Page 20 of Rejected Alpha Mate

I know what she’s remembering—or rather, reliving—and I gulp hard, a new wave of guilt washing over me.

“I had it revamped,” I reply as I slowly make my way toward her, cautious. “The old place didn’t feel like mine anymore,” I add.

What used to be here before was an old, brick-faced house with decades of character. It’s where Donna, Dominic, and a pregnant Cecelia stayed during their visit last summer, but back then, it was my father’s place, before I’d taken over as the alpha of Crescent Moon. Once I took the mantle, I made a few changes to the house.

Donna’s lips twitch, almost into a smirk. “Right. Out with the old, in with the new alpha. Though I was expecting more.”

The jab lands squarely where it’s meant to—in that spot where I was hoping for something else.

In hindsight, perhaps I wanted her to be impressed, or fazed, at the very least. Subconsciously, I might have made the changes to the house in an effort to get rid of the memories of what happened here last summer.

I smirk, trying to mask the sting. “I keep it simple. Function over flair.”

“Of course you do.” Her tone is sharp enough to draw blood. “No personality to the place anymore.”

Another sting, but I choose to ignore it, pushing open the door and stepping aside for her to enter first. “Your room is this way,” I say with a gentle nod to the west hallway, and she follows me down, her heels clicking against the pristine wooden floors, each sound echoing through the quiet house like a countdown.

The clock is ticking as if we’re traveling through time, to the past, to that moment when her brother and his mate were here, and we’d been full of chatter and joyful smiles. The silence between us now echoes in those memories, but the scent of her—lavender and something softer, uniquely hers—remains the same as it trails behind me, clawing at the edges of my control.

When we reach the west wing, I open the door to the bedroom across from mine. “This is the room you stayed in…” My voice tapers off when the words and the memory catch in my throat. “You should be comfortable here,” I say, gesturing inside. “If you need anything, I can—”

“I won’t need anything,” Donna says abruptly as she turns to face me, her expression unreadable, eyes cool and distant. For a second, I catch a flicker of the girl I used to know—the one who smiled too easily, who looked at me like I hung the moon. But it’s gone before I can soak it in.

“Right,” I mutter, forcing a weak chuckle. “You would know where everything is.”

“Unless it’s changed?”

I shake my head tersely. “Not really. Everything’s pretty much where it used to be.”

Donna nods and steps through the doorway, and I know this is my cue to walk away, give her the space she deserves. But something inside me—maybe my wolf, maybe my guilt—keeps me rooted there, watching her.

“Donna—”

She turns her back to me. “Unzip my dress.”

The request knocks the breath right out of me, even when it sounds more like a command.

“Wh-what?”

Her tone is calm, deliberate. “The zipper on my dress. I can’t reach it.”

My mouth goes dry, but I step closer, the faint sound of my heartbeat thundering in my eardrums as Donna pulls aside her thick, dark hair from where it curtains her back, exposing the zipper that runs from midway to her waist. My hands hover for a moment before I touch her, and I gulp hard to diffuse the heat rising in my bones. When I’m able to move again, her skin is warm beneath my fingertips, soft in a way I remember too well, eliciting sensations through my fingertips that feel almost addictive. The scent of her hair, the faint pulse at the back of her neck; the memories all flood me at once.

I drag the zipper down slowly, the soft, silk fabric whispering against her skin, revealing a sliver of her bare back that makes my throat tighten. My fingers tremble before I pull away, my eyes lingering on bare skin, the air between us thick with the echo of what used to be.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice cool and controlled, and a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.

Then, out of nowhere, a gust of cold wind knocks into me right before the door slams shut in my face.

For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the polished wood, my pulse still hammering as I blink, dumbfounded. The house is silent, but I can still hear her heartbeat on the other side of the door. Steady. Strong. Indifferent.

Mine is beating in the opposite direction.

I let out a low, bitter laugh and rake a hand through my hair, muttering to myself as I head down the hall. “Well, well…this is gonna be interesting….”

I saunter toward the bar on the other side of the kitchen, another memory knocking me like a gut-punch when I see a flash of Donna seated on the bar, her legs hooked over my shoulders as I ate her out like the most decadent meal—or the last supper that signified the end of our time together.

Gulping and shivering from the memory, I drag my feet to the back bar, grabbing a bottle from the shelf before finding my way to a stool. The bar’s glow is low and amber, a welcome contrast to my racing heart, the faint hum of the refrigerator filling the silence and lulling me to calmness. I pour myself a double of bourbon and prop my elbows on the counter, staring at the liquid like it holds the answers I need.