Filed to story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
The cabin is so quiet. The only sound is my own shallow breathing.
I can’t tell whether I’m hot or cold. Can you be both at the same time?
It’s like gravity glitched, and my blood dropped to my feet, but my poor heart’s still trying to pump, and it’s sputtering like a fish on dry ground.
I’ve been here before.
This isn’t my first time in a silent, empty cabin, my heart broken in pieces and scattered as I bleed out alone. I was a pup then, but it’s carved so deep in my mind, it’s not even a memory. Whenever I think about it, it’s always the present, always the moment I just lived through.
I didn’t know where to go that night, either. My mother was dead—she’d leapt off the bluff—and the grown-ups, in the chaos of the moment, hadn’t realized that no one had taken charge of me.
The pack males were searching the river for her body, the dams herding their own pups back to their beds. The young females assigned to watch us little ones during the run were busy whispering in horror to each other. I didn’t know where to go, so I went home. I crawled into my own bed and waited for someone to come and tell me what to do. And all night long, no one came.
I’m not a pup anymore. Now is not then. This is different, even if it doesn’t feel that way.
My wolf whines in distress, hyperalert and aware that something’s gone terribly wrong. She doesn’t understand, and she’s afraid. Our mate is gone, and it doesn’t make sense to her, not unless there was danger. I guess despite what the pack calls us, we’ve never felt unprotected before.
That’s how we feel now, though, my wolf and me.
Like we’re easy prey. Defenseless. And there are dangers—threats we foolishly ignored before—and they’re everywhere, lurking. Ferals. Moon mad wolves. Kidnappers from the Last Pack.
My adrenaline surges. Suddenly frantic, I root around the blankets for my clothes. I find my tank top and tug it on, but I can’t find my skirt or blouse, so I fish out a sheet that isn’t obviously soiled with fluids and wrap it around myself like a toga. I don’t waste time looking for my shoes.
We need to get to safety. My wolf shivers in a dark corner, but that’s okay, I’m going to take care of us.
I race barefooted out of the cabin, avoiding the path and Darragh’s scent trail that leads straight out of camp for the foothills. I take a circuitous route, cut behind the commissary and along the lawn where my drunk father punted my baby basket like a football because I was nothing to him, too.
Although the lights are out, I hurry past the lodge and stumble my way through the thick woods behind it until I reach the ridge that leads to the lone female cabin. Pricker bushes bite at my soles and ankles, but I don’t let it slow me down. When I get home, I let myself in as quietly as I can manage and force my breath to calm.
The cabin is dark except for the glow of the TV screen. Kennedy jumps to her feet, dropping the controller to the coffee table with a clatter. No one else is up. Finally, I catch a break. Like I’d been waiting to be home safe, I burst into instant hot tears again.
Kennedy’s wolf rattles in her chest. “Where is he? I’ll kill him,” she says, her voice dropping, her wolf coming through.
“Be quiet.” I snatch her by the wrist and drag her out to the porch. I don’t want to wake the others. No one can know about this. Ever. I’m already a tragic tale in this pack. I don’t need them to think I’m straight up cursed, and I must be, right?
Or not. Maybe I’m just a na?ve, low-ranking female who no one wants beyond whatever small use I can serve.
Kennedy scans me for injuries, and her nose turns up. No doubt she smells him on me.
I have to shower. I need to burn this sheet and this stupid, little girl’s cami with the stupid, little pink rosette. I don’t want anyone to ever know what a stupid, na?ve, oblivious little girl I was. How did I not see it coming? What did he do or say to make me think he actually wanted me? That we were going to be a family and live happily ever after?
I tear the sheet off, kick it away, and peel the cami that reeks of him over my head. Kennedy takes off her T-shirt and tosses it to me. She’s got her usual black sports bra on underneath.
“What did you tell Una?” I ask.
I know Kennedy covered for me.
“I said you went to Rowan’s cabin, that she wanted you to do her hair.” Kennedy shrugs. It’s not a good story, but I couldn’t have done any better.
Rowan’s technically my cousin, but we’re not close like that. Our mothers were half-sisters, but Aunt Teresa always kept her distance since we were lower ranked because of my father.
After my father did what he did, everyone said my mother drove him to it by letting Declan Kelly mount her—as if she had a choice. Aunt Teresa cut us off. She didn’t change her position when Mom died, either. She doubled down, talking about how she had to admit Mom was her kin, but that I didn’t look like any of her people, not going back for generations.
