One, two, three, four. Crack a window or a door. Five, six, seven, eight. Take a dump then lift the weights.
I had it stuck in my head for weeks afterwards. Kennedy still hums it under her breath when she’s painting.
And Killian’s not only hard on the males. Pretty much every female under fifty has had a thing for him, and he doesn’t care. He’ll duck off into the woods with them if the mood strikes him, and if they get clingy or aggressive, he’ll tell them to their face in front of everyone that he’s not interested.
He makes zero effort. He just sits in his metal folding chair up on the dais, and the females go to him. He’s an arrogant son of a bitch, right? Incapable of feeling like a normal person?
But he played video games with Kennedy. It was definitely his idea. The girls were terrified. And even though she doesn’t show it, Kennedy freaks out about getting busted more than any of us. She has so much more to lose.
Right now, she’s balanced on a knife edge. No one can know her wolf is male, but if she suppresses him, she’ll go moon mad or worse. With no money, where will she go on a full moon? The foothills? She’ll be easy prey to outcasts without a pack to protect her. She needs the rental we found. It’s close enough to town that the ferals steer clear, and far enough from pack territory that no one will catch her scent on the wind.
Of course, with Kennedy, her fear smells like anger. That’s, like, the first thing you learn about her. When I walked into our cabin, I had to breathe through my mouth. But then, after I showered and stole as much time as I could to collect myself, the stench was gone.
Kennedy and Killian were playing Cage Fight Takedown. I watched for a few seconds before I showed myself. Kennedy was sitting with one knee bent, her foot tucked under her butt like she does when she’s comfortable. Killian was leaning forward, fingers jamming the buttons, teeth clenched, intent on taking her down. He reminded me of Fallon, cussing under his breath when he missed a shot.
Maybe Killian is being nice as a tactic, luring me into a false sense of security so I let him do what he wants.
Which is?
My belly clenches, and my cheeks heat.
He wants to have sex. Mate me. Knot me. Make me have his babies.
That’s what all males want, right? Pups are a status guarantee. A male isn’t likely to hold his rank forever if he can’t prove his virility. There will be whispers. And then challenges.
Killian has never seemed the slightest bit concerned about his status, but folks change when they get older. And he did mention young. He stroked my belly.
I warm and tingle between my legs. I lengthen my stride, try to minimize the friction. It doesn’t help much. This better be normal dumb hormones and not heat. No bond, no heat, right? I feel like that was part of the deal, but my memory of the blackberry patch is hazy.
Regardless, I’m not having babies with Killian Kelly. I’m not going to let him touch me.
That’s exactly what I’m thinking when he lifts me up the steps to Tye’s cabin—without asking permission—and hustles me through the door.
Oh.
No.
That is foul.
The instant the air inside hits me, I sink into his side. It’s instinct. I try to breathe through my mouth, but it doesn’t help. I claw at my collar, strain my neck, but it’s no use. The smell is on my tongue, in my nose, my throat, my lungs. I retch.
“What is it, shy girl?” Killian curves his shoulder and leans down, blocking me from the males sprawled around the living room. His fingertips hover above my cheek, uncertain.
Tears stream down my face. “The air. It’s too—thick. I’m gonna be sick.”
I gulp down my spit, like that might get the nastiness out of my mouth, but all it does is roil my belly. This is awful. I press my nose into Killian’s shirt. It helps, but not enough. I’d run, but my legs are noodles, and I’m dizzy as hell.
“What’s the problem?” A gruff voice calls from across the room. It’s Dermot.
My stomach lurches. I’m going to throw up right here. I can’t even bolt for the bathroom. I’m stuck. “Can’t you smell it?”
“What do you mean?” He sniffs, darting out his tongue to taste the air. He smooths my shoulders, rubs my upper back.
It’s strange, him touching me like this in front of others, but I’m too nauseous to care. I plaster myself closer and screw my eyes shut, praying he does something, because I don’t know what’s happening to me, and I’m gonna hurl.
“Shit.” There’s panic in his voice. “Tell me what to do.”