Filed to story: The Tyrant Alphas Rejected Mate
I’m really thirsty. I swallow, but my mouth is bone dry.
Why am I looking at Killian Kelly’s lips?
I drop my gaze, and my face blazes. It’s the heat in here. It’s muddling my brain.
Killian Kelly is strong, but he’s not attractive. He looks mean-which is what he’s always been. He’s only two years older than me. I’ve known him since the day I was born, and I’ve never been into him like the other females. I’m not a rank groupie.
I shake myself off as best I can with a full tray. Tye and Lochlan are still blocking my way. I could go back, circle around behind the tables, but that’d take forever. It’s getting muggier and more humid by the second, and my shirt is sticking to me. I’ll wait a few more seconds. Tye looks to be making his comeback.
He’s not going to lose. Killian wouldn’t have ordered him to fight if it wasn’t a sure thing. Killian and Tye are closer than brothers, and in this pack, everything goes the way Killian wants.
That’s because unlike the other packs, Quarry Pack is ruled by strength, not blood. Any male can challenge for rank at any time. Theoretically, Killian could have to fight every day to keep the lead, but he doesn’t because he cannot be beat. It’s a fact.
Besides having the biggest wolf in the five packs, Killian’s a flip-shifter. He can change from skin to fur and back again whenever he wants, without effort, in the blink of an eye. It’s an unbeatable advantage.
Abertha says flip-shifting isn’t magic, but it sure as hell looks like it when he morphs back and forth mid-air. No one wants to challenge an alpha touched by the moon.
A flash of heat crashes through me. It has to be at least ninety degrees in here, and behind Killian’s makeshift throne, the fire’s roaring. Why does no one open the windows?
Probably because the mated and protected females are perfectly comfortable. They’re allowed to wear short sleeves, and per usual, the males who aren’t wearing tank tops are bare-chested.
My wrist is so tired. I switch so I’m holding the tray in two hands. My palms are getting slick. It’d serve them right if I dropped the tray, and they’d have to go get their own damn beer. The folks at the far table are already casting me dirty looks-like why don’t I wade through the shifter fight?
Ugh. I press my legs tight together. Sweat is dribbling down my inner thighs and tickling the back of my knees. And my stomach’s doing something weird. Do I have a fever? I can’t get sick. I’ve got a mushroom deal in the works.
Fortunately, the match seems to be wrapping up. Ivo Bell is squatting and squinting between Tye and Lochlan’s entangled bodies. I’m not sure why he doesn’t call the match. Tye is howling at the ceiling in victory, and Lochlan’s face is beet red, fur sprouting from his collar. There’s definitely a winner and a loser, and if Ivo doesn’t call it, there’s gonna be a wolf fight in the great room.
I can’t stand here any longer. I need air. All this male musk is making me queasy. I’m gonna yak. I grip the tray and pick my way around them, praying Lochlan doesn’t break free at the very last second and topple me ass over tea kettle.
Luckily, I make it past them to where Killian’s lieutenants sit next to the dais. From the way everyone treats the table like sacred ground, you’d think it’d be special, but it’s like the others-worn laminate top, backless benches, wheels. The tables came with the building when the pack bought the property in the 80s and stopped living in dens.
“Took you long enough,” Finn Murphy gripes as he grabs a pitcher, knocking my hand as he helps himself. I set the tray down and unload it. I don’t bother to respond. I don’t talk to dicks.
“Get us some more.” Finn shoves an empty bread basket at me. He doesn’t meet my eye, just gnaws on a drumstick while he watches Tye help Lochlan off the floor.
“Bad call,” he grumbles under his breath. He’s just sore because he’s in cahoots with Lochlan. From where I was standing, Tye won without a doubt.
I snag the basket and turn to go. I’m going to “forget” about the bread and duck out the back. The sun is setting. There’ll probably be a breeze from the foothills. I can cool down.
I want to be outside so bad. The desire hits me so hard, it’s a longing. I need open sky. I want to breathe in the night air. I want to bask in the moonlight.
Mostly, I want out of these clothes. My bra straps are digging into my shoulders, and my khakis are damp and too damn tight. They must’ve shrunk in the wash. Or I’ve ended up wearing Annie’s again by accident.
