Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
My wolf is a dark outline behind glass as thick as blocks of ice.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You’ve seen my wolf.” Once a year or so, Moon Lake and Quarry Pack will run together under a full moon, mostly as an excuse to see some different folks naked.
Killian nods. “Yeah.”
My wolf is bigger than any other in Moon Lake. He can track. Fight. Lead.
“So what’s wrong with my wolf?” I dare him to say it. Define it. Because I sure as hell can’t.
“Well, he’s fucking wrong, isn’t he?” Killian shrugs.
I stare at him. He stares back, arrogance personified, and it strikes me, not for the first time, that if I survive the alpha challenge coming to me sooner or later, he and I will be the alphas in the most closely allied of the five packs.
Killian scratches his jock and spits. “I don’t know, man. It’s like—I saw a movie once where there was this graveyard, and if you buried an animal in it, it came back with no soul. Your wolf looks like the cat from that movie.”
“Fuck you.”
Killian shrugs. “You asked.” He kind of shakes his head. “Let’s lift.”
I nod, and we head over to the free weights. Tye joins us, and after he mutters something to the female on the speedbag, she huffs and bounces. Killian and I lay down to bench press. Tye and Seth spot.
We’re silent and focused for a while. It’s not a competition, but it always becomes one sooner or later. Somedays, I throw the old man a bone and bow out before I max out, but today, I let Seth keep adding weights.
Fuckin’ dead cat from a graveyard.
Today, instead of going for the hernia, Killian swings his legs over the bench and takes a breather when we get to seven hundred.
He drapes a towel around his thick neck and leans on his knees. “You know the crone?”
“You mean the witch?”
“Abertha.”
“Yeah. Of course.” I do a few more reps before I rest the bar in the catcher without a clink and sit up. Seth passes my water bottle.
“Do you know she says the wolf and the man have two different souls?”
“That’s blasphemy.” I’m not spiritual—I only go to services when I have to—but certain things are known.
“Yeah. That’s what she says, though.”
“And?”
“Let’s say—just for the sake of argument—that she’s right. Then flip-shifting isn’t a skill; it’s a partnership. A coordinated effort.”
“Is that what it is?”
Killian shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not paying attention when I’m doing it. I’m kickin’ ass.”
None of this is getting me anywhere. If he’s not going to help, what am I doing here? Maybe I need to visit the Last Pack. I’ve heard if they can’t manage to kill you, they’re open to trade.
“I’m just putting it out there, young blood. I know y’all at Moon Lake know everything, but maybe you should entertain the idea that you’re goin’ about shit wrong.”
“How so?”
Killian cracks his neck, antsy. He’s not a talker. This is as much as we’ve ever had to say with each other. “You want me to lay it out? You’ve put on thirty pounds of muscle since last weekend. You walked in here with a semi looking like a goddamn banana in your shorts.” He sniffs. “And you smell like pumpkin pie and swamp water. You’ve got a mate.”
He cocks his head expectantly. I jerk a nod.
“Well, where the fuck is she?” He gestures around the gym.
My gut clenches. She’s safe. Derwyn’s watching her. My fingers twitch. My phone’s on a ledge in the corner.
Fuck Killian Kelly. I’ve heard the stories. He didn’t even recognize his mate when she went into heat.
“Where’s yours?” I spit back.
His biceps twitch. I hope he swings, but he doesn’t. He narrows his eyes.
“In our cabin, tucked in her nest, takin’ a nap because the baby’s been kicking and keeping her up all night. And I’ve got a male on the front porch, another on the back door, and a couple more in the yard. I’ll ask you again, Alpha Heir. I don’t see a mark on your neck. So where is your mate?”
“We do things differently in Moon Lake.”
“Not that different. What’s wrong with her?”
My jaw clenches. My shirt strains across my chest.
Killian smirks. “Does Daddy not approve?”
I stand. “We can take this conversation into the ring.”
He keeps his seat. “No, you can’t.”
My fists clench.
“Do you think you deserve better than you got? You’re that type, aren’t you?”
“Fuck you.”
Killian’s grin fades. “The crone has stuck her nose in shit, has she?”
“What do you mean?”
Killian shakes his head and answers himself. “Nah, she’s been here the whole month. She’s gonna deliver our pup.”
“This is none of your concern.”
He finally rises to his feet, holding the ends of the towel looped around his neck. He bares the sharp incisors that never quite recede. “Maybe not, but I’ll give you some advice for free before you screw up your life. Your whole pack is messed up, always sniffing human ass. Y’all are like those poodles in sweaters. I wouldn’t be so damn worried about being King Poodle if I were you. Worry about what matters.”
“Nothing matters more than the pack.”
He snorts, his second Tye joining us from stowing the weight plates.
Killian drapes an arm over my shoulder and walks me toward the door. “Question for you—what is pack?”
What kind of question is that? My brain is thick, and my body’s primed to fight, but Killian’s right. I need to be somewhere else.
“I’ll tell you,” Killian says as we get to Seth’s Hummer. “Pack are the folks who give you life. Pack are the ones who would give their life for you. It’s those threads between individuals, woven together, that makes the whole. And the whole doesn’t work if the part doesn’t hold.”
“I know this.” Isn’t it a matter of time before my father gives his life for me? Before Alban kills me, and it all fucking falls apart. And then who looks out for Rosie? She’s so soft. So gentle. “I need to know how to flip-shift.”
Killian claps my shoulder, sympathy in his pale, creased eyes. “Fix your wolf. Fix your head. Flip-shifting ain’t in the cards for you, kid. You can’t run when you can’t walk.”
As soon as Seth pulls out, I text Derwyn.
Where is she?
He sends me a picture of her bent over in the woods, rummaging in some undergrowth, her round, jean-clad ass in the air. Blood instantly rushes to my dick.
Here.