Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
I raise my shoulder and look at Annie. She shrugs in return.
I’m not fearless enough that I’m going to ignore an alpha command, and I’m grounded, so Annie’s going to have to make the delivery after all. This rejected mate debacle is not costing me three hundred bucks in addition to all my dignity. Not this week.
KILLIAN
I feel cooped up all morning. The gym is stuffy. Reeks of socks and jocks.
I take B-roster down to the ravine to train on a downed oak laying across a dried-up creek bed. Put them through their paces. It’s always fun to watch males who think they’re badass eat dirt ’cause they can’t find their center.
Conor and Gael are coming along, but Fallon might be better suited to the maintenance crew. It’s a shame. The kid has heart. No fuckin’ balance, though.
Una gets along well, considering how jacked up her gait is. I was never clear on how her leg got mangled. Thomas Fane was involved somehow right before my father put him down.
She could probably improve function with consistent training. I’d start with heel and toe raises, lifts and crunches. Put her on a treadmill. Maybe some yoga. Jimmy’s been doing that to maintain flexibility as he bulks up. He’s had some decent results.
Other than the leg, her musculature is decent. She’s got a female’s round hips and soft belly-you don’t wanna mess with that-but there’s definition in her arms. Her posture’s good. And she’s got those sweet tits.
I don’t remember them being so ripe. Earlier, she was wearing a white T-shirt that clung to the slopes of her breasts. It was so thin you could see her fat, dark areolas. Big as half dollars.
My mouth waters. Up on the log, Fallon teeters. Conor gives me a side eye. Did I growl again?
My wolf’s antsy. I already let him run along the river for a few miles, but he’s still making himself known. He knows he can help himself, but he’s not interested in food or a fight to work off some energy.
This is Una’s fault. She’s disturbed the force. She seems so innocent. Stays in the kitchen, keeps her head down. So why’s she so thick with the crone? Haisley and her crew wouldn’t be caught dead up at the cottage. They ward against the evil eye when they so much as hear Abertha’s name.
And now that I think about it, she gets around. Doesn’t stay in her own circle like the other females. She’s tight with the other lone females, but I also see her around Old Noreen’s and the Campbell’s cabin. Some of the quieter elders will call her over for a word at the lodge-I’ve seen her and Nuala with their heads together. Una gave her some honey or jam or something. And last month, wasn’t it, I saw her talking to Liam at the garage. What business does she have with him?
And why do I care? She’s not breaking any rules.
It’s this mate bullshit. It’s gotten in my head. I accepted a long time ago that I’m destined for something else. The flip-shifting. How I have my own ideas-I don’t want to do shit the way it’s always been done. I figured the cost of greatness was no mate. No young.
It’s isn’t what I would have chosen, but that’s the thing about Fate-she’s got her own mind.
It’s a bitter pill, but I deal with it.
And Una wants to stand in the middle of the pack, claim me, and nearly die for the insubordination. Haisley’s teeth were real fucking close to her carotid. If Haisley had seen Una as a real threat, she’d be dead.
What a cluster.
I’ve got a riled wolf inside me, an unsettled pack, and there’s no fight to look forward to. The next match is a month from now in North Border.
I sigh. Fallon pinwheels his arms and falls into the river for the sixth or seventh time.
Too far from the commons.
My senses jolt. The hairs on my arms stand on end.
I sniff the breeze. “Do you smell that?”
“What?” Conor and Gael twitch their noses. “Dinner?”
I inhale again. There’s a faint hint of smoke and beef in the air. Maybe that’s what caught my attention.
“Get back up there, Fallon. Front snap kick. Go.” I clap a few times. He groans. I nod to Conor to partner him.
Get back to camp.
I pop my ears. The voice-if that’s what it is-is silent.
The sun’s still high, the sky is blue and cloudless, and the woods are peaceful. Birds chirp. Beavers are building a dam a half-mile downstream.
Shivers creep up my spine.
A black dot swoops across the horizon, riding a current. My fangs shoot out.
“Damn.” I suck the cut. It’s just a hawk, not even a very big one.
It’s like I’m jittery. I don’t get jitters. I get stoked. Aggressive.
Fallon lands a high kick, forcing Conor back a step. Fallon stumbles, falls on his ass, squashes his balls, shrieks, and then tumbles off the log as he curls up like an armadillo.
It’s funny as shit. Conor and Gael crack up, but I hardly break a smile.
I’m missing something.
We should go back to camp.
“Conor, check him for a concussion. If he’s good, ten more. See you back at the gym.” I don’t wait. Once I make a decision, I go. I shift and lope north. They’ll catch up.
I race east, and instantly, some of the tension eases. The wind riffles my fur, and the soil and leaves, wood and water, all the sights and sounds of my territory sift through my senses, unraveling the knot that’s been coiling in my gut.
Maybe I’m spending too much time training the males and not enough time roaming the pack lands. Bad things happen when you stifle the wolf. You start hearing voices, for example.
When we trot into camp, I expect him to give up our skin. The wolf doesn’t like buildings. He keeps his form, though. I don’t fight him; I never do. He sniffs, noting the fresh venison in the shed we use to butcher meat and wet pussy from a cabin along the common. Rowan and Lochlan.
Lochlan’s supposed to be patrolling the southwest quadrant with Tye. Are we abandoning our posts to bang females now? That’s the kind of self-indulgence that leads to fuck ups.
I figure the wolf will handle it, take out some of his nervous energy on Lochlan’s ugly hide, but he canters straight through the commons, up the path along the ridge, winding past the laundry and the elder cabins. He’s got a destination in mind. The garage.
Liam’s out front under a truck, country blaring on the radio. Only his legs are visible. The place reeks of oil and metal. What scent is the wolf tracking? I can’t make anything out under the chemicals.
The wolf snuffles around a tire and plops on his haunches, scratching his hindquarters like he’s got nowhere else he’d rather be. We have shit to do. Training. Meetings with elders. Finances. Phone calls. All the other crap I avoid by training B-roster.
But I guess I’m gonna scratch my ass by an old tire.
Then I hear giggles. Females.
Una and Annie walk around the corner of the garage, and the instant they see my wolf, they freeze. Guilty as hell. Annie’s eyes go round as dinner plates. She has the most skittish wolf I’ve ever met. Una steps in front of her.
My wolf doesn’t move, but he barks an order.
Shift.
Annie shifts immediately. Under the truck, a curse devolves into a pained yelp. My bad. I guess Liam shifted, too.
Una is still standing on two feet.
My wolf barks again, louder. She lifts her chin.
My wolf growls a few more times for good measure.
Shift. Shift now.
Liam wriggles out from the undercarriage on his belly. Annie cowers, trembling, gaze averted, neck bared. As is right.
Una is frozen in place, wearing a pale-yellow blouse, rolled up past her elbows, and a long jean skirt. There’s something balled in her left fist. Her brown hair shines, wisps framing her face. She’s tied it back in her usual braid.
My wolf pads closer to her very slowly. Almost cautiously. She tenses. My wolf stops, sits, and-whines.
My wolf never whines. He’s a huge silver beast with pure white markings, bigger than a dire wolf. We fear nothing and no one. We’re unbeaten in battle. Sought by all females. Alpha.
What witchcraft is this?
My wolf stares at Una. Una stares at us.