I take a step toward the kitchen, but before I head back, I glance up at the dais. I have to. I’m called. It’s instinct even though no one said my name.
But there’s only Killian, staring at me.
Heat bursts from my core, surging down my limbs, leaving my toes and fingertips tingling. I hold onto the empty tray for dear life.
Why is he checking me out?
No, he’s got to be looking at the table behind me. He’s probably deciding who fights next. The sparring is incessant, at least until it gets late and drinking and groping take center stage.
There’s no need for me to linger here. I’m acting like he gave an alpha command, but he’s just scowling like usual. If I don’t move, he’s going to flick his hand imperiously to get out of the way like he does. Killian never deigns to speak if he can grunt and point. I don’t think he’s ever said an actual word to me.
I should hustle back to the kitchen as quickly as I can, but for some reason, I can’t make my feet move. I’m hyper-focused on the linoleum floor now, cheeks burning, stuck. Because his eyes are on me.
My heart thumps, echoing in my ears.
And there’s a new delicious aroma weaving through the usual beer and roast meat and other earthy pack smells. It teases my nose, warm and sweet and sticky in the best possible way. It’s not coming from the kitchen. It’s-I don’t know where it’s coming from.
The ache in my leg fades. There’s a pleasant buzz in my head now, softening everything. The constant grating ruckus of mealtime in the lodge fades-the fluorescent lights overhead, the shrill laughter of the females, and the braying of the males. It’s all muted. Like an old talkie movie in black and white.
I peek up out of the corner of my eye. Is Killian sitting taller? He’s still glaring, and his hard, almost craggy face has become thunderous. He’s pissed. That’s my cue to leave, but still-still-I can’t go.
He’s too freaking interesting. His chest rises and falls, stretching the crisp white cotton of his shirt, and it’s mesmerizing. What would it feel like against my cheek? Under my nails?
My claws?
I lick my dry lips. I can taste the yumminess in the air. It coats my tongue, and I’m salivating. It’s so. Damn. Tasty.
Am I drunk? I feel tipsy, but I only partake at the cabin with my girls. Lone females aren’t allowed to drink.
I inhale deeply, trying to shake off this weirdness, but now the lush, decadent scent is in my lungs. Excitement shoots through my veins, a flood of heat rising up and cresting, crashing through me.
Heat.
Of course. Oh, Fate, it’s beyond obvious. That’s why my brain is so slow.
I’m going into heat.
My wolf’s ears shoot up. She yips and chases her tail. She’s not really moving-it’s how she feels. I’m anthropomorphizing her emotions. Or whatever it’s called when a spirit lives inside you. It feels like she’s dancing, though. She’s ecstatic. She can finally come out and play.
I want to meet her so bad. Hope swells in my chest. She’s gotten quiet these past few years, deflated, but she’s letting herself be heard now. She’s demanding. Whining.
Outside, outside, outside.
And then she changes her mind. No, him.
Him, him, him.
I raise my eyes to Killian’s, and even though I know better, I can’t force my gaze to lower. You don’t meet an alpha’s eyes. That’s a challenge. Even from a lone female. It’s ingrained in our DNA. I shouldn’t be able to help but defer. He won’t be able to stop himself from knocking me down if I don’t.
Shit. I focus as hard as I can until my neck bends, but I’m still gazing up from under my lashes. I can’t stop. He’s fascinating.
I bet he tastes like melted toffee. Or taffy.
I bet he feels like when a summer storm rolls in and the clouds race and there’s the sizzle in the air from the lightning.
Mine, mine, mine.
My wolf paws at my ribs. She wants out. I don’t know how to let her, and this is crazy. I’m scared and shaking, but wild horses couldn’t tear me away from devouring my alpha with my eyes. I need him.
I’m sopping wet. Between the legs. My hand reaches down, searching. Oh, Fate. What am I doing? In the middle of the frickin’ lodge? I snatch it back to my chest at the last second.
What’s wrong with me? That’s Killian Kelly. He’s a tyrant, and a dick, and all he cares about are the fights. He’s the reason Moon Lake thinks we’re backwards, and they’re always making noise about how it’d be better if their pack absorbed ours.
I’ve known Killian my whole life, and every year, he’s worse.
Mate.
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?