Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
A cool shadow falls on my back. The asphalt crunches. A heavy hand lays on my shoulder blade. I shiver.
“Rosie?”
I stiffen.
Cadoc sighs. “I’m going to pick you up, Rosie.”
He lifts me, curled in my ball, gently tossing me once so I settle against his chest, cradling me in his arms like a baby. I’m still tucked as tight as I can be, and my bare butt is on display to the whole world. The side of my left breast is pressed against his sweaty T-shirt.
He starts for the building. Where is he taking me? I uncurl to see, to struggle, but he tightens his arms around me. “Don’t worry. You’re okay now.”
I’m not, and I know I’m not, but my wolf seems to take him at his word, relaxing and resting her chin on her paws. She’s lost all interest in eating anyone, and now I feel even more naked and exposed.
I try to crunch myself smaller, but then he readjusts his hold and new parts of me are touching him.
A door opens, and the sunshine and fresh air are replaced by the glow of buzzing fluorescent lights and the plastic fumes from mats and balls and orange rubber cones. We’re in the equipment room.
“I’m putting you down.”
Cadoc lowers me to my feet. I keep my thighs smashed together as tight as I can, tucking my arms to shield my boobs, even though I know plenty is visible above and below. I stare at the gray concrete floor and shiver, and in the silence, the whole thing hits me again like a tidal wave until I’m shaking, my teeth chattering, my eyes brimming with hot tears.
“Shit.” Cadoc holds out his hand like ‘stop.’
The tears spill over my eyelashes and splash down my cheeks.
“It’s fine. You’re okay now.” He barks it like an order.
I muffle a sob.
“Shit,” he says again and paces left, but whatever he’s looking for, there’s nothing but stacked crates of beanbags and jump ropes.
I’m falling apart. My wolf is watching Cadoc, pure curiosity, and I’m losing it.
He turns back to face me, his gray eyes tinted silver. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead of another reassurance-slash-command, a deep rumble comes from the back of his throat.
My wolf cocks her head.
My tears stop from sheer astonishment.
Cadoc Collins is purring. It’s the wrong word—the sound is deeper and more resonant than a purr, and unmistakably the sound of an apex predator—but there’s no other way to put it. He’s purring.
His brow furrows and he scrubs his chest, just as surprised as I am.
My limbs relax. I stop shaking, and the constriction in my lungs eases. A warmth spreads from my heart outwards. All of sudden, it’s not so bad, and there’s this disorienting dissonance because Iknow what just happened was awful, but my body is now on the same wavelength as my wolf, and we’re fine. We’re okay. And I’m totally weirded out.
“What happened?” Cadoc asks, interrupting the fraught silence. He’s come close again. I bend my neck from habit, but I can see the toes of his sneakers, and his woodsiness is pushing out the condensed gym smell.
His purr ebbs, but the sense of well-being stays.
“Exactly what it looked like,” I say. I’ve even got some sass back.
“Who did it?”
I chew my lip. If I tell, and he does something, it’ll come back on us tenfold. If I tell, and he doesn’t do anything—that feels like it’d be worse though I don’t get why.
“Rosie.” It’s a warning.
“I wandered out of the locker room naked. It happens.”
“You don’t lie.”
“You don’t know me.”
He sighs. “Was this Nia’s idea? Is it a ploy to grab my attention?”
Seriously? I flick my gaze up. Yes, he’s serious. His face is severe and disapproving, and he’s got his chin hiked at a strange angle. Is he trying not to look?
I glance down. His loose athletic shorts are tented so tight that the seam strains. Wow. That’s—Wow.
“Yes. You nailed it. Nia and I decided that instead of waiting for nature to take its course, I’d strip for Mr. Arnold and a random assortment of packmates. Dignity is for the weak.”
Nia would be proud. Apparently, in a tight spot, I’ve got a decent smart mouth.
“Who did this?” He’s still keeping his eyes above my neck, but I see them dart down. And then they slide. And then they linger.
I squirm. “Can you get me some clothes?”
He ignores the question. “You do understand that this was a transgression against me.”
His gray eyes harden, and I catch a whiff of aggression.
“Sorry this happened to you.” The words come out soft. I don’t really want to bait him. I want something to cover myself, and I want to get the hell out of here, and since I’m asking for the impossible, I want the past few days to have never happened.
He considers me, his eyes venturing further afield from my boobs and the V I’m trying desperately to smoosh into invisibility with my thighs.
“You’ve got goosebumps,” he says.
I glance down to where he’s looking at my forearms. They’re puckered and ruddy from my whole-body blush. I look like a plucked bird.
“Yeah.”
He takes a step forward, rests his rough palms on my upper arms, and slowly begins to rub, down to my elbows, up to my shoulder. My breasts are centimeters from his chest. My nipples are raw, from the temperature or heat or because when he’s not talking and being a cold-hearted douche, Cadoc Collins’ presence is—intense.
He’s breathing deeply, and it’s almost the only sound in the room—inhale, exhale.
“You can trust me, you know?” he says, his voice gravel.
I keep my mouth shut. What could I say to that?
His hands stop stroking, and he cups my elbows like he did last night, firm but not cruel. He meets my eyes. “You can trust me, Rosie.”
I have no idea why I answer him. “No, I can’t.”
His lips flatten. He doesn’t like hearing the truth. “I know scavengers feel a—a sense of grievance. But you are members of Moon Lake, and I am your alpha heir. I’m dedicated to your well-being as much as any other shifter in this pack.”
I didn’t mean it in a general sense, although, yeah, no scavenger can trust a nob, alpha or otherwise. “I don’t feel a sense of grievance. I just know I can’t trust you.”
“You have no foundation for saying that.” There’s a real note of irritation in his voice.
“‘I’m as dedicated to your well-being as much as any other in this pack.'” I echo his words back to him, and for the first time since the shitty scenario went down, I reach for the bond. I don’t even tug. I find it and follow it until I know he can feel me because I feel him. “I’m not any other shifter in this pack.”
I’m not making a claim. I’m stating a fact.
He doesn’t recoil. He doesn’t freeze or try to shake me loose. He lets me explore.
And I’m no longer interested in arguing about why I can’t trust him. I’m too into this. It’s like I’m in a huge dark space, and I’m here, and my wolf is here—obviously since we’re indivisible—but there’s someone else, too. A being apart from us.
I can’t see or hear or know him like my wolf. He’s transmitting on a different frequency, but I can tune in and catch pieces of him.
He’s more of a mess than I am. You’d never tell by how he’s standing, hard as a marble statue, but he’s balanced on a razor’s edge.
He wants to touch me. More than that. He wants to take me. Bend me over the stacked wrestling mats. Wrap my hair around his fist and pound inside me.
My pussy spasms, and wetness gushes, but my thighs are clenched so tight together, it doesn’t drip down my thighs.