Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
Alec’s wolf whines, ducking and craning to lick my forearm, my nose, under my chin. I giggle. It tickles. “Seriously, you have to go back. You’ll get me into trouble.”
The wolf’s ears are pricked, so he’s listening, but I don’t think he understands. He’s all over me, snuffling the crook of my neck, shoving his snout into the chub at my middle. Just as he sticks his nose into my belly button, my stomach growls.
Immediately, he straightens, forelegs still propped up on my thighs. He cocks his head, studying me with narrowed golden eyes. For the first time, they take on the serious cast of Alec’s dark brown ones. My stomach gurgles again, totally beyond my control, and my cheeks heat.
The wolf gives me a sharp bark, an unmistakable order to stay put, and then he bounds off into the trees on a mission.
I sit on my pack, blushing, clutching my stomach like that’ll help. It’s weird to be embarrassed in front of a wolf. Did Alec hear? Of course he did. When I ran as my wolf last night, I could smell and hear and feel everything. It was through a wolfish filter, but if anything, everything was more intense.
I shouldn’t care if Alec heard my stomach grumble. I’m past that kind of thing. I left it behind.
I make myself stand and resettle my pack so the opening is upright. It’s not a real backpack. It’s a drawstring laundry sack that I sewed straps onto so that it was easier to deliver laundry to folks who live off the beaten paths, up on the steeper trails. I take out a package of gingersnaps and a can of cashews.
While I’m in there, I take out the quilt I’ll be sleeping on. I wish I had the means to build a fire. As the sun sinks lower and my sweat dries, there’s a real chill to the air.
Where did Alec’s wolf go?
I didn’t hear a sound. Did he? Did he go to investigate something?
I strain to listen. As if I turned up the volume, the woods are suddenly full of ominous cracks and hoots and rustles.
Did Alec take control of his wolf, and they’re on their way back to the village? I should hope that’s what happened. I huddle on my folded quilt, open the cashews, and listen for howls between munches.
I’m not na?ve. It’s not safe out here. There are ferals and wild animals. Since I was a pup, I’ve heard the stories of packmates who left on a hunt or a run and never returned. I’m not unprepared, though. I have Miss Nola’s knife strapped to my calf. I also have a huge wolf inside me. She’s no killer, but the thought of her has soothed my nerves during the day’s hike.
But it’s getting dark now.
I push up my jeans, slide the knife out of its sheath, and lay it on my lap as I open the gingersnaps. I’m not a fan of hard cookies, but choices are limited.
My cheeks heat to think of Alec’s wolf coming back to me scarfing down junk food.
Look at Fluffa stuffing her face.
I shove a big bite in my mouth. I’m done with that kind of talk now. I don’t have to hear people say it anymore, and I sure don’t have to repeat it to myself in my own head. I’m hungry. I’m eating.
I’m still chewing when, without any notice, Alec’s wolf bounds back into the clearing, a dead squirrel hanging out of his mouth. I yelp and surge to my feet, instinctively sticking the knife out in front of me like a wand, the cookies and cashews falling to the ground.
Alec’s wolf sees the knife, drops the squirrel, and bares his teeth, snarling, as he frantically scans the surrounding trees for the threat.
I’m more startled than afraid, but even I can smell the fear burst from my skin in a wave. The scent triggers Alec’s wolf. He bolts for me, and a part of me knows he’s coming to defend me, but he’s a massive wolf in his prime with three-inch-long fangs and murder in his eyes.
I scream.
For a second, the wolf’s legs scrabble backwards like a cartoon character, his rounded eyes rolling. All that’s missing is the screech and the skid marks. And then his bones crack, his fur recedes, and a man rises on two legs. A naked man. With his palms raised.
I gulp air, and my jaw snaps shut.
It’s Alec, his dark hair falling into his eyes, his broad, chiseled chest that narrows toward his hips, his powerful thighs cradling his ruddy cock, for once limp between his legs. I’ve never seen his cock when it wasn’t hard.
