Page 21 of Rogue Games

“Fuck,” I grit out, resting my hands on the cold stone and stepping back, head hanging between my arms.

Concentrating on regaining my composure, I focus on the fact that this situation is only temporary. Maybe she’ll get knocked out tomorrow and be out of my life. That thought should cheer me up, instead, the idea of her being gone so soon makes my skin itch.

Which is exactly why she needs to go.

11

JAMIE

Dean’s introduction was hardly an unequivocal stamp of approval for our participation in the Alpha Games.

The hateful looks and murmurs of discontent continue, even after he’s left the building. While he was more than clear that he wasn’t going to listen to any complaining about his decision to allow us in, he also basically admitted that’s only because if we’re shit, we’ll be forced to leave tomorrow anyway.

There was no endorsement of us as people, or sticking up for rogues in general, just a general vibe of don’t give me any grief because there’s nothing in the rules to stop them entering. Heartwarming stuff, really.

Normally, it doesn’t bother me that people look down on us, but with Dean, it matters.

Seething, I slide into an empty seat, and Wyatt drops into the one beside me. Within seconds, an anxious looking server leaves plates of food down in front of us and scurries away without making eye contact. She must be afraid becoming a rogue is contagious.

Wyatt does a better job than me of pretending he doesn’t hear the whispered slurs circling around us. Shovelling his dinner into his mouth with gusto, he glances around the room casually, not a care in the world, whereas I keep my chin up and meet every disgusted glance with an icy stare. Let them look. They won’t be so cocky when they’re eating my dust tomorrow.

Wyatt looks like a man at complete ease, but I know him better than that. He’s subtly checking out the competition and making note of who looks a little more pissed off about our arrival than most. We’ll be staying well away from them.

When two people sitting at our table huff, then get up and flounce away leaving full plates of food behind them, Wyatt pretends not to notice that they’ve found our presence so off-putting that they can’t even finish their meal.

“I know it wasn’t exactly a warm welcome he gave us, but I’m glad that Reynolds put us in the packhouse. I don’t think I’d be sleeping tonight if we were in a dorm.” Wyatt doesn’t look up from his food as he speaks, maintaining his unbothered facade.

Wyatt’s right about that. There are enough vicious words and venomous glares being fired in our direction that I’d be nervous bedding down in any kind of communal accommodation. A door with a lock seems necessary if we’re going to make it to the starting line tomorrow, although we have two very different reasons to be concerned.

Wyatt needs to watch his back because he’s a real threat to the chances of some of the men here, and their delicate egos won’t like being beaten by a rogue.

I have the opposite issue. They don’t think I’m a threat. They think I’m vulnerable, and as a rogue, I’m barely considered human.

I’ve met cocky males who think I should be rolling over and presenting myself, honoured that a high-ranking pack wolf would even deign to look my way. And they tend not to take rejection well. I’d prefer to avoid being put in that position, if at all possible.

Someone kicks the leg of my chair hard when they pass, jolting me forward, and I bite back a snarl. Cursing when I drop a forkful of food onto my lap, I thank the heavens for leather trousers. I’m too busy wiping my thigh with a napkin to notice someone approaching. It’s only when Wyatt taps my knee with his and clears his throat that I look up.

A petite woman with a sleek, almost black, long bob, stands beside us with a broad grin on her face and two large drinks in her hands.

“I’m guessing you could use these.” She hands them to us with a flourish, then takes the seat beside Wyatt. Either oblivious to, or not giving a fuck about, the angry looks she’s getting, she settles in for a chat, extending a hand in greeting to each of us, in turn.

“I’m Maya, Dean’s sister. I’m not officially part of this pack anymore, but if you need anything, anything at all, just let me know.”

It’s hard to believe this bubbly, smiling woman is related to the walking scowl who just stormed out.

Wyatt takes a long swig from his bottle then sets it down in front of him and smiles up at her, grateful that at least someone here doesn’t seem to hate us. “Much appreciated. And congratulations.”

He briefly drops his eyes to her rounded belly and my heart melts. Wyatt’s a big softie. He’d love a family and kids of his own. And he’ll get them, someday. Hopefully after he wins a pack, he’ll get it all.

“Thanks.” Maya beams and rubs a hand over her massive bump, and I spot the two dots on her shoulder, telling me she’s mated to another wolf.

I feel a twinge of jealousy. If anyone deserves a happily ever after, it’s this woman in front of me, and I never wanted a mate. The life of a rogue is too dangerous to bring a child into. Yet, watching her hand move over her swollen belly in giant sweeping circles, it makes me sad to think I’ll never have children of my own. Nobody wants a rogue.

Which makes coming here to find what little family I have left even more important.

“Is it true you made it all the way across the river without anybody spotting you?” Maya asks, with wonder in her eyes.

I nod tentatively, unsure what kind of test this is.

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