Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
Brody doesn’t waste a second. He darts forward and snags my pack by the strap. “So what do you have in here, thief?”
Tears collect on the rim under my eyes, and it tickles so bad, I stifle a sneeze.
He holds my bag over his head and gives it a vigorous shake. “Confess and maybe we’ll go easy on you.”
Cadoc’s face is made of harsh slashes—brow, nose, jaw. He’s folded his arms. His legs are braced apart. He’s every inch his father’s son, imposing, inscrutable, and unforgiving.
I’m screwed.
“Well, scavenger?” Brody gives my bag another shake. He’s really dragging this out, no doubt getting off on it. His nostrils quiver, his top lip is peeled back so he can better savor the fear in the air. There’s a tent in his tan dress slacks. Perv.
I toss a shoulder. What can I say?
Brody tears my backpack open, ripping the zipper, and shakes the contents onto the polished hardwood floor. There’s a crunch as my shells break.
I carry my treasures with me, and in this fancy library with its vaulted ceiling and shelves so high you need ladders, it all makes a sad little pile on the floor.
I’m flushed deep plum, I know by my scalded cheeks, and as everyone cranes their neck to ogle my things, my skin burns hotter, even though I have to be as dark as I can get.
Really, it’s a usual scavenger assortment. A notebook and a grease pencil stub. Rocks. Some crystals. A slingshot. Carabiners, paper clips, fishing lures, a blue handkerchief, a compass with a broken needle, my good compass, a metal thimble, a porcelain thimble, knitting needles, matchbooks, a Bic lighter, a beeswax candle, a pocket knife, a corkscrew, a magnifying glass, a brass letter opener, a fidget spinner, the shards of mussel and snail shells, the bottle cap with the red eagle, and a bag of cat treats.
And lying right on top of the heap—Cadoc’s vibrating phone.
I clamber to my feet. I don’t want to take my licks sitting down. My shoulders clench so tight that my neck cramps. I wait, bracing myself.
Brody starts to run his mouth about the ingratitude of the Bog.
Ignoring him, Cadoc crouches next to my stuff.
His thighs are really thick and cut. They strain at the seams of his gray dress pants.
He doesn’t fish his phone out right away. He pokes around. Flips open my bad compass. Shakes it. It won’t do him any good. The arrow’s stuck.
He looks up. Because he’s lower than me, our gazes meet for a second, even though I have my head bent.
His eyes are the darkest gray. Like wet slate. My stomach churns, and I stare at my things. And his fingers brushing over them.
“You’ve got a lot of stuff here,” he says, his voice quiet. Controlled.
Butterflies burst into flight inside me, flapping like mad. More heat seeps up my chest and neck. I glance at my hands. Even they’re bright pink.
I don’t answer him. He’s the alpha’s heir, and it wasn’t a question.
He picks up the Bic and flicks it a few times, glancing up at me every so often while he does it. As soon as his gaze connects, I slide mine away. There’s still a split second when our eyes meet, and each touch sends a riot through my veins.
He holds up the slingshot. “What do you use this for?”
I cough, but the words still stick in my throat. “Target practice.”
“What do you use for target practice?”
“Bottles.” I don’t sound like me. My voice is breathy. High.
His lips curve. Why is he smiling at me?
It’s not a genuine smile, but it’s not threatening, either. Or patronizing. It’s weird. It’s reminiscent of how my nieces smile at the feral cats under our trailer when they want them to come out.
It’s a trap.
I’m so freaking hot. I need to get some air under this sweater, at least pull it away from my skin, but I don’t dare move.
Cadoc’s hand moves toward his phone.
Nia hurls herself forward, but she can’t break Vaughn’s grip. “I took your phone,” she says. “I put it in Rosie’s bag. It was me. Leave her alone.”
Cadoc glances in her direction for a split second, dismissing her almost immediately.
“No,” he says, no inflection in his voice. “I remember now. I asked Rosie to hold it for me. I’m sorry. I forgot I’d asked.”
He says this to me, but loud enough that everyone in the library can hear. His face doesn’t betray the lie at all, but it is obvious bullshit. No one will believe him.
And no one will challenge him.
He slips his phone into his pocket, and then he gathers my things and puts them carefully back into my ripped backpack.
When he gets to the compass, he holds it up between two fingers and says, “This is broken.”
“Yeah.”
“What good is a broken compass?”
“I—” My brain fumbles for words. “I can trade it.”
“For what?”
“A pup will trade a rock or a feather for it.”
“What do you do with a rock or a feather?”
He’s still crouched at my feet as natural as if he’s squatted to tie his shoe. If it were me, my thighs would be screaming, but his are tree trunks.
What did he want to know? What I do with rocks?
“Trade them.”
His stern lips curve. “I’m sensing a theme. What do you trade for rocks?”
“Cuttings. Mushrooms. Claws and fangs.”
“Let me guess. You trade the claws and fangs.”
Why would I do that? “No, I keep them.”
I sense rather than see my mated cousins’ hands go to the necklaces hidden under their shirts. Nia’s hand goes to her pocket. She doesn’t wear hers, but she always has it on her. Shifters are superstitious.
Cadoc runs his fingers through the stuff he hasn’t packed up yet, sifting. Is he looking for the watch and earbuds? By some miracle, they’re hidden at the bottom of the pile.
I don’t like him touching my things. It steals my breath and makes me squirmy at the same time.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take. He didn’t make Bevan wait for punishment. At this point, it’d be a relief to get hauled out the door over his shoulder.
Impossibly, my skin tingles at the idea. I tense.
Cadoc blinks up. His hand stills. His nostrils twitch. He goes back to returning my things to my backpack. He lingers over the bottle cap, flipping it in his fingers. Nia, Bevan, and I watch with bulging eyes, waiting for him to come to the watch or the earbud case.
But Fate is having a joke. Somehow, Cadoc replaces everything in my bag, and except for a quick flash of white plastic, there’s no evidence of the stolen goods.
Finally, after a billion years, Cadoc rises back to his feet and holds out my bag. I snatch it and clutch it to my chest.
“Accept my apology?” he asks.
“Y—Yes.”
“Drop the others,” Cadoc tosses over his shoulder, and immediately, Vaughn and Art let Nia and Bevan go. Brody glowers, his beady, piggy eyes glowing yellow.