Rejected By My Alpha Mate

2

“Thanks, cutie,” I smile at him tersely. “But I’ve got this. You enjoy your drink and tell me if anything else on the menu catches your eye.”

Grabbing my notepad and a pen, I walk over to the table, ignoring the way the shifters begin hooting at me. As soon as I reach them, I slam my notebook down on the table, so hard that a few of the customers around us look over.

“What can I get ya?” I ask, my voice saccharine-sweet.

“Maybe a piece of this ass,” one of them sneers in a disgusting manner.

I smile at him and reach out to touch his arm. He lets out an instant howl of pain as he receives the worst electric shock of his life.

I don’t even flinch but I let them hear the crackle of electricity coming from my hand.

Pissing off a warlock is a bad idea.

Even if she is half a warlock.

I see them stiffen as they realize what I am, and the sudden wariness in their eyes is almost gratifying.

When they don’t say anything, I smile and say coolly, “Maybe you should leave before I really lose my temper. You won’t like me if I lose my temper. My therapist says I have unresolved anger issues. You know how that is. I might just do something insane.”

They seem to take me for my word, and I watch them scatter out the door, their tails between their legs.

On the days I don’t despise my deadbeat of a father, I’m grateful to him for contributing to my warlock half.

Some of the customers laugh. While I feel amused, I know that panther shifters aren’t so easy to shake off. Once they regroup and really feel the insult of what I just did, they’ll come sniffing around, more vengeful than ever.

However, the constant foot traffic has me occupied, and soon the panther shifters are the last thing on my mind. I have other problems in life. One of them being my landlord who thinks I’m his personal slave.

“I’m not at home, Frank!” I hiss into the phone tucked between my ear and shoulder as I struggle with the impossible employee bathroom door. “If I was home, we could talk about this. You know I’m working at this hour.”

Frank hurls something abusive my way, which gets lost in translation since he’s chewing something on the other end. All I get is some garble that I assume I should be offended by.

“Look, Frank, I said I’d pay you and I will. My paycheck doesn’t come till the end of the month, like every other normal person. And no, I’m not performing s****l favors for you.”

I cut the call, and with an afterthought, put my phone on silent.

Fucking p*****t asshole!

If he wasn’t offering dirt-cheap apartments, I wouldn’t have to even look at his ugly mug.

I wash my face in the sink and pat it dry with some paper napkins before running my fingers through my hair and studying my reflection in the mirror. I have bags under my eyes from working eighteen hours a day. My piercing grey eyes, which I got from a father I’ve never met, have a tired look within them. My hands go to my hair, lingering around the roughly chopped edges. Lacy keeps pestering me to clean them up, but it’s just so much easier to hack at my thick black mane with a pair of kitchen scissors.

I’ve always hated my long hair. When I was a child, I remember my mother dragging me down the steps by my long hair. The first thing I did when I moved away from her was chop it off. Now no one can grab a fistful of my hair and hurt me.

I let out a sigh and study my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

“I’m not ugly,” I tell my doubtful-looking reflection. My ivory skin is flushed from the cold water, my high cheekbones bare of makeup. My mouth is too wide, though, and I’m not a fan of the mole above my upper lip.

But I wouldn’t call myself ugly.

“So why can’t I find me a man?” I demand at no one in particular. “Twenty-nine years, and no one has ever sexed me up. This is just insulting.”

But I doubt my reflection has any answers to offer, so I just grab my cigarette box and make my way to the back alley to smoke away my troubles.

But my troubles have a way of finding me.

I’ve barely let out two puffs when I feel a crawling sensation along my arms.

I’m not alone.

I look sharply in the direction of the entrance of the alley, and see a familiar group of males standing there.

“Lost, boys?” I ask, loudly, throwing my cigarette down and crushing it with the heel of my shoe.

The panther shifters bare their teeth at me, approaching me.

It’s six against one.

I smile.

The odds are clearly in my favor.

“You think you scare us, warlock?” one of them spits out. “You’re a female. And we know what to do with females.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” I laugh lightly, my fingers flexing as I prepare myself for the upcoming fight. “I was worried, seeing how you’re only traveling in an all-male pack.”

They seem to catch the hint a little late but they snarl. “We’ll put you in your place.”

I shrug. “Many have tried.”

I can see them bunching their muscles, preparing to shift and attack, and my own smile slips. But before anything can happen, I see something move in my peripheral vision.

So do they, they seem.

I can’t see who it is, but a deep voice asks quietly, “Is there a problem here?”

The sound makes my blood hum in a strange way. I can almost feel the vibration in my body. He comes forward into the dim light from the only bulb working in the alley, and I suddenly feel this crawling sensation within my skin, as if something wants to burst out.

Who is this man?