I don’t look like anyone. Pale blonde hair and blue eyes are almost unheard of among shifters. They’re considered human traits.
Is that why Darragh doesn’t want me? Is that what he was going to say when he said “you’re so—“
I’m so what
?
“Do you need a drink or something?” Kennedy paces by the railing. Her wolf is rumbling a threat, not at me, but at whatever has upset me.
A tiny flash of something flares in my chest—not hope, not comfort, but something that hasn’t quite been snuffed out by the cold and sticky black awfulness gumming up my insides. I’ve got a friend. I can’t let go of that. I won’t.
“Darragh Ryan had sex with me, but he didn’t finish, and then he said he didn’t want me.” The story tumbles from my lips. “So I guess he just did it to break my heat, so he doesn’t go into rut, and as soon as he was done, he bolted. He told me to lock up after myself and give Cheryl the key. I didn’t. I left the key on the table, and I don’t think I shut the door.”
Actually, I’m sure I didn’t. I left it wide open.
Kennedy stops mid-pace, her eyes flashing with rage on my behalf. Her wolf snarls, and she presses a fist to her chest like she has indigestion, holding him down.
“That fucking asshole.” She spits on the floorboards, lip curled in contempt. Her anger somehow gives me permission, lets me break all the way down.
“What’s wrong with me?” It’s a busted down, broken plea, and I’d never ask anyone else, but I can say anything to Kennedy. She would never judge me, and she will always be gentle with the truth.
“Nothing,” she snaps without hesitation. “There’s something wrong with him. He’s a fucking asshole.”
“I-I don’t want to f-force someone to be my mate if they don’t want to be.”
Kennedy shakes her head. “That’s not how mates work. You get what you get, and if you don’t like it, there’s a way to go about it. You don’t just use someone so you don’t go into rut and then throw them away afterwards like trash. Males in this pack—” Her nostrils flare. “They get away with everything.”
They do.
They suck the marrow from their chicken bones and toss them on the floor when the bucket we set out is right in front of them. They mount whoever’s willing, and then they continue about their business like it never happened, except to laugh their heads off when the females end up fighting over them in the middle of the lodge.
They wear what they want, go where they want, strut around camp like five feet tall is so short that they can’t see you, and if you meet them on the path, you better step off, or you’ll get plowed over.
They take everything as if it’s their due, and when it’s their turn to do their part, their attitude is basically make me. And we can’t because we’re not strong enough, never strong enough.
“It’s bullshit.” My tears are ebbing, replaced by a new rush of hot, prickling, hopeless fury. “He should have to tell me why. He doesn’t get to just walk away. Bye. See you never. Lock up behind yourself. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.”
“Yeah,” Kennedy agrees although she’s clearly puzzling over that last part. She’s not quite as into human culture as I am. Just the gaming. “There’s such a thing as common decency.”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes light up at the exact same moment a wild idea pops into my head.
“I want to make him tell me why,” I say. “I want to look him in the eye, and I want him to say it to my face.”
Back in the nest, I was naked and exposed, and my body was awash in a chemical bath that short-circuited my brain. I didn’t have the wherewithal to press him, but I deserve to know what’s wrong with me.
Males may outrank females, but mates are outside the hierarchy, at least in some ways. He owes me an explanation. Besides, like Kennedy says, there’s such a thing as common decency.
“We should go as our wolves,” Kennedy says, already kicking off her shorts.
“Yeah. That’ll be faster.” I shrug her oversized T-shirt off and lay it flat on the porch. She tosses her clothes into it, and I make quick work of tying it into a bindle. “He owes me an explanation.”
“Hell, yeah, he does.”
“I’m not some side chick he can do on the DL.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I’m his mate. I deserve a freaking word or two before he kicks me to the curb.”
“Heck yeah, you do.” Kennedy is cracking her neck, more than ready to go and fight Darragh.
There’s more than a little bluster in my words, and my wolf is less than stoked to come out—she wants to huddle under a bed somewhere until our mate comes back with his tail between his legs—but now that the first wave of shock and despair has worn off, I can’t let it go.
I can’t wash him off my skin and lie in bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, praying the melatonin works even though it never does. I can’t wake up tomorrow like it’s any other day, like my mate didn’t fuck me ’cause he had to and then left me behind like a used condom.
That can’t be my life.
I can’t go about my daily work with my head hanging and just accept that Fate has it out for me, and everything is just going to be eating shit until the day I die.