Page 21 of Rejected Alpha Mate

It doesn’t.

The echo of Donna’s door slamming in my face still reverberates in my head, mocking me, chastising me for the things I’ve done, the things I haven’t said. I down the drink in one go, the fire burning a trail down my throat. For a moment, it’s easier to focus on that sting than the one that resides in my chest.

I hate myself for this.

I heard her conversation that night at the barbecue, at her graduation party, about how excited she was when she told the girls about her plans to open her practice in the city.

Now, I’m stripping her of her freedom as if I hated the idea that she had it, that she had a life that didn’t involve me.

I must look like the biggest asshole in the world, but I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think she was in real danger.

Still, I can’t shake the thought that maybe I did this for me as much as for her. It sounds selfish, but isn’t that what happens to werewolves who discover their fated mates?

Of course, I knew all along. But one of the reasons I did what I did was to protect her, to ensure that she had a life outside of me. A fated mate bond is all-consuming, and Donna had so much to look forward to in her life. She’s an ambitious woman, and her degree would have taken her far. And as much as it pained me to do what I did, I had to. For her.

But maybe part of me wanted her close again, where I could see her, protect her, pretend we hadn’t ruined each other. I’m still ruined, and I’ll always be. Now I’m dragging her down with me because my inner wolf won’t rest until it has her right under his nose, where he can keep her safe.

I could fight it before, but I’ve given up. Maybe because I am selfish.

The ice in my glass clinks as I swirl another round of bourbon inside, a hollow sound in the empty room reflecting the state of my heart for the past year. My reflection in the mirrored shelves stares back at me—red-rimmed eyes, tired, haunted by the past. An alpha wolf wearing a man’s guilt.

I set my glass down, hard enough to make it clink, and mutter under my breath, “Yeah. Real noble, Nick. You fucking dick….”

Shaking my head slowly at myself, I tear my gaze from the mirrored glass as if my reflection disgusts me, a dull ache in my shoulder drawing my attention there.

It’s my left shoulder again, and the dull ache turns to a throbbing pain that has me frowning deeply as I press a palm to the spot where Tobias had bitten me.

It’s been forty-eight hours, and the bastard’s bite hasn’t healed quickly enough, remaining there like a festering reminder that it’s because of him that I’ve had to marry Donna. I have no regrets, but I know she does. She has all of them, and I’m left to shoulder the guilt—quite literally, too.

As a true-blooded alpha, I should have healed within the first hour, but an hour after the incident, I was deliberating my entire life while trying to protect Donna’s.

It makes sense that my emotional state has dampened my quick healing abilities, but fuck!

I need to get my head straight again.

I groan when my head starts buzzing with the first stirrings of a mind link that’s coming through. I recognize the frequency of the crackling tearing through the silence and straighten up for my beta Evan’s telepathic message.

“Alpha,” his voice crackles through the line, tense, but the fuzziness must be because the alcohol hasn’t burned out from my system just yet. “You might wanna come see this. South border. Something’s…off.”

Of course it is. It’s never just one thing.

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m on my way,” I respond through the mind link, getting to my feet and pushing aside the thoughts haunting my mind. Between wallowing in my sorrows and doing what’s needed of me as the alpha of this pack, the latter wins out.

I can’t be weak.

Undoing another button of my white shirt, I roll my bad shoulder and push the throb aside as I head for the door, the bourbon’s warmth evaporating as duty kicks in. Outside, the night air bites on my cheeks, sharp and clean, the moon glaring down like it’s tallying a score.

Moon Goddess: two.

Nicholas Bartalow: zero.

I shift mid-stride when I step off the porch, the change hitting me hard but clean—bone, sinew, fur, and then quiet calm for a split second that’s long enough to adjust my senses to their capacity in wolf form. The world sharpens in an instant as scents, sounds, and shadows become more distinct, the pads of my cushioned paws on the ground absorbing the earth’s vibrations. There’s a sense of healing being grounded in wolf form again, and it allows me to be thankful that my beta drew me out.

By the time I reach the border, Evan is already there in wolf form, pacing, his fur prickling when he spots me.

He nods, then leads me toward a blueberry bush where the air around us suddenly feels…wrong.

Thicker.