Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
Killian emerges from the kitchen. He knows by my tone that we’re done messing around. He’s wary. His hands are on his hips, too.
I narrow my eyes. “It’s either me or the sofa.”
“I pick you.”
My insides melt. It’s the baby. But also because I know it’s a hundred percent true. Killian is not an easy male to live with, but loving him comes as natural as breathing.
We’re fated mates, but that’s mere biology. It’s not respect. Care. Loyalty.
We have that. And maybe we’ve never said it, but it’s there, growing stronger every day as we navigate this strange connection that both of us now protect with our lives.
I didn’t know what I was doing when I let Abertha sever the bond. It wakes me up in a cold sweat sometimes, the thought of what I almost lost forever.
This blunt, bull-headed, arrogant male who would move mountains for me.
Who already has.
I rub my big belly, and worry furrows Killian’s brow.
“Braxton-Hicks? Do you need to sit?” He casts a pained look at the sofa stuck in the door.
“I’m fine. Baby’s bopping around. Everything’s okay.”
His panic recedes, and the bond fades to its usual reassuring presence. “I’d feel better if you sat. Your ankles are fat.”
“Screw you.”
“Hey, don’t threaten me with a good time.” He grins as he pulls two dining room chairs into the living room.
I sit. My dogs are barking. My wolf has been very quiet since the baby started moving. It’s like she’s afraid to bother him. Sometimes, though, like now, she rumbles in my chest, a soothing purr that calms the baby and his tiny, flickering wolf.
Killian sits beside me and rests his hand on the top of my mound. His wolf starts rumbling, too. It vibrates his fingers.
The baby kicks in delight, gets me hard in the ribs. I wince.
Killian’s wolf growls once, not scary, just bossy, and the baby goes back to squirming lazily.
“It’ll take a day or two to get a new sofa,” Killian says. “I’ll have to send someone to town.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
He rolls his eyes. All the females who want one have an online bank account now. Mine is growing at a greater rate than my belly. We can sell online now, too, and I was right-wolf branded goods are hot.
Killian doesn’t argue. He also won’t give me the chance to pay for it. That’s going to be a huge argument a few years down the road when the girls and I are making more money with farm-to-table stuff than his males earn at the fights. I can’t wait.
“Hey. I want to pick the fabric.” I wish I could give it a sniff, too, but neither my wolf nor Killian’s-nor Killian himself-will let me leave pack territory this close to giving birth.
“I’ll have whoever gets it text you pictures and you can pick. That work?”
It does. I lean my head on Killian’s upper arm. He drops a kiss on the top of my head and grabs the bottom of my braid.
“I liked that sofa,” he sighs.
I kiss the bulging muscle under my cheek. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
Abertha says sex is really great at this stage of pregnancy for moving things along. Also, I’m completely, utterly addicted to my mate.
Killian’s wolf purrs like a pleased pussy cat. The dirty voyeur.
“Una, I’d get rid of every stick of furniture in this place if it made you happy.”
I giggle. “I know.”
He nuzzles my hair. “I’d do anything for you. You’re the reason, Una.”
“For what?” I know, but I want to hear him say it.
“Everything. I love you, shy girl.”
“I love you, too, mate.”
Our hands find each other as we sit side-by-side, our wolves quiet and content, everything the way it ought to be-because we made it so.
Volume 2
Chapter 1
1
ROSIE
“Oh, I got one, I got one.” My best friend Nia sways back on the log, corn whiskey sloshing in her mason jar. The fire spits orange sparks into the cold night air. “Would you rather fight a hungry bear shifter or a moon-mad wolf?”
“No such thing as a bear shifter.” I lean over the Dutch oven hanging on the tripod, stirring in time with the beat of the metronome I set on a tree stump. My arm is killing me.
“There was no such thing as a wolf shifter until the Great Alpha led us out of the closet back in the day.” Nia burps into her flannel sleeve.
“I wouldn’t fight either one. It’s a losing proposition. I’d run.”
Twenty more strokes until it’s Nia’s turn again. My biceps are gonna hurt like hell tomorrow. Dragon’s tongue boils down as thick as tar, and it somehow manages to smell like both ash and ass.
“You suck at this game, Rosie-cakes. You have to pick one.”
“No, I don’t. I’d feed the bear. Problem solved.”
“Quit looking for ways out of making a decision, dammit. Bear or wolf?” Nia raises her voice, and on the far side of the fire, our cousin Bevan startles and kicks his hind leg, nailing Nia’s mate, Pritchard, in the muzzle.
Both growl and scrabble at each other for a minute before they pass back out, Bevan’s pointy snout resting on Pritchard’s furry mound of a belly.
“Bear.”
“Wrong. A bear would tear you apart.” Nia swigs her moonshine. We’ve been at this since sundown, and it’s almost four in the morning. I don’t know how she’s still upright and intelligible.
“And a moon-mad wolf wouldn’t?” I drag the wooden spoon through the dank, black syrup. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
“That’s beside the point.” Nia scrunches her nose. “How much longer ’til my turn?”
“Ten strokes.”
“And then how much longer?”
“Until sunrise.” This is not the first—or tenth—time I’ve told her.
“This is bullshit.”
“Probably.”
“The witch is fucking with us.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her.” I’ve been apprenticed to Abertha since I was seven, and I love her like blood, but she will prank you and waste your time for shits and giggles, no doubt.
“We get the buttons, though, right?” Nia asks for the hundredth time. Shifters in general are crap at delayed gratification, and Nia’s particularly challenged. That’s why I plied her with liquor.
“Oh, yeah.”