Filed to story: The Tyrant Alphas Rejected Mate
But he’s not focused on me. He stalks right up to Lochlan Byrne, whacks the back of his head, and grunts, “You. Me. Now.”
Then he goes to stand in the middle of the open floor.
Lochlan shrugs and smirks across the table at his buddy Finn as he pushes back his chair, feigning unconcern.
Of all the males, Lochlan is built most like a human fighter-wiry, slightly bow-legged. He has a quick walk and a buzz cut. Between the two of them, Annie and Mari have crushes on all the lieutenants, but neither of them like Lochlan. Kennedy says he smells like entitlement and drug store body spray.
However, Eamon is his uncle, so he comes from beta stock. He’s won titles on the circuit. He’s in the same weight class as Killian. And the fight with Tye was closer than it should have been. He’s a contender.
The entire pack holds its breath.
Is this an alpha challenge?
It feels like it as they face off, steely-eyed, expressions unreadable. They don’t tap fists. One moment, they’re staring at each other, the next, Lochlan swings.
It’s an obvious shot, not really meant to connect, just to start the action. It’s not surprising when Killian sidesteps the blow. I expect a counterpunch. I don’t know a whole lot about fighting-I’m not interested in the slightest-but you don’t grow up in Quarry Pack without developing a sense for how these things go.
Killian keeps his fists up, protecting his face. He bounces on the balls of his feet.
Lochlan swings again, this time launching into a combination. Killian ducks and sweeps Lochlan with his leg at the exact moment Lochlan throws a right cross. Lochlan wobbles, almost staggers, but he’s too good. He recovers instantly.
Killian bobs and weaves, fists in guard position. Lochlan lands a series of jabs to Killian’s torso and a right hook to his face.
Both males are sweating now, their chests vibrating with the growls and snarls of their pent-up wolves. Blood trickles from the edge of Killian’s eyebrow. Lochlan smirks. You can see the confidence swelling in him. He thinks he has a chance.
He doesn’t, does he?
My muscles are so tight they ache. My good leg is taking all my weight, and my thigh is so tired, it’s a knot. At least no one is looking at me anymore. Everyone is riveted by the show on the floor. The alpha is getting his ass handed to him, and he doesn’t seem the least bit fazed.
Lochlan lets an uppercut fly. Killian ducks, sweeps his leg again, this time driving an elbow into the side of Lochlan’s knee at the same time. There’s a crack. Lochlan stumbles. Weaves.
He’s not smirking anymore.
But Killian-Killian’s grinning now. His eyes are bright gold with pale blue rims.
“Get off on tripping lone females with bad legs, eh?” he pants.
Lochlan’s a good fighter. He ignores the taunt and goes after Killian with a vengeance, throwing combination after combination, driving him to the edge of the open floor. Killian takes blow after blow to the face, the ribs. He’s jerking back and forth like a rag doll, but he never loses his balance, not for a second.
He spits blood on the linoleum. “Rules don’t apply to you, eh?”
Lochlan raises his fist, and Killian sweeps his leg again, this time with so much power, Lochlan collapses and rolls. He jumps back to his feet, showing no pain, swiping his nose with his thumb.
He doesn’t launch immediately into another attack. Lochlan studies Killian, the wheels turning. Killian’s stance hasn’t changed. He’s still bouncing lightly, fists in guard position, cool and collected despite the blood and sweat streaming down his face.
My wolf is riveted. The twisted little monster is into this. She wants popcorn.
Lochlan glances behind him at the A-roster table. Finn and Alfie are grinning at him, barely containing their glee. They still think Lochlan’s winning.
Behind me at the elder table, there’s a hushed murmuring. They know better.
Lochlan lunges. Killian kicks, driving his foot into the side of Lochlan’s knee. There’s a crack. Lochlan slams into the floor.
Panting, Lochlan slowly raises himself. He has to do it like me-awkward and step-by-step. When he’s upright, Killian lets him land a few more shots.
Now Lochlan understands what’s happening. His face is twisted with frustration, and he starts fighting dirty, aiming for the throat, the groin. Killian flip-shifts for split seconds at a time, easily avoiding the below the belt blows.
The murmurs become a whisper. “That youngster better watch himself. Alpha will kill him.”
“He shouldn’t have tripped the female. Alpha won’t stand for that.”
My wolf strains forward in anticipation.
Lochlan throws a haymaker. Killian snaps a kick, slamming his bare foot into Lochlan’s other knee. It crunches. Lochlan topples to his side, and this time, he stays down, teeth grit, neck bared.
“Get up,” Killian snarls.
Lochlan bares his neck further.
“Get up!” It’s a command. Lochlan has no choice.
He slowly rolls to the knee that isn’t bent at an unnatural angle, his neck still exposed, face blanched and sweat dripping onto his white shirt. Unlike Killian, there’s no blood splatter on his chest. It’s his jeans that are soaked red.
Lochlan stands there, broken but unrepentant, waiting. Cheryl, his aunt and the alpha female, sidles up behind Killian. She reaches out to touch his arm. He snarls over his shoulder, the message so powerful and clear that even I trip back a step.
“We do not harm females,” Killian says, voice meant to carry through the lodge.
“Yes, Alpha,” Lochlan mutters resentfully.
“Or the young.”
“Yes, Alpha.”
“Or the defective.”
I can hear the pack’s heads turning to stare at me. Oh, ouch. He’s talking about me.
“Yes, Alpha.”
“Gael?”
“Yes, Alpha.” Everyone searches for the voice. I’d have thought he’d be in the infirmary, but he’s in his usual seat at B-roster table, though considerably worse for wear. His face is black and blue and swollen past all recognition. He’s upright, but he’s cradling his right arm to his chest.
“There’s a seat open in A-roster.” Killian points to the metal folding chair across from Finn where Lochlan always sits.
The pack mutters. For a moment, nothing happens. Then Gael’s seat screeches back, and he drags himself the few feet to resettle at the table of honor. Tye claps him on the back. He winces, but he smiles. He’s missing a tooth.
I figure that’s the end. It has to be. But then Killian raises his arms to his side like the statue of Jesus on top of that mountain in Brazil.
“Well? You wanted your shot, Lochlan. Take it.”
Lochlan’s gaze shifts. Finn. Alfie. Eamon. His aunt. You can see his mind racing, getting nowhere. He’s backed into a corner. He either falls to his shattered knee, or he swings.
Quarry Pack are fighters. If he doesn’t want to sink lower than me in rank, he doesn’t have a choice. He has to swing.
He draws in a ragged breath and throws a left hook. Killian flickers, the flip-shift so quick it’s almost invisible to the eye. Lochlan’s fist meets nothing but air as Killian casually extends his leg and drives his foot into Lochlan’s good knee. A bloodcurdling scream echoes from the rafters, and bone tears through flesh, a rain of red spurting through the air.
My stomach heaves. My wolf howls in delight.
Behind me, an elder, maybe Nuala, says, “He should’ve taken a knee. At least then he’d still have a working one.”
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?