Page 23 of Rejected By The Alpha Heir

Shit.

I step up onto our porch and the door swings open before I can shift back to my human form. Austin stands in the doorway, his face pinched with worry.

Wordlessly, he stands aside to allow me to enter. I slip past him, shifting back as soon as I’m in the living room.

“Yelena,” he begins, knotting his hands at his side. “What I said earlier. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings.”

Is he delusional? How could he think it would do anythingbuthurt my feelings?!

I stare at him, but he doesn’t say anything else and suddenly, I feel more tired than I’ve ever felt before.

All the words and reprimands that I had practiced in my head on my run back to the cottage are gone now, leaving only intense emotional exhaustion in their place.

I shake my head and turn to leave. I don’t want to fight, I don’t want to hear excuses, I don’t even want to talk.

The only thing I truly want at this moment is food and a shower. I don’t need Austin for that.

“Yelena, say something,” he pleads.

But I just turn and walk toward my room. There’s nothing left for me to say. At least not tonight.

Chapter Nine

Yelena

I slide the crisp ten-dollar bill into the envelope with the other bills and smile grimly to myself. This money represents a secret promise that I’ve made to myself, a tangible sign that my plan is real. It’s my way out.

Over the last two weeks, I’ve managed to squirrel away almost a thousand in cash by selling tinctures, babysitting for various packmates, and keeping back a few dollars here and there from errands. It’s not as much as I’d like to have, but it’s enough to help me on the road when I leave.It will have to be.

“Yelena! Breakfast is ready!” Austin calls out, cheerfully.

I grimace and carefully tuck the envelope back into the bottom of the tampon box and hide it under the sink.

“Ok, thank you,” I call back, double-checking that the lock was still turned on the bathroom door.

Austin has been more attentive in the last two weeks than he has…ever. I don’t know what to make of it. Suddenly, he’s talking to me. Making breakfast. Asking me my opinion on things. He even folded my laundry the other day when I was out.

He’s been supportive. Kind.Friendly.It’s messing with my head.

Sometimes I wonder if my plan was created too hastily. If this is the new Austin, shouldn’t I want to stay and see it through?

I stand, brushing my hands off on my jeans, and look at my reflection in the mirror. I barely recognize myself. My cheekbones are more pronounced and I look paler. Dark purple smudges linger under my eyes—evidence of my lack of sleep. I’ve had difficulty keeping food down and sleeping for days now.

My breath catches in my throat when I think about my plan. The thought of actually going through with it and turning my back on my pack, my family, weighs heavily on my heart. Leaving Nightwing Pack is not something I ever wanted to have to do, but I don’t see any other option.

“You can do this,” I tell my reflection in the mirror. With another deep breath, I paste a fake smile on my face and go out to have breakfast with my intended mate…possibly for the last time.

The smell of burned eggs and toast wafts through the house as I step out of the bathroom, a gentle reminder that Austin is trying, in his own way. His cooking has been…an experience. But he’s trying, and it’s hard not to feel hopeful about that.

When I arrive in the kitchen, Austin is pouring scrambled eggs onto a plate, his back turned to me. He’s seldom cooked before, and it shows, but the last two weeks he has insisted on trying. The sight of him, so normal, so domestic, tugs at my heart. I almost want to believe that things can be different. Almost.

“Morning,” he says, turning to face me. He’s holding the plate up proudly and my eyes widen when I see the table is set, complete with fresh flowers. “You look lovely today.”

His bright smile is disconcertingly real, reaching up to the corners of his eyes. I manage a weak smile in return.

"Morning," I reply, taking a seat at the table.

He sets a heaping plate before me and for a moment, we fall into silence. I push the eggs around on my plate, too nervous to actually eat them.

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