The Heir Apparent's Rejected Mate (Five Packs, #2)

by Cate C. Wells

“Nope. I don’t want either. Neither would claim me. I’d be stuck like Drona.” My older sister’s mate is a ranked shifter. He visits her when he wants some ass, impregnates her periodically, and otherwise lives his best life with a mid-rank female in a nice big house in the Estates on the other side of the lake.

I accidentally raise my eyes. They meet Cadoc’s. A jolt pile drives my solar plexus. There is a split second before I drop my gaze and bend my neck, and in that instant, his steel gray eyes flash molten silver. And my wolf howls.

So now—because Fate is a bitch with a mean sense of humor—I’m obsessed with Cadoc Collins.

Pritchard gives Nia her space, but he’s never that far away.

The whole point of this class is to practice hiding your shifter strength so you don’t freak out the humans on the golf course.

Like everyone else in the gym, I watch to see what Cadoc will do. Technically, Mr. Arnold is the instructor, but Cadoc is in charge. Everyone defers to him, even the human students.

Then the crowd quiets, and there is the thud of fists on flesh, a few desperate snarls, and finally, a whimper and a high-pitched whine. I hate this pack. I hate this place.

She’s not gonna want him now. She’s seen him puke and cry.” My stomach lurches. I hate this pack. I hate it down to my soul.

Then there’s silence. The roar came from Cadoc. His wolf. It was an alpha command. Now the whole library reeks of fear. Females sob. Humans clutch each other.

He looks up. Because he’s lower than me, our gazes meet for a second, even though I have my head bent. His eyes are the darkest gray. Like wet slate. My stomach churns, and I stare at my things. And his fingers brushing over them. “You’ve got a lot of stuff here,” he says, his voice quiet. Controlled.

Cadoc glances in her direction for a split second, dismissing her almost immediately. “No,” he says, no inflection in his voice. “I remember now. I asked Rosie to hold it for me. I’m sorry. I forgot I’d asked.” He says this to me, but loud enough that everyone in the library can hear. His face doesn’t betray the lie at all, but it is obvious bullshit. No one will believe him. And no one will challenge him.

He took my slingshot and tucked it in his back pocket. And he left his earbuds and watch in my bag on purpose.

“Now we know why she doesn’t lift shit. Her face is an alarm.” “Whoop, whoop.” Bevan bats at my braid. I slap him and miss.

There on the ridge, exactly where I was a minute ago, Cadoc Collins stands like a conqueror, shoulders wide, square chin high, Seth Rosser at his side. His face is cast in shadow, but his eyes glint silver. He’s watching me. My wolf bounds to her feet. My heart leaps and gets stuck in my throat. I run like the devil is after me.

I cannot be going into heat, and Cadoc Collins absolutely, positively cannot be my mate. It would never be allowed. Not in a million years.

A scavenger male might be worse. Who has it tougher? Drona’s pups or Uncle Dewey’s? At least Avalon can speak to her sire on the rare occasions he comes by when the pups are still awake. I can’t remember the last time Uncle Dewey spoke.

There. Him. Mate. Fuck. No. She’s claiming Cadoc Collins. He’s sitting like a king on his throne, face unreadable as his packmates jockey for his attention, surveying his domain, above everyone and everything. No. Not him. Yes. My wolf nudges me with her snout. Ours. There is no doubt in her.

Say anything. I’m dangling in mid-air. His jaw tightens, and he scowls over my shoulder at nothing. He’s not rescuing me. I lick my cracked lips and cough to clear my throat. Brynn titters and whispers to Lowry behind her hand.

Cadoc blinks once, a flash of silver there and then gone, and he says, cold and final. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” “I—” He raises his eyebrow, and I lose what I was going to say.

He straightens, broadening his shoulders, expanding his chest. It’s a show of dominance. A warning, the final kind. The room holds its breath.

“I have no business with you, scavenger. Go back to your kind.” He jerks his chin toward the back tables and picks up his salad fork. I stand there, throat spasming on air, beads of sweat trickling down my spine. Mate. Tell him. My wolf prods, undaunted, unafraid, and a little impatient.

His touch is like a slither. Like a squelch. I shrink from him, and he squeezes harder. Behind us, at the front where Cadoc sits, there’s the sharp crack of splintering wood. A few females gasp, but I don’t look back to see what happened. I can’t. I can only put one foot in front of another.

