Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
“You climbed up behind me, wedged yourself under me, and crawled the rest of the way with me on your back,” she says.
I did. It was badass.
“When you got to the platform, everyone clapped.” Her voice is bitter.
I don’t remember that, but I’m sure they did. I didn’t use a belay line. It was only thirty feet or so in the air. I probably wouldn’t have broken a bone if I fell, but the humans were still always impressed by stuff like that.
“They called me a beached whale for weeks.” The bond floods with hurt. “You know why I stopped, right?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “I wasn’t stuck. My shirt came untucked, and it was so big that when it dangled, everyone on the ground could see up. They were all looking up my shirt. They were mooing.”
Her hurt is a hand squeezing my throat. I cough. “I don’t remember that.”
“Well, then I guess it didn’t happen.” She’s shutting herself down, closing herself off, and I want to slam this thing into reverse, go back to when she was giggling and floating.
“I believe you.”
Her face shutters, and she stands. “Doesn’t change facts, whether you believe them or not.”
She picks her way toward the shore, and I follow, giving her the lead, trying to remember.
I was standing on the platform, watching her. On the ground, people were running their mouths. They always did. I wasn’t paying attention.
I was worried. About what?
The belay line. The whole thing was human construction, and I didn’t trust it. Females who haven’t shifted yet aren’t sturdy. I wanted her down.
I try to remember what the others were saying that day, who was saying it, and I can guess, but I have no actual memory.
I know people have always been hard on her. That’s how it is in a pack. People talk shit. You have to let it roll off your back.
If some asshole mooed at her today, I’d snap his neck. Without a second thought.
So that makes me a hypocrite, right? Is that the word? When you’re blind to shit until it’s stabbing you in the chest, and all of a sudden, you notice, and now you care?
I rub the place where the bond pours into me. There’s pain in it, but I wouldn’t say it hurts. Or it doesn’t just hurt. I can’t explain. It’s got a hold of me, and for how males always call it a leash or a choke chain, it isn’t like that.
I’ve got a hold on it, too.
I let Flora lead the way back to the place where the feral attacked. Her skin has dried, and she’s flushing pink again, every inch of her. My cock thrusts straight ahead like the bowsprit of a ship. Thank God we’re in the middle of nowhere. I look like an idiot.
I need to take control of the situation, but what do I do? Throw her over my shoulder and carry her back to pack territory? We won’t make it.
She’s moaning. Panting.
When she arrives at the pack, she bends to finger the straps I ripped in my haste to get them loose, flashing me her swollen, pink, glistening wet pussy. I groan, and she shoots upright, realizing what she’s done.
Need surges through my veins. She’s so beautiful, and she hates me, and maybe she should.
“What do you want to do, baby?” I ask her, but I should know. I should be the one telling her.
She frowns. Her pupils are pinpricks. The baby hairs at her temple are sticking to her face.
“You’re going into heat.” I’m sure she knows, but she almost seems high.
She whimpers, her brows knitting.
“Let’s get out of here, okay?” I take a step toward her. She doesn’t tense or back away. “It still smells like feral. We’ll go find a nice place. Okay?”
Her lip quivers, and then she nails me with those aching brown eyes. “I don’t have a choice,” she says.
I don’t jerk. I take the hit, keep my hands unclenched, my arms loose at my side, and I don’t let my voice harden. “We’ll go make you a nest, okay? You can do it however you want.”
I hold out my hand.
She stiffens her spine, raises her chin, and with grim determination, she takes it. “I used to want it to be you,” she says, as if it’s an afterthought.
Something in my chest cracks.
As I grab the pack and lead her away, I shut my mouth and don’t let my face show a thing.
I don’t say that I wanted that, too.
Chapter 8
8
FLORA
My head is full of cotton, my vision’s kind of hazy, and my pussy aches. I keep slipping my free hand between my legs. When I realize what I’m doing, I suck in a horrified breath, and Alec looks over to see why I made a noise. Then my skin burns even hotter.
I’m not sure where I’m going anymore, but I’m happy we’re moving away from the feral’s stench. We’re walking downhill, and Alec’s holding my hand. It feels good, like something I’ve always wanted, but it makes me sad, too, and when I try to remember why, my brain hurts.
And he keeps speeding up. When he’s gotten to the point where he’s basically dragging me by the arm, he grumbles at himself and slows down. Then, a few minutes later, he’s doing it again.
“Why are we hurrying?” I ask him. I feel the urgency, too, but I don’t know what we’re late for.
“Oh. Sorry.” He forces himself to shorten his stride.
I’m not totally gone. I know this is heat, and I’m losing my mind to my animal side.
I know this is going to happen no matter what I want, and I hate it, and it’s messing with my head because part of me—most of me—also wants Alec Cameron.
I want that feeling I’ve only ever had with him—that I’m special, so special he wants to keep me to himself—and I know that’s a delusion, but it feels real. Especially now, when it’s just the two of us, and his grim mouth is so serious, and his sharp gaze keeps darting to check out every rustling leaf and chirp from the bushes.
Good protector.
My wolf is stretching her spine, luxuriating in this strange delirium.
Good, strong bite.
She throws up a picture of Alec’s wolf chomping down on the feral’s skull. My stomach lurches, and I clutch it, moaning.
“What’s going on?” Alec snatches my hands off my belly like I’m hiding something. “Are you going to puke?”
I instinctually suck it in which doesn’t help the queasiness and makes me feel stupid besides. I’m naked. He can see me doing it, see my chub dimple as my abs contract.
“No.” I tug my wrists free from his grasp. “I just remembered the feral.”
Alec grips me by the upper arms, frowning down into my face. “I killed him. Ferals are loners, and he would’ve run off any other predator in his territory. You’re safe. Okay?”
“Okay.” I say it so he’ll let me go, so we can keep moving. It throws me when he presses his forehead firmly to mine instead. His skin is cool. Nice.
“I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you.” His dry lips brush my temple as he speaks.
The declaration tears a jagged, raw seam of sadness inside me, and to distract myself from it, I whine, “I’m thirsty.”
“Right.” He drops the pack and fishes out the plastic gallon jug of water.
I chug until he takes it from me.
“Keep going like that, and you will puke,” he says.
I snatch it back and guzzle a few more sips. His lips curve. It’s almost a smile.
“I don’t understand you,” I say, screwing the lid back on.