Rejected Mate (Feral Shifters 1)

“This witch,” Kian prompts. “What did she tell you?”

“You’re going to destroy the world, and it’s my job to stop you.”

“And you believe her.”

“Knowing what I know about you? Fuck yes, I believe her.”

He tilts his head. “What do you know about me?”

I freeze, realizing I might have said too much. What I know about him is that he met his mate, bonded with her, then walked away like she was trash.

Any shifter capable of that isn’t a shifter at all. But quite frankly, I don’t want to go down that road. There’s nothing to discuss.

“Just what she told me,” I say coolly. “That you’ll destroy the world.”

Brandee bounces back up like an excitable poodle and deposits a short glass on t

he table in front of Kian. “You folks eating?”

“That will be all,” he says without looking away from me.

“O-kaaay,” the bubbly server says, drawing out the syllables. “Just wave me down if you need me.”

In her absence, Kian picks up the glass and sniffs it, then makes a face before setting it back down, untouched. A small, petty part of me fills with glee.

Score one for Amora.

Kian sighs into his glass. “You have no idea what you’re messing with.”

“Why don’t you enlighten me?”

He raises his golden-ringed gaze to meet mine. “You should’ve taken the hint when I left you three years ago.”

His words slice deep, and an ache spreads through me, chilling me from the inside.

There it is. The elephant in the room. The source of the tension so thick between us.

He knew what was between us just like I did that night. He knows what he turned his back on.

I stare him down, every cell in my body on fire with loathing. Gritting my teeth, I promise myself that I will stop him. No matter what it takes.

An explosion of glass and liquid next to our table startles me out of my vengeful thoughts. I jolt away from the splatter of alcohol and turn to find Brandee standing over an entire tray of shattered glasses, her big eyes shiny with unshed tears.

“I’m so sorry!” she squeaks. “The glass didn’t hit you, did it? It just slipped right out of my hands! I should have dried them off...”

I catch a blur of black out of the corner of my eye and realize Kian’s on the move.

“Fuck!” I leap to my feet to follow him.

Glass crunches beneath my boots as I run through Brandee’s mess. I slip on a puddle of sharp-smelling alcohol and catch myself on the back of a chair, then launch forward on Kian’s heels. He weaves through the crowd of bar patrons like he’s made of water, while I slam into three different guys roughly the size and shape of small mountains. Each blow sets me a few seconds behind, so that by the time I burst through the open front doors, he’s gained a lead.

Kian sprints across the parking lot toward the tree line where a Harley’s parked alone. Because of course he also has a bike. It only cements the whole “we’re star-crossed soulmates” shit.

He tosses a long leg over his seat and revs the bike to life so quickly it’s like he’s one with the damn thing.

I reach him as he lifts his feet off the ground and rolls into motion. I lash out, grabbing for his t-shirt, but as he gives the bike gas, the cotton tears beneath my hand.

“Fuck!” I yell. Of course I chose not to drive over. Of course my bike’s across the fucking street. Because I’m an idiot. Three years of dead ends and false leads made me drop my guard too much.