Page 52 of Rejected Alpha Mate

Maybe Cecelia was right, after all. Maybe we’ve done our time, and now it’s time to forgive him. I’m just afraid of the consequences, of letting my guard down enough for him to hurt me again.

Because the truth is, only Nicholas has that power, and I feel it when his fingertips brush my hand when he passes me the glass, my body responding to its mate.

Chapter 18 - Nicholas

Maybe it’s the echo of my father’s stern, commanding voice that still gnaws at the back of my head, but something feels different about today. I woke up feeling this way, despite the rhythm I’ve come to rely on; the quiet mornings, the afternoons of training, and the evenings when the house feels too big for just Donna and me.

“Your pack is waiting on you, Nicholas…. You need to sire an heir…. Don’t disappoint me.”

The words sit in my chest like weighted stones, heavy and unwelcome. I haven’t told Donna any of it, and I won’t. She has enough pressure on her shoulders without adding “mother of my children” to the mix. The thought alone makes my stomach twist.

She deserves choice. Freedom. A life that isn’t predetermined by my father’s expectations or by the politics of a pack she never asked to lead. She hasn’t even decided if I’m more than just a friend to her, so I can’t possibly expect her to bear my kids.

Especially not in a time like this when she’s learning how to ace her abilities—skills that will save us all.

So, I throw myself into distractions so I don’t have to think about my father and his dictating ways.

And right now, that distraction is Donna.

She’s in the backyard again, training with Delilah and Gwen. Her hands glow with ribbons of gold, her eyes sharp with focus. Sweat glistens along her brow as she moves through a sequence Gwen taught her.

Concentration, channel, and then release.

A whirlwind of air ripples from her palms, sending a stack of rocks tumbling in one controlled burst. She’s stronger every day. More confident. Surer of herself.

And she’s breathtaking while she does it.

A swell of pride puffs my chest, unexpected and fierce. Watching her like this as she owns her power, refusing to be small, makes something inside me soften in a way I can’t turn off anymore. It also awakens something primal in me at the same time.

Delilah claps once. “Good! Again, but ground your stance more.”

Donna adjusts her feet, lifting her chin with that stubborn determination I’ve always admired.

I should walk away. I know she can sense me watching, and I don’t want to distract her. But I linger anyway, arms folded, leaning against the post of the back porch like a man who’s lost all sense of self, who only knows his mate.

Her next burst of energy shoots forward, more controlled this time. Gwen beams. “Now you’re getting it.”

Donna exhales, her shoulders falling, her eyes flickering instinctively toward the house, toward me, and she seems to stifle her smile.

I straighten, pretending I wasn’t staring at her like some lovesick idiot, but our eyes meet across the yard, and I’m hooked.

Something quiet flickers between us, and it’s no longer hostile. It feels like acknowledgment, warmth, something fragile and uncertain, but promising. She doesn’t look away immediately, and neither do I.

A few seconds later, she turns back to Gwen. “One more round?”

She’s relentless, and I love that about her.

But the pressure in my chest brought on by the guilt of the past and the conversation with my father the other day starts to tighten like a vice. I need air. Space.

I haven’t told Donna about my father’s demands, and for now, she doesn’t need to know.

I slip inside, grab a jacket, and I’m about to leave when Beta Evan calls me through the mind link to remind me of our weekly meeting to discuss patrol rotations and hunting schedules. The reminder is welcome, because it’ll give me something to do to distract myself for a while.

***

The late afternoon is warm and quiet as I walk through the stretch of woods behind my house. The leaves whisper overhead, sunlight dripping through the branches in soft, golden hues. I take the familiar trail automatically, boots crunching against gravel and moss, the weight of the velvet gift box pressing against my pocket with each step.

I’ve carried it around all week.