Page 71 of Rejected Mate (Feral Shifters 1)

I shift my head to look up at the doorway. The man in question stands leaning against the doorframe, a giant Cheshire cat grin on his face.

“Oh, fuck off, puppy,” I snarl and close my eyes again.

The cat purrs louder.

God fucking dammit. Why is this my life?

Warmth closes in on my thigh, and the loose leg of my cotton short shifts upward. My head snaps up as I shoot my good arm out and latch on to Kian’s wrist. The cat doesn’t even flinch.

“What are you doing?” I snap.

“I’m going to clean the dirt out of your wounds. Unless you want gangrene.”

I ignore the fact that he’s pointedly throwing my own argument back into my face. I argued that I needed to clean his wound after Erik sliced him up like a loaf of bread.

“I’m tougher than I look,” I tell him with a snort. “You act like I didn’t grow up eating dirt and wrestling in poison ivy like a good little pack wolf.”

Kian makes a sound that could almost be a laugh.

Almost.

The sound tugs at something deep inside me, as if someone plucked a string in my heart. It reverberates through my chest, soothing and aching at the same time. Clearing my throat, I release his hand and wave him on.

“Fine. Do whatever you want. Just don’t take too long.”

With those words, I give in to my exhaustion again, closing my eyes and sinking back against the couch pillow. The cat continues to purr like she’s harboring a freaking twin turbo under the hood.

Kian sets to work on my leg, his movements brusque and businesslike. He uses alcohol to clean it out, then gauze to lightly scrape leftover rocks and debris away. I’m tense under his touch, and the cleaning hurts like hell if I focus on it too much, but having him care for me feels good.

Even though I don’t want it to.

That makes me think about how things might have been different all those years ago. If he wasn’t who he was, if we’d accepted the mate bond and started a life together. Maybe he would have cared for me like this through the battle with the witches.

“When we met,” I murmur, my eyes still closed, “were you already on the same mission for your alpha as you are now?”

There’s a pregnant pause, then he answers. “Yes.”

“But you were alone in Montana.”

“I was,” Kian agrees, and cold alcohol flows over my road rash again. I suck in a breath, and the cat’s claws sink into my side like she’s holding me in place. “Our alpha sent us on solo missions at first. Then Frost found a place where the barrier between Earth and the shadow realm is weak. He tried to breach it himself, and shit went south fast. He almost died, and the barrier held firm. That’s when we were instructed to stay together. To keep each other safe and work together if we ever find a thin enough part of the veil to break through.”

His hands disappear from my thigh, and a moment later, a wet cotton ball swipes over my jawline.

I open my eyes, and my heart skips a beat at his nearness.

He’s leaning over my head, his knees pressed against the cushions because of how big he is. Something stings on my face as he cleans it. I probably look like a fucking wreck.

“You have an alpha,” I mutter, mostly to distract myself from the overwhelming feel of his presence so close to me. “That means you have a pack, right?”

Kian’s lips tighten, and he drops the bloodied, dirty cotton ball onto the table, then reaches for a tube of ointment. “No. Not really.”

; As he swipes the ointment on my skin, I consider what I know about these three men. They hunt like pack wolves, but they’re not really. They’re nothing like the men I grew up with back home, and it’s not just because of their shadow forms or the magical tattoos. They’re exactly what Gwen told me they are—feral shifters. Set apart from the rest. Isolated.

“They’re all you have,” I murmur, staring at Kian’s face. “Malix and Frost.”

His hand is nearly cupping my cheek as he tends the scratch on my jaw. We’re only inches apart, and for once, we’re not trying to bite each other’s heads off. He tilts his head toward me a little, and it reminds me so much of the way he rested his forehead against mine that night in his hotel room that I unconsciously mirror the movement.