Page 7 of The Alpha's Forced Rejected Mate

“I miss you.”

My heart fluttered.

This was a dream. Iknewthis was a dream, but it had been greeting me every night since Sydney was born. Except now, instead of a wide cavern separating us, we were holding hands on the edge of a cliff.

On the edge of—

He embraced me, his boxy-buff body encompassing me entirely. With my face buried in his neck and my arms around his shoulders, I felt like I was clinging to a giant boulder, a strong, sturdy, stable boulder that would keep me from getting yanked out to sea by the ravenous tide.

To look into his eyes, I had to tilt my head back, and then I was met by the glorious swirl of hazel brown that dazzled me with its glassy quality. My lower lip twitched as he gently traced my chin with the tip of his finger. One teasing kiss led to anotherand then another until it was like a broken dam spilling affection all over my face.

Each kiss deepened my desire. Every touch turned me into a pliable mess of writhing limbs. He undid me in ways I couldn’t control, purely dream-like in delivery, yet effective on my conscious body regardless of it being made up in my head. This was made up.

But then, if it was made up, why did it feel so real?

Though my vision blurred in twisted patches like wet paint on canvas, I was impacted by the bruise of his thumb and fingers squeezing my right shoulder. The way the digits dug into my flesh unwound me even more, causing my knees to buckle, my head to sway back, and my mouth to widen as his canines pressed at the main artery in my throat. The tiniest pricks would lead to a lifetime of connection.

If only this were real, then maybe it would count for something.

Then maybe I would be important to someone.

Then maybe I could save my daughter…

Chapter 3 - Cliff

It wasn’t like me to feel paranoid.

Sure, when I was slinging dope up to Maine, I had reason to be suspicious. I had more than enough experience to justify the harried glances over my shoulder whenever I was walking up to the rear of a place with a load of something shucked into the back of my pants. Even while I stood in the open night next to my best friend and his mate, I could sense the tickle at the base of my neck, the one that made me want to check my six.

The only thing missing was the familiar coolness of metal against my forefinger—a pocket pistol that could pack a potent punch in the right hands. Those were my hands at one point; my fingers were the dangerous tickers counting down the seconds of someone’s life. I wasn’t just a bad boy; I was a careless outlaw who played the jokester during the day and the corrupt cowboy at night.

Still, despite my many encounters, it just wasn’t like me to be paranoid.

Tall tree branches arched over the open field, branches crooked and pointed together like jagged webs to guard us from the outer world—or perhaps to protect the sky from our influence. Who knew what this kind of magic put out in the universe? It felt like we were meddling with something dark.

That could have just been the gaping sky. Pinprick dots glimmered above the canopy of trees. The warm breeze rustled through the branches, shuffling the leaves and making them scrape together. As the cauldron before me bubbled with liquid, I tried to ignore the beginning inklings of song growing around me.

Silence felt more appropriate. I’d never seen this ritual performed, so I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect, but the singing felt annoying. I kept staring into the inky black sky streaked with milky clouds carrying moonlight and possibly rain. Lightning burst far off in the distance in controlled patches of bluish-white.

Yeah, it was going to rain soon. Maybe that was a good thing.

Hector jabbed me with his elbow. “Get a load of these guys.”

A few blinks brought me back to earth. I stared at the group of men on the other side of the cauldron who were chanting and stomping their feet. To the right of them, about ten feet off, several women had scooped their skirts and started prancing toward the group of men, jumping forward and then darting back with a teasing giggle. They sang to the chanting and stomping, to the rhythm cracking the earth.

“Lead us to her. Take us to our doe.”

“Show us the wolf who calls for us!”

One woman dancing with gazelle-like motions toward the front stood en pointe and then spun gracefully before sprinting back into the crowd of women. Some of the women cajoled each other, daring them to dance into the open circle created by the active crowd.

Hector chuckled. “I’ve never seen them so excited.”

“I’ve never seen them so drunk.” I sipped my summer spritzer. “But at least the kids are having fun, right?”

I focused on the cauldron, the sunflower yellow bubbles glowing just over the surface. My sister stood with her hands over the water, monitoring what I presumed to be the petals thatwere supposed to float to the surface. Weird magic tricks like this were just something to give people hope. Less magic, more performance.

Not that I minded having some hope and inspiration. I just didn’t care for the mate crap. I thought it was useless. People were more than capable of finding happy partnerships without other people interfering. True love wasn’t something that could be bottled, bought, or bound. It had to happen naturally.

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