Mate. My wolf lets out a resounding howl, calling Cadoc to come outside to her. The ground trembles under our paws. She has no doubt that he’ll come. She paces back a few steps and lowers herself to wait. She doesn’t understand. We got rejected. Nia’s mottled gray-brown wolf pads over and plops beside me. My wolf howls again.

For a moment, white hot rage battles with bone deep grief, and I brace myself for her to plow through the door like a bulldozer. But then, by some miracle, the feeling ebbs, and she lets out a wolfish snort. I swear, she says, “His loss.”

Fuck Cadoc Collins. I don’t want him. I don’t want anything but this, living full in myself, as fast as I am in my dreams, as wild as I am in my soul.

I am the biggest wolf I have ever seen. I am the biggest wolf anyone has ever seen.

My mate, the future alpha, rejected me in front of the entire school, and I could probably eat him in three bites. Well, damn. Ain’t Fate a bitch.

She’s tough like all scavengers. She’ll be fine. My heart slams against my sternum, but I take my seat in the front row.

It’s the thing connecting us. You’d think a bond lodged in your chest would be annoying, but it’s not. It’s like background music, a little emo, aching and raw, but not in crisis. She’s fine. She doesn’t need me. I need to stay away.

This is just the beginning of rut. I’m not losing it. It’s natural. Normal. I won’t let it get too far.

It’s not natural or normal to turn away from your mate. To let her leave.

I’m bulking up in anticipation of the rut, aggression surging in my veins. My colleagues are jumpy. The air is thick with musk. A Powell tries to crack a window, but they weren’t designed to open. Rosie wasn’t afraid of me.

Behind a thick wall of glass, my wolf is back, prowling at the edge of our two selves, muscles taut, fangs bared, eyes glowing silver. Silent. Silent and judging. He doesn’t understand. He is the animal. There’s no making it make sense to him.

I close my eyes and conjure words, the first that come to mind. Hold on, female. I’ll fix it. Can she hear? How the hell does this work? Not like this. I know that. Males don’t let their mates walk away. Even with mismatched pairs when the female can’t be acknowledged, she’s protected and provided for.

Tell no one. Do nothing. Leadership is sacrifice, son. It’s not about you. It’s about the pack. As if I don’t know that—live that—every moment of every day. But isn’t Rosie pack? Female. Are you in pain? No answer. Shit.

She was at her trailer the last time my cousin Derwyn texted an update. That was a half hour ago. Much too long. I tap a message. Status. He responds immediately. Same.

She’s home. Safe. Watched. There is nothing more I can do.

Everything rides on me. Every wolf’s life. The unity of the pack. The survival of shifters as a species. Nothing beyond that matters.

I prod the gentle hum in my chest. Safe? Nothing but the faint sensation of high notes floating into the air. Safe? Plink. Plink. Are you safe? I focus hard, infusing the question with alpha command. There is a startle. I have no other way to describe it. A startle comes through the bond.

I’m going to end up bigger and stronger than any Moon Lake male, and I still won’t be able to beat Uncle Alban because he can shift on a dime one time and use his opposable human thumbs to shank me. It’s bullshit.

His wolf rumbles his displeasure. Mine makes no reply, of course, but he doesn’t make the slightest show of submission, either.

“You can’t claim her.” Does he think I don’t know that? But still—my blood rises, testing my control. I can last, but how long? A male cannot resist his fated mate. It is known.

“But whatever you do, don’t knot her. Don’t breed her. And for all that’s holy, don’t bite her.” Blood roars in my ears. A sour, dank wrongness trickles through me. The words make sense, but damn, they reek.

“You will be the greatest leader this pack has ever known.” Certainty rings in his voice. Inevitability. I nod. I have no choice but to make it true.

He shouldn’t be here. So close to her.

My fists tighten, and my cock jerks. I’ll scrub her face clean if she does that. Her mouth, too.

“He’s yours, isn’t he?” I’m instantly hard as a rock.

“It’s not a problem.” I raise my palms to calm her. “I want you to keep it. It’s yours.” I hadn’t thought about it before this moment, but yes, that’s what I want.

But then she leans her pointed nose forward until the tip almost touches my shirt pocket. She sniffs. She’s scenting me. Holy fuck. I can’t move.

“You think you’re special now ’cause you’re gonna be the Alpha Heir’s whore?” The little punk. That’s it. I snatch his phone, chuck it down the hall, seize him by the armpits, and chuck him after it. He ends up on his ass.