Page 28 of Bad Blood Alpha

Never going to happen. Flynn bowed to no one.

He turned to leave. As he reached the door, she said, “Why did you tell them I’m your mate?”

He had no fucking idea. It had just come out. Maybe because of Tank and Lissa’s news, making him think about mates and families? More cubs for the crew… He should be happy about that, but the thought just made him tired.

More responsibility. More chaos. More love swirling all around him, and none of it really touching him.

Not that he wanted it to. If he was going to be a decent alpha, he needed to keep his head on straight. He couldn’t be all gooey over mates and cubs and shit.

“Technically, you are my mate,” he said. “We’re handfasted.”

“Yeah.” She perched one hip on the vanity. “About that…”

He turned to face her. Big mistake. She looked beautiful. Lean and taut, almost like a lioness, with a big cat’s restless energy. Her hair was still bound up, but wavy strands had come down in the rain and framed her face, softening it and making her eyes look even bigger.

Her mouth was wide and mobile, the lips full. His body was flooded by the memories of kissing her; every place she’d touched him suddenly pulsed with need.

He had to shut it down.

He folded his arms, putting on his alpha mantle. “I’m not talking about that tonight.”

“Flynn—”

“Jesus fuck, woman, at least give me until the morning. It’s two a.m., and I’ve been shot, fallen off a fire escape, bitch-slapped a panther, and learned one of my crew is having a cub. I’m done for tonight.”

He stalked out before his cat talked him into something he’d regret for the rest of his life.

Except, if he was going to regret it, why did walking away hurt so bad?

He made it as far as the living room, and only had to stop himself from turning back twice.

He hated that feeling—the one that pulled him toward her and screamed at him to do anything that would make her happy. He didn’t even know if the feeling was genuine—it could just as well have been the damn magical link between them, making him feel things that weren’t real so he’d fulfill his so-called duty.

The Draken Kings of Al-Maddeiri, manipulating him from beyond the grave. Fuck them. What kind of person bonded a twelve-year-old boy with an unbreakable oath, and made him promise away the rest of his life? So that they could be saved?

And what kind of person came back from the dead after twenty fucking years and tried to hold him to it?

He had one foot on the staircase when a shadow stepped out of the kitchen.

Jasmin.

He glared at her. “Seriously? Can’t this wait until morning?”

“No.”

She ignored the fact that he was pissed off. She always did. Although Tank was his best friend in the crew, in some ways he and Jaz understood each other better than any of them.

The rest of them were soft-hearted, deep down—even Sloan, who’d been a professional sniper for Shifter Special Ops. Flynn and Jaz had been raised hard, clawed their way out of places where they had no one but themselves to lean on or to trust. They never gave up, never gave in. They refused to break.

That’s why they were the least fucked up of all of Alexander Grant’s fucked-up escapees.

He sometimes wondered if his alpha mojo worked on Jaz at all, or if she just pretended it did out of respect.

He sighed. “Well, what then?”

“That bullet hole.” She indicated his shoulder. “What was that about?”

He shrugged. “Just a little altercation downtown. Got in the way of something that wasn’t about me.”