Page 26 of Rejected Alpha Mate

“You didn’t ask for my help.”

“Well, I’m not,” she says bluntly, eyes focused on the chopping board. “I didn’t ask you to do anything for me. You can go now.”

Filling my lungs with a deep breath, I wish I could be as cold and unfeeling as she is. But then I remind myself that it’s because of me that she has these walls up, and I was the one who gave her the first taste of coldness.

But my inner wolf won’t accept this, and neither can I accept that she wants me to disappear like this isn’t my house, and she isn’t my mate.

I might be grasping at straws, but it’s worth a shot, especially if my suspicions are right, and it’s an excuse for me to stick around a little longer.

Taking the hex bag from my pocket, I place it on the granite counter beside the stove, then pull out the note from inside and show it to Donna. “Does this mean anything to you?”

Donna turns her face slowly from the pan, then reaches out for the note, frowning, her fingers trembling as she takes it curiously.

Mentally putting the pieces together, I can’t help but suspect that not only is Donna a potential witch, but that she's being targeted—just like Arianna and Delilah were targeted before. Maybe that’s how Tobias was involved.

Maybe he’s working for the dark forces, and he’s after Donna because of it.

But Donna glances at me, and there's a pause when our eyes meet again, and my suspicions are extinguished only because there’s an innocence in Donna’s eyes that I can’t ignore.

“You're crazy, Nicholas,” Donna scoffs, shaking her head. “I think you've lost your mind. I didn't heal you, and this doesn't mean anything to me.” She spins on her heel, tosses the note on the table, lifts her chin defiantly, and marches out of the kitchen.

Something inside me snaps, but at least I’m conscious enough to turn off the gas on the stove before doing anything else. But a switch goes off in my head, and I decide to go after Donna. It's like my inner wolf becomes furious, and I march after her until I find her in the hallway, halfway to her bedroom.

“Donna,” I call out, a flicker of awareness igniting in my chest, and jolting me forward when she doesn’t stop. I grab her in the hallway and abruptly push her up against the wall.

“This is madness, Donna,” I breathe in exasperation, her scent swarming my senses and turning me feral.

“Madness?!” she chuckles dryly. “I'll tell you what's madness, Nicholas! Marrying me because you wanna act like the hero now!”

Grunting, I grip her arms tighter where they’re pinned against the wall. “I’m no hero, but I did it to save you, Donna. Your life is in danger.”

“The only danger is you!” Donna accuses, her eyes glossed over with tears that make them appear almost hazel, the light in the hallway slanting in the perfect angle across her face. “You’re the one who said you’d never settle down!”

“That changed the moment you came flaunting your boytoy in my face.” The laugh that rips out of my throat is sinister and cruel. “Turns out he's the one you should be afraid of. Not me.”

“I'm not afraid of you,” Donna bites back, her expression hard.

Arching a brow, I lean in, noticing that she doesn’t pull away or even blink. “Then why were you running from me just now?”

“Because it’s safer that way.”

“Yeah?” I chuckle lowly, tilting my face and gauging her reaction, watching the way her chest rises and falls with every sultry, slow breath. “Do you feel threatened right now?”

“I told you I’m not afraid of you, Nicholas.”

My brows furrow lightly. “Then what are you afraid of, Donna?”

Donna gulps, her eyes burning with something fierce, something I only saw a year ago.

“I’m afraid of myself,” she whispers tersely, her bottom lip trembling with so much fear, so much doubt, that it flips something inside me again. Possessiveness. Protector. Hero.

Maybe I want to be her hero. Maybe I want her to know that she doesn’t need to be afraid of herself; she doesn’t need to hold back anymore.

That’s when I crush my lips to hers, the kiss frenzied, fiery, my tongue desperate as it slips between her lips. She doesn’t fight me, and instead, her hands are at the back of my head, ravenously carding through my hair as she sighs the moment her walls come crashing down.

A wave of relief washes over me, but it quickly turns to burning desire as blood rushes to my core, and I push myself up against her, delighting in the way her soft frame molds perfectly to my hard body.

My hands are all over her—her hips, her waist, dragging the hem of the T-shirt toward her chest—and my lips never leave hers, continuing the mating dance with our tongues until the tips of my fingers touch the lower mounds of her breasts under the wires of her bra.