Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
I stumble to the bathroom. Danny’s in there, of course, with the shower running, wasting all the hot water. I generally don’t mind him, but this morning, it’s too much. He thinks ’cause he’s male, and his father’s a nob, and Drona treats him like Little Lord Fauntleroy that he can do whatever he wants.
Not this morning.
I barge right in. His scrawny ass isn’t even in the shower. He’s sitting on the toilet seat, lid down, in his boxers, messing around on a cell phone. He’s running the water, though. The steam has fogged the mirror over the sink.
“Hey!” He quickly taps out of whatever he was looking at.
“Where’d you get a phone?”
“What are you doing? Get out.” He tries a dominance thing with me, but his voice is nowhere near changing, and I’ve still got twenty pounds on him as well as an unholy hormonal rage.
“I’m taking a shower.
You get out.”
“Ma!”
I step aside so he can get out the door and end up crammed against the towel rack. It’s a small bathroom. “Go now before I throw you out.”
“Ma!” he hollers again. “Rosie’s lost her mind!”
“Better let her have the bathroom then,” Drona calls from the other room.
Danny gives me a snide smirk, and his wolf manages a puny growl that hardly escapes his bird chest. “You think you’re special now ’cause you’re gonna be the Alpha Heir’s whore?”
The little punk. That’s it. I snatch his phone, chuck it down the hall, seize him by the armpits, and chuck him after it. He ends up on his ass.
“Ma! She touched me!” he whines from the floor.
“Should’ve listened,” Drona says while Uncle Dewey pads past, stepping over his nephew with no concern for where his paws land, whapping Danny in the face with his tail.
I shut the door and strip. The instant that the frigid air hits my skin, I exhale.
How long can a person take this?
I’ve heard stories of mates holding out for days, sometimes weeks, but there are always extenuating circumstances—a male tossed in the holding cells beneath the High Rise or a scavenger female mated to a high-ranking nob who’s hauled off to the foothills so her relatives can squeeze some cash out of the bastard before they hand her over. No one can hold out that long, though, if their mate’s right there and willing.
I wouldn’t call Cadoc willing, but there was that bit about “uh, heat.” I wasn’t listening very closely. At the end there, he launched into that stuck-up “see here, I’m the boss” tone of voice, and I figured whatever law he was laying down would just piss me off, so I let my mind wander.
I don’t need him to tell me the time of day. If I have to, I can read a clock.
I reach behind the shower curtain and crank the faucet as cold as it’ll go.
Can I last long enough until Abertha gets back? Maybe she has a potion or a spell. She’s gone ’til the solstice, though. It could be a month, or it could be six.
Even a month is stretching it.
I’m not a remarkably tough female. I’m not remarkable in any way except Abertha took a shine to me back in the day. Well, and my wolf is super-sized.
In all the excitement, I haven’t really thought much about that. Damn, she’s a beast. I never would have expected it. As gigantic as she is, though, she’s as chill as she’s always been. She’s uncomfortable, and I’d say ‘put out,’ but she’s not raging or falling apart.
Neither am I.
Why not?
I jump under the freezing spray, and oh dear Fate, it’s heaven. Ice spatters my burning skin, and I rotate, dunking my head under until my hair is soaked, and then letting the stream run down my boobs and belly.
I always kind of thought “heat” was figurative, but this is real. If I took my temperature, I’d bet I’d have a fever, but my brain’s not full of wool like when I got sick as a pup.
My mind isn’t functioning at its best—it’s jumping in all directions—but it isn’t foggy.
Am I in shock? Is that why I’m not a blubbering mess?
Do shifters even go into shock? We learned about it in Human First Aid. You’re supposed to elevate the human’s feet and wrap him in blankets to keep him warm.
I’m so freaking warm, it can’t be shock, right?
Suddenly, the water pressure weakens and the stream sputters. That’s my sign to get out. I splash a few handfuls of cold water on my face, turn the shower off, and pick the least damp towel from the rack to pat myself dry. The thought of the terrycloth rubbing my skin is enough to make me cringe.
I slip on the sundress, brush and braid my hair, and venture out to the living area. There’s no ruckus from the pups. They must’ve already left for the Academy.
I know I’m running late, but I’m not sure I can make it at all today. I want to hide in my bunk and cover myself with ice cubes.
“There she is,” Drona says when I limp into the kitchen. It’s a full house. Nia showed up at some point, and she’s made herself comfortable, cross-legged in a chair, snarfing down a bowl of cereal. Arly, Rae, and Drona are in their usual places around the red linoleum-topped table.
I sink down in the empty chair.
“You look like shit,” Drona observes, sliding me the teapot.
“I feel worse.” I pour myself a cup and nudge Arly to pass the sugar bowl.
All four females are regarding me like I’m a bear caught in a trap, with pity, but also wariness.
“Hey, look at us,” Nia says through a mouthful of bran flakes. “We’re like those four old ladies on that TV show from the 80s. You’re the slut.” She points her spoon at Drona. “You’re the dumb one.” She points at Arly. “You’re the really old one.” She points to Rae. “And I’m the bitch.”
Arly’s vague blue eyes light up. “We should get a cheesecake.”
We all shudder.
“Cheese doesn’t belong in cake.” Drona scrunches her face.
“Who am I then?” I ask, making conversation. I know they’re gonna attack me for information like a pack of ferals soon enough.
“You’re that little girl from that other 80s show who’s got no fashion sense and ends up rich,” Rae says, tapping her cigarette on her saucer.
“Hey-o!” Nia holds up her hand for a high five. Rae stares at her like she’s crazy.
“You slap it. Like this.” Nia demonstrates by slapping her own hand.
Rae waves her off. “We didn’t do that in my day. It wasn’t all human shit, all the time back then.”
Rae likes talking about how things used to be. As far as I can tell, it was the exact same as now except everything tasted better, sounded better, and people would trade you more for less.
Drona bends over in her chair, rummages in the low cabinet behind her, and comes out with a quart-sized baggie of deer jerky.
“Hey-o,” Arly says, no emphasis on the “o,” and holds up her hand to Drona. Drona carefully places her palm against it.
Nia shakes her head. “You’re hopeless.”
Rae nods. “We’ll never be cool like you, Nia Scurlock. Fate didn’t give us enough holes in our heads to put all those rings in.”
“Fate didn’t give her those holes. She did it to herself,” Arly stage whispers, and it’s impossible to tell if she’s joking or serious.
“Speaking of Fate.” Drona raises her eyebrows and turns to me. “She screwed you over but good, didn’t she?”
I brace myself. Here it comes.
“Cadoc fucking Collins,” Nia exhales.
“The Alpha Heir,” Arly echoes, awe in her voice.
“Sleeping behind our trailer like a drunk dog.” Rae shakes her head, smoke curling from her thin lips as she speaks. “I never thought I’d see such a thing.”
“You gotta play this smart.” Drona skewers me with dark, tired eyes, so very much like Ma’s. “You’ll never have more power than you do right now. Once you get on all fours and there’s a pup in your belly, it’s over.”