Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
I wait, trembling, until I hear wolves close by. They wouldn’t be running if the alpha heir was still roaming our territory.
I screw up my courage and sprint back to the Bogs. The sun’s fully set, but the fading pink in the west is more than enough to navigate by.
My heart doesn’t stop pounding until my feet touch the boards, and the familiar slosh of the marsh soothes my raw nerves. I pass a trailer on its floating dock, door thrown open and warm light spilling into the tall reeds, and I’m home.
It was a coincidence. Cadoc isn’t after me. Retribution isn’t his style.
He doesn’t have any interest in me at all. Why would he?
I’m getting scary good at denial.
I shove it all away and untie my sweater from around my waist to wipe the sweat from my chest. I’m dripping, and my cami is plastered to my skin.
I make my way to our trailer deep in the bullrushes. My steps thud the boards. Loud laughter bursts from the darkness, and the grasses whisper. A bullfrog honks.
A trio of Goff pups pass me, the board dipping under their weight.
“Find anything?” the eldest asks me.
“Not today.”
“Better luck tomorrow,” the middle one says as she hurries past. They’ve got oars and flashlights. They’re going finding. From the size of the empty duffle bags, they’re going to the Estates on the other side of the lake to see what the nobs have left unsecured in their backyards.
“Good luck to you,” I say.
“Same,” the youngest calls over her shoulder.
As I turn off onto the narrow plank leading to our place, I check our donation box—nothing—and send up a silent prayer that neither my sister or sister-in-law is entertaining a nob tonight.
It’s been a long day. I want peace while I mend the zipper on my backpack—and play with my new watch and earbuds. Maybe Cadoc came after me tonight to get the rest of his stuff back. He should have come and asked then, instead of standing there, all menacing.
But he wasn’t there for his stuff, was he? I stamp the burgeoning knowledge down like sparks in dry grass. Not yet. I’m not ready.
My belly cramps. I need food.
I hop down the two-by-four bridging our platform and the plank and leap over Uncle Dewey. Per usual, he’s sprawled half-in and half-out of the trailer, rear paws dangling over the steps, snout mashed against the door frame. His fur reeks of beer.
Sometimes he shifts back to his wolf before he finishes his drink, and he tries to lap the dregs. Then he ends up soaked or with his tongue stuck in the neck of a bottle.
“Find anything?” my sister Drona asks from the kitchen table.
She’s braiding my oldest niece Avalon’s hair. Kadi, the youngest, is bent over the sink, and her older sister Sara is rinsing her hair with the spray attachment. It’s bath night. Sweet. That means no nobs dropped by.
“Danny’s in the bathroom, then?” He’s the only male in the house besides Uncle Dewey. He’s the oldest pup, and at least by blood, he’s a Powell. Therefore, my nephew gets his own bedroom, he’s never had to share a bath, and he’s spoiled as hell, always pinching my stuff and whining to his mama when I pinch it back.
“Yeah. Going on his second hour. I’m about to kick him out.” Drona tilts her cheek, and I give her a peck. She looks tired.
“Where are Arly and Rae?” My sister-in-law and aunt are attached at the hip when they’re not cleaning in the High Rise. If they weren’t, we’d have lost one of them to the water by now for sure. They’re both clumsy drunks.
“Off finding,” Avalon pipes up before her mother can answer.
“Finding rotgut.” I smooth Avalon’s part and drop a kiss on her head.
“Probably,” Drona agrees.
Neither Drona nor I begrudge them their nights out. Arly’s little one is playing quietly in the living room. She’s no trouble.
“Need help?” I ask. All I want is to grab a box of crackers and hide in my bunk, but the creases in the corners of Drona’s eyes are deep tonight. They make her look like Mama.
Drona casts me a sharp look. She’s got something to say.
For a second, she sucks her teeth, and I think she’s going to let it go, but then she sighs, resting her pointy chin on Avalon’s shoulder. She frowns. “Nia says you lifted shit from the alpha heir.”
Nia’s a snitch.
My fingers curl, clutching my backpack. “He got his phone back.”
She studies me again, weighing her worry against all the things she needs to do.
I can’t say Drona raised me. She has four pups of her own; she didn’t have time for that, but she does look out for me, and she cares as much as she can.
“You don’t lift stuff,” she says.
I shrug.
Her eyes narrow. “He let you go.”
I nod.
“He your mate?”
He can’t be.
“He’s the alpha heir,” I say.
“What’s that got to do with it?”
Damn, it’s stifling hot in here. My leggings are sticking to my butt and thighs. I wander over to the sink where my nieces have cracked the window.
“I’m a scavenger.” The girls have finished with the hose. I turn the faucet to cold, run my fingers under the stream, and flick my neck and chest with icy drops. It feels amazing.
Drona sees what I’m doing and her eyes narrow. “I’m a scavenger. Geralt’s a nob.”
Geralt Powell is a piece of shit. He only comes around when he’s horny, or when he wants someone to listen to his boring ass rambling about something called NFTs. It’s some kind of scam, but there are too many human terms for me to make clear sense of it.
“Cadoc Collins isn’t my mate.” My nieces are all ears. This is going to be all over the Bogs by school tomorrow.
“Why did he lie to cover for you?”
“Maybe he’s a nice guy?”
“No, he’s not. He’s Madog Collins’ son.”
“He’s not like his father.” Madog is terrifying. Brutal. Remorseless.
Cadoc’s—cold. Arrogant. You can hardly fault him for it. He’s better than everyone at everything.
“A nob isn’t going to help you out for nothing.”
“Oh, gross.” She’s talking about presenting for a drop in the donation box. “It’s not like that.”
“It’s always like that.” She huffs and undoes the last few inches of Avalon’s braid to start over.
“He could have anyone.”
“Nobs don’t want anyone. They want the lowest female they can find so they can feel big. That’s why they don’t stick to their kind.” She jerks the thick hanks of Avalon’s long black hair, weaving tighter this time. My niece smothers a yelp. She knows it won’t make Drona’s touch lighter—it’ll only piss her off.
“That’s not what it was.” My sister hasn’t thought it through. Maybe because she’s stuck here in the Bogs all day, she’s forgotten how things are on the other side of the lake. “Cadoc Collins isn’t coming around here. We’re so far beneath him, he can’t see us.”
“Nia says he saw you just fine. And you caught Brody Hughes’ attention, too.” Drona’s left eye twitches like it does when she’s struggling to hold it together. “We don’t need that.”
I nod. There’s a stone in my stomach now. At least I’m not hungry anymore.
“I won’t swipe anything ever again.” I cross my heart. “I learned my lesson.”