With the scent of his human skin, memories come crashing back.
Sixteen years old, lying in bed at night, staring out the window at the moon, wishing with all my heart that Alec Cameron was my mate. Not praying. I didn’t dare pray in case Fate decided I was too presumptuous, thinking I deserved a male like him, but I wished so damn hard that I’d fall asleep with my hands balled into fists.
All those stolen minutes in closets, around corners, in the woods, the heat of his body warm on my cheek, our breath ragged together, my heart thudding in my chest.
Yesterday, on my knees.
Later, by the river, surrounded by the pack.
Figures you’d brag about fucking sloppy pussy. I guess if it’s all you can get?
I’ll let you ride my cock. Wash it real good first, though, if you’ve been passing it around to dirty bastards like that.
I want to throw up, but the gingersnaps are too dry. They’re stuck in my throat.
“If you’re gonna stab me, I hate to say it, but you’ve lost the element of surprise,” he finally says, curt and utterly unfazed by his nakedness.
I look down. I’m still pointing the knife at him. My arm is shaking like crazy. I drop it to my side.
I want to burst into tears—my eyeballs prickle like they’ve got sawdust in them—but I can’t, and I won’t, not in front of him. Not ever.
I don’t know what to do, and I don’t want to look at his body, so I bend over and pick up the can of cashews with my free hand.
That’s Fluffa. Obsessed with food. So obsessed she’ll eat off the ground.
My face burns, but I’ve started, so I finish and pick up the package of cookies, too, tucking them and the nuts back into my backpack. No one is here saying those words, and if Alec’s thinking it, I don’t care. What he thinks doesn’t matter.
I realize I’m done putting the food away, and I’m still glaring at the ground, holding the knife in a death grip, shaking off mean words no one even said. I’ve been trained to say the things to myself, and until this moment, it never even occurred to me.
Alec clears his throat.
I startle again. My brain sails from thought to thought like it’s come untied. I don’t know what to do or think in this situation, it’s so far outside of anything I’ve ever done.
So I stare at Alec’s bare shins.
He has dark leg hair, but not too dark or thick to ruin his perfect athletic muscular legs. And that’s what he is—perfect—even buck naked and flaccid in the middle of nowhere. He’s utterly confident and dauntingly, crushingly perfect.
For an insensitive asshole.
What is he doing here?
He clears his throat. “Where are you going, Flora?” he asks, slow and calm, as if he’s making a great effort to be reasonable. Like he thinks I’ve lost it.
“The Old Den Pack.”
“Cadoc Collins’ pack?”
I nod. My gaze slips up his legs to his soft cock. I can’t help it. It’s right there. Dangling. Kind of fleshy, kind of pink.
“Why do you want to go there?” he prods.
“The gray wolf says they’ll take me in.”
I hear him suck air through clenched teeth, but I can’t seem to look up. It’s not so much that I’m captivated by his limp dick as that I don’t want to meet his eyes. I know I’ll just bend my neck like I always do—because I’m shy, and he’s so much higher ranking, and he’s so ripped and grouchy and beautiful—but I don’t want to show submission. Never again. Not to him or anyone from Salt Mountain.
“So, what, you’re running away? Like a pup?”
I grit my teeth and don’t answer him.
He huffs in aggravation and takes a step forward.
I back up, trip on a backpack strap, and stumble.
He hisses, freezing in his tracks. “Careful.” He jerks his head toward the knife. “Why don’t you put that down?”
Oh. It’s still in my hand. My fingers curl tighter around the handle.
“Why don’t you get out of here?” I want my voice to be tough, but it’s as soft and halting as it always is.
“Flora,” he says, exasperated.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him clasp his hands behind his head like he does during sports games when he’s waiting for play to begin, and he thinks folks are dragging their feet. The stretch makes him even taller, hollowing his stomach, sculpting all the abs and that V into even sharper relief. My belly tenses, and suddenly, I’m wet between my legs.
Oh, hell no. Not now.