Filed to story: The Tyrant Alphas Rejected Mate
There are no words in my mouth; my tongue is dry and coarse. I’m so thirsty. I’m dying from it. I need water. And Killian. He’ll bring me water.
I whine and arch my back, raising my haunches. I have to. This is what I’m supposed to do even though everything is wrong. A branch scratches my side. The hurts twine-pricks, aches, a piercing longing that cuts and never eases, no matter how I shift my body.
The air is sweet, but not the sweet I need. Blackberries. I’m in a blackberry patch.
I whimper, wriggling forward, but the prickles scratch my underbelly. I can’t move anymore.
Where’s my pack? Where are the others?
It’s not right to be alone. We’re defenseless here. Except for the thorns. They’ll give us some protection until our mate comes.
And he will.
I need him. I howl, but the sound is thready. He won’t be able to hear. I grope blindly along the bond. He’s there. Not very far away. I can feel him. He’s strong. Willful. Mine.
Come.
He jerks at the word, but he doesn’t move. His wolf howls, and it echoes through the woods, faint by the time it reaches my perked ears.
Come now.
The heat is ratcheting higher. I can’t wait much longer. I need him. I lay my muzzle on the ground and present. I’m ready. Past ready.
He can soothe this ache. He can unwind this coiling agony, this drumming, throbbing need.
But he doesn’t come. His howl fades to nothing, and my guts heave, my throat convulses. I’m sick. It’s sour and sharp in my nose, and I heave again and again until my stomach’s empty. I turn my muzzle so I’m not laying in it. It’s all I can do.
I’m facing a clump of blackberries now, and their ripeness cloys. Offends. I want my mate. I want Killian’s sweet toffee, molasses, thick and sticky caramel scent. I cover my snout with my paws and press closer to the dirt.
The pain won’t stop. It crashes into me in incessant waves-the pricking thorns, the agonizing heat, my spasming leg, and worst of all, the torn and jagged wound where my bond begins. How could he hurt us and not feel it? Something is terribly wrong. Unnatural. Out of order.
Where is he?
He’s not here. He won’t come.
My wolf doesn’t understand. Grief overwhelms her. He must be dead. He must be trapped or hurt or else he would come. She is certain. She knows this in every fiber of her being.
Her heart breaks, and her heart is mine, so it doesn’t matter that I know Killian Kelly is garbage, and that he’s rejected us. I shatter, too, as I sweat and whine, haunches raised, ready, longing for a male in a way I never, ever have before.
The woods are silent except for a faint breeze rustling high in the canopy.
I don’t know how long I’m here. A long time. When a sharp scent breaks me out of my delirium, the sun is low in the west. There’s a voice, curt and strong, familiar. I call out, but nothing escapes my lungs but a wheeze.
“You can go back,” a female says. It’s Abertha, the crone. My friend.
“Killian says I need to report,” a male argues. Familiar, but wrong. I huddle small.
“So report.”
“What am I gonna report?” The male’s voice grates like radio static.
It’s Fallon, the youngest brother from my last foster family. We’re close, but dear Fate, has he always smelled like milk gone bad?
“Tell the alpha that his mate is in heat in the woods.”
“I ain’t tellin’ him that.”
“Then make something up.” Abertha’s exasperated. She’s close. A yard or two away. There’s a slight easing, not in my body, but in my mind. She’ll help me. She’ll know what to do.
“Like what?”
“I wouldn’t dare think for one of the alpha’s minions.” Abertha doesn’t even try to not sound sarcastic.
“Yeah, that wouldn’t-” Fallon’s voice trails off. “But if you were gonna give him a report?”
“I’d say his mate is in heat in the woods.”
Fallon growls. I tense, and all my joints scream at once. Because of the wounds from the fight? Shifting? Heat?
From all of it and the loneliness salting every wound.
“Don’t growl at me, pup. I’ll curse you.”
There’s a long silence.
“I’ll tell him she’s with you,” Fallon finally says.
“You do that,” Abertha replies.
“Is she-” He clears his throat. “Is she okay?”
“What does it smell like to you?” Abertha asks, curt, clearly done with him.
“Like something’s wrong.”
“Go ahead and tell him that.”
“He won’t care.” Fallon’s voice is bitter.
Abertha doesn’t answer. There’s a rustling and the stink of sour milk fades. I suck down a deep breath.
And then I see scuffed boots and the hem of a patchwork skirt.
“Oh, you poor thing.” Abertha squats, peering through the thorny branches. “How long have you been in there?”
She clucks. I can’t even raise my head to acknowledge her. I’ve collapsed to my side, panting, tongue hanging from the corner of my mouth.
“Let’s get you out of there.” She reaches in, yelping when a thorn scratches her forearm. “I’m sorry Una’s little wolf. This isn’t going to be as gentle as I’d like.”
She grabs my hind legs and drags me out from the underbrush. I whine. The pain is so all-encompassing, my bad leg hurts no worse than the other.
“There we go.” Abertha plops on her butt-as always, amazingly agile for a female her age- and she cuddles me between her legs, smoothing a hand over my flanks. I whimper.
“You need to shift back, Una, love. I can’t help you like this.”
I don’t want to. I don’t want to think as well as feel. Feeling is already too much.
“Come on, now, brave girl. Come on,” she coaxes. I lay there, spent and shivering. She sighs. “It’ll go easier on you if you decide to do it yourself.”
I can’t. I don’t have the energy.
New Book: Veiled Desires of the Alpha King Novel
Dayson was the alpha of the largest pack in North America. Powerful figures from other packs sought to offer gorgeous girls as potential mates for Dayson. He steadfastly rejected these advances, he was not a pawn to be manipulated. But eventually there came a mysterious girl he could hardly say No. Who was she?