And then I catch a scent on the wind, and my heart leaps once, high in my throat, and then takes off in a gallop.
It’s Killian.
He’s close.
I scan the booths, and there he is, a blur rushing towards us, and I can’t get a word out, I can’t move an inch before he shoves me to the side and bowls into ShroomForager3000, sending him sailing into the air. My jar is knocked from my hands, and it falls to the sidewalk, shattering.
Killian’s tan work boots land on the mushrooms, crushing them into pulp, as he bounds to loom over the human, fangs bared, claws unsheathed.
Screams pierce the air. There’s the scent of piss. ShroomForager3000 scrambles backwards like a crab.
My mushrooms are brown goo. There are a handful intact, but they glitter with glass shards. Morels have so many ridges, even if I soak and rinse them, I can’t be sure to get them clean. They are all ruined.
Three hundred dollars, down the drain.
No unlimited data. No mushroom farm. Nothing.
All that time, gathering and drying, scouring the online forums, wasted. Finding this creep. Listening to his creepy proposition. And I’ve got nothing.
My eyes prickle, hot with tears.
Killian looms over ShroomForager3000. “You dare touch what’s mine?”
It’s a roar. He’s an enraged alpha. I should drop to my knees and simper, neck bared, but I don’t. I don’t care that my wolf is baring her neck and practically mewling. My hands curl into tight fists. He destroyed my mushrooms, and he doesn’t even care.
ShroomForager3000 sputters. He can’t manage a word.
“Stand,” Killian commands. “Fight me.”
ShroomForager3000 shakes his head hard, waxed beard swaying as a whole. “No way, dude. I didn’t know the shrooms were yours, man. If I had known, I wouldn’t have made an offer, hand to God.” He raises his hand. “I don’t want any trouble.”
Killian just stands there, growling.
My wolf whimpers, and in the silence, it resonates in my own throat.
ShroomForager3000 glances at me.
“You don’t look at her.” Killian steps to the side to block me from view, puffing his chest, broadening his stance.
“Whatever you say, man. You’re the guy with the fangs.”
Killian looks at me. “You smell—afraid? But also like you’re gonna puke? Why?”
I’m not telling him about the invitation to get in the shroom van. I loathe the dude, but I don’t want him dead. So I don’t say anything.
“Una?” Killian’s voice is louder.
I stare at the brown fungi slush with the footprint.
Killian huffs in exasperation.
My nose is burning now. I’m gonna cry. In front of humans.
From the corner of my eye, I see the woman from the souvenir stand slowly approach, her hands raised, the bangles on her wrist clinking. “Hey, Una. What’s going on over here?”
A siren wails in the distance. The humans have called their enforcers.
I’m not going to be able to come back. Everything I’ve worked for—everything—is busted and broken. A tear dribbles down my cheek.
“Are you safe, honey? You want to come over to my booth with me?” She offers her hand.
My heart cracks. A human can’t help me.
I scrub my face with my sleeve and sniff back the tears. “I’m leaving. Don’t worry. He won’t hurt the human. It’s against pack law.”
And Killian is pack law. He decides, and it is so. I’m not his mate. I belong to him. Whatever he says.
My nails dig into the flesh of my palms.
It’s not fair. None of this is. And I’m not standing here a moment longer with humans staring at me. Pitying me.
I turn my back, and I walk across the lawn toward the truck, back ramrod straight, leg dragging in the grass. Killian can do what he wants. I don’t care. My wolf growls her accord.
And yet, every step I take, his scent dogs my heels. I want to scrub it out of my nose.
I reach for the door handle, and his hand is there, blocking me. He’s crowding me, his chest pressed to my back, his breath on my neck.
“Keys,” he says.
They’re in my backpack. I don’t want to hand them over. I want him to die and fall in a deep hole and go flying out the other side of the world. I want someone to ruin everything he worked for. I want him to have to ask permission and sneak around and hustle for every penny because he doesn’t have a choice.
There’s a zip and the backpack straps tug my shoulders. He helped himself. Of course he did.
“Come on.” He grabs my elbow and pulls me around the hood of the truck. His grip has no give. I have no hope of pulling myself loose, so I hobble beside him and let him open the door and lift me into the passenger seat.