t.

He growls. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

My lips twitch, and I fight it with all my might. “Yes, Alpha.”

I have to suck in my cheeks to keep from smirking.

“I should pull over and make you walk,” he grumbles.

“Fine by me, Alpha.”

“No male wants a female with a smart mouth.”

“Don’t want you either.” I stare straight ahead. “And you said you liked a female with a mouth on her. Earlier.”

He barks a laugh. “So I did.” His smile is slow to fade. “So I did.”

We fall quiet. He doesn’t speak again until we turn off Rural Route 10 onto pack territory. “I like how you smell now. It’s better.”

He glances over at me and catches my gaze. “Better than better. Good.”

Then, he schools his expression, and he doesn’t say anything else until we pull up in front of his cabin.

“We’re home,” he says when the engine sputters to a stop. “Now do you walk in, or do I carry you?”