Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
For the first time in hours, I remember the thing in my chest, flowing, trailing off into the ether. A hand goes to my chest.
“You have a mate,” the gray wolf says gently.
“Can you help?” I’m not even sure what I’m asking for.
“I don’t dare,” she says. “If you leave, he’s going to follow you, you know.”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t want me.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll follow you. If he doesn’t take you, he’ll go into rut.”
“What’ll happen to me?”
Her mouth tightens. “You’re going to let him do whatever he wants. Present. Beg for it, if it comes down to it.” From the raw edge in her voice, it’s clear that she sees this as a fate worse than death. She has pride. She’s brimming over with it.
“But after, I can walk away? Or am I tied to him then?” I feel the bond flow around the hand I’ve still got pressed to my chest like sand through a sieve.
Her lip quirks. “You can walk. Run. Whatever suits you.”
I nod. I don’t expect anything to be easy. Nothing ever has been. “So is there a place where I can go?”
“There’s a place,” she says. “A new pack. A brand-new alpha. It’ll be a hike. Several days on foot.”
I shrug. I’m on my feet all day, every day. How much harder can it be to move in a forward direction than to stand in one spot?
“Can I go now?” I ask. “Today?”
She nods, rising to her feet. “I’ll draw you a map.”
She makes her way to a delicate writing desk pushed against a wall. When she has her hand on the drawer, she looks over her shoulder. “Nothing except the mate is guaranteed, you know that right? You can walk all the way there, and when you settle in, it might all go to shit, and you might get nothing you want. It might be worse than here. You might cry yourself to sleep at night, missing Salt Mountain with all your heart, wishing you’d never left home. I doubt Shaw is the kind of alpha who’d let you come back if you walk away from the pack.”
For a second, I think about Miss Nola. Brenda basically dropped me on her doorstep when someone told her my dam couldn’t get out of bed anymore and my father hadn’t been home in weeks. For the first few days, Miss Nola looked at me like a racoon that had gotten into the house. She had more than enough to handle with her own issues, but when I didn’t leave, and no one came to help, she figured it out. She loved me the best she could.
I glance at the wad of bills on the coffee table. Some of it is mine, but most is hers.
She wants me to go. I bet she’d come if she could.
“It might be worse,” I say. “But it might not, and I think a slim chance is better than none, right?”
The gray wolf smiles and slaps a piece of paper on the desk. “Hell yeah. That’s the spirit.”
She dashes off a sketch, folds it, and then picks through the money, sorting it into human cash and scrip. She tucks the human money into the map and holds it out. “You better hurry if you want to get your things and clear Salt Mountain territory before your mate catches on and stops you.”
“Trust me. He won’t hurry to come after me.” It’ll probably be days before he realizes I’m gone. I take the map and stick it in my pocket. “Thank you, gray wolf.”
“Call me Abertha,” she says, walking me out. “And yes, he’s going to run after you.”
I barely catch her next words as I head out into the bright afternoon.
“I wish I’d be there to see it,” she says.
Chapter 5
5
ALEC
I shower and change before I head back up to Flora’s place. I try to get some shut eye too, but I end up tossing and turning and messing up the fitted sheet. I’m not dragging my feet. I know it’s gonna be a hard talk, and I don’t need to do it in dirty sweats, smelling like wet fur, creamed chipped beef, and stale smoke.
I’ve never seen Flora mad, not even back in school when the females messed with her. She’s not like most folks in this pack. She doesn’t have a paper-thin ego that’s as big as a house. She just does her thing. The only time I see her smile is when—
I ain’t gonna think about that. I don’t want to show up with a hard-on.
I take my usual path to Miss Nola’s along the western ridge, bypassing the main road. They’ve got her stowed in one of the Wright cabins that Shaw seized when he killed old Duncan, but they’ve moved it out here away from the family compounds. It’s solid construction. Duncan Wright knew what he was doing before he got a wild hair to challenge Conall Shaw.
I approach the door, careful to whistle and step heavy. Miss Nola’s a nervous sort. The front curtain doesn’t flutter, and I can’t hear any voices inside. Like I said, it’s solid construction.
I take a deep breath, ignore the knot in my gut, and knock. I don’t know what to say, but I’ll figure it out.
The hinges creak, and Miss Nola cracks the door as wide as the chain allows. She’s shaking like a leaf.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. I’ve come for Flora.” I feel like I should have a hat in my hand. None of this is how I ever imagined my mating would go.
Miss Nola hikes her wobbling chin. “She’s not here.”
“Where is she?” The day after a run is always a holiday. Flora shouldn’t need to be at the laundry.
“I sent her on an errand. She’ll be back.”
I don’t have time to open my mouth to reply before she shuts the door in my face, but gently, like she means it as an insult, but all the same, she’d rather not set me off. I’m not offended. It’s best for a female to tread carefully around the males in this pack, and she’s got no reason to trust me at the moment.
I wander around the side of the house to the rabbit hutch. It’s pretty decent construction, although it was clearly built by an amateur. The mesh wasn’t secured tightly enough when it was stapled, so it’s got a wave to it. The placement of the screws is also a touch haphazard. Overall, though, it looks like it can withstand the elements, and ultimately, that’s all you can ask for.
I crouch down to see if I can spot the critter. She’s hiding in her box. I can just make out her little quivering nose.
Shifters with pets, feeding prey instead of eating it. I shake my head. I’d say we’re becoming too human, but we seem to pick and choose. We’ll take the phones and the porn and the liquor, but the idea of recycling instead of throwing shit in the ravine is just a bridge too far.
There are some handmade toys in the cage, chews I think, carved from wood. Wheels and tops and one shaped like a carrot with tooth marks scored along the side. It looks like the same workmanship as the hutch.
I can’t see Miss Nola fetching the wood and tools and whatnot. I bet Flora made it.
A slow warmth rises in my chest where that thing is lodged. My mate can whittle.
I’ll have to move the rabbit down to our compound. That’s not gonna go well. Some cousin’s gonna get drunk and eat her.
I could lay some traps. I smirk. Now that’s a silver lining.
The rabbit pokes her head out of her box, sniffing the air, whiskers trembling. Brave little thing. She can’t mistake the scent of a predator. Maybe she’s gotten accustomed to it, being around Flora all the time.
Where is Flora?
I’m sure she knows I’ll be coming here, so she’s probably not rushing back from whatever Miss Nola sent her to do. She’s mad. Hurt. Even if I couldn’t feel it in my chest, it was etched on her face. She’s never been able to hide how she feels. It’s one of the reasons the females go after her so hard. She’s an easy target.
She was easy for Bram.
The sickness rises up my throat again, souring my mouth. Did she get on her knees for him? Shove her fingers down her pants to stroke her pussy while she sucked him off? Make those needy little sounds—
Fuck.
I stand and pace. The yard’s too small. My wolf wants out. He’s caught a scent, and he’s working himself up into a lather. Probably the rabbit.
Not food,
I tell him.
He doesn’t pay the least bit of attention to me.
I stalk behind the house. There’s a small pile of wood stacked against the back wall. It’s running low. I poke around, but I don’t see a chopping block or splinters. Someone must’ve delivered this batch. It’s getting warmer, but the nights can still get cold.
Is that why Flora was with Bram? She thought he’d hook her up? Throw her and Miss Nola some of the bag he brings home from the fights?
The back of my throat burns from the surge of acid.
There’s got to be tools of some kind around here. There’s no shed, not much of anything except a bird bath made out of terra cotta pots. Where do they keep the mower?