Rejected Luna; Hurting Alpha Draken

Chapter1This time, I feel

Chapter 1 This time, I feel

Nuria's point of view

"Nuria! Come here!"

I quickly text back, feeling a rush of excitement. A guy from the city wants to buy morel mushrooms for three hundred dollars. It's a nice payday, even though I'm not supposed to handle human money, talk to men, own a phone, or leave pack land without permission. But Draken Kal, our alpha, doesn't notice what we females do all day. I'm grateful for the extra income and food it provides.

Old Noreen calls me over to refill beer pitchers. Balancing the heavy tray with my bad leg is a challenge, but I manage. My phone vibrates with confirmation from Shroomforager3000. I'll have to swap shifts with Annie to make the deal. Getting caught trading with humans would mean trouble with Draken, who rules with fear.

The fear of Draken's punishment weighs on me, but I push it aside. I've never shifted into my wolf form, despite having one. Caramel, the pack's elder, assures me it'll happen in time. But the thought of shifting with my injured leg worries me.

I watch the intense fight between Calvin and Jackson, knowing Calvin's victory could mean trouble for me and my roommates. Draken's dominance keeps the pack in line, but Calvin represents a darker, more oppressive past.

As I navigate through the crowd, Draken's presence is impossible to ignore. Despite his intimidating demeanor, I can't help but feel drawn to him tonight. His power and strength are undeniable, but there's something else stirring inside me that I can't explain.

I can't help but notice Draken's physical presence—his muscles, his posture, his demeanor. Even though I've known him since childhood, tonight, there's a magnetic pull I can't ignore.

I try to focus on my task, but the heat and tension in the room make it difficult. Sweat drips down my back as I navigate around the fighting wolves. Draken's gaze briefly meets mine, sending a shiver down my spine.

Despite my efforts to avoid him, I find myself drawn to Draken's commanding presence. His power is undeniable, and tonight, I can't seem to look away.

As the fight reaches its climax, I feel a surge of adrenaline and anticipation. Draken's control over the pack is absolute, and tonight, I can't help but feel a strange attraction to him.

Despite the chaos around me, I can't shake the feeling of being drawn to Draken. His strength, his confidence—it's intoxicating.

I finally make it to the table, feeling a mix of relief and excitement. Draken's lieutenants treat me with disdain, but I ignore them as I fulfill my duties.

As I leave the room, the desire to be outside overwhelms me. I long for the freedom of the open sky and the cool night air. But above all, I can't shake the feeling of being drawn to Draken, like a moth to a flame.

Sweet Fate, someone needs to crack a window. Now there’s sweat dripping down my back. Standing puts more pressure on my leg than moving, and my thigh muscles are starting to ache. This is miserable.

Why did I wear a flannel? It’s sticking to me. So gross.

I need to drop this tray and get some air. What if I just skirt them—

Calvin slams Jackson into the ground, barely missing my foot. Okay. Guess I’ll wait right here.

After several long moments of grunts and growls, Jackson gains the upper hand. Half the room roars. Then there’s a reversal; Calvin wrangles Jackson into a headlock, and the other half goes wild.

Draken watches, fingers steepled, gaze flickering from male to male. Our king. He’s wearing a plain white tank top, faded jeans, and tan work boots. It’s pretty much a uniform in this pack.

Draken should look basic, but he doesn’t.

His shirt clings to every defined muscle, and like his gargantuan wolf, he’s in a whole other weight class than the other males. His jeans hug his thighs, and they’re more solid, too. His sculpted shoulders are broader, his posture more arrogant, his dusky blue eyes flintier.

Every angle on his face is harsh. His nose is crooked, his Adam’s apple pronounced, his lips a s***h. Even when he smiles, they barely curve.

I’m really thirsty. I swallow, but my mouth is bone dry.

Why am I looking at Draken Kal’s lips?

I drop my gaze, and my face blazes. It’s the heat in here. It’s muddling my brain.

Draken Kal is strong, but he’s not attractive. He looks mean—which is what he’s always been. He’s only two years older than me. I’ve known him since the day I was born, and I’ve never been into him like the other females. I’m not a rank groupie.

I shake myself off as best I can with a full tray. Jackson and Calvin are still blocking my way. I could go back, circle around behind the tables, but that’d take forever. It’s getting muggier and more humid by the second, and my shirt is sticking to me. I’ll wait a few more seconds. Jackson looks to be making his comeback.

He’s not going to lose. Draken wouldn’t have ordered him to fight if it wasn’t a sure thing. Draken and Jackson are closer than brothers, and in this pack, everything goes the way Draken wants.

That’s because unlike the other packs, Quarry Pack is ruled by strength, not blood. Any male can challenge for rank at any time. Theoretically, Draken could have to fight every day to keep the lead, but he doesn’t because he cannot be beat. It’s a fact.

Besides having the biggest wolf in the five packs, Draken’s a flip-shifter. He can change from skin to fur and back again whenever he wants, without effort, in the blink of an eye. It’s an unbeatable advantage.

Caramel says flip-shifting isn’t magic, but it sure as hell looks like it when he morphs back and forth mid-air. No one wants to challenge an alpha touched by the moon.

A flash of heat crashes through me. It has to be at least ninety degrees in here, and behind Draken’s makeshift throne, the fire’s roaring. Why does no one open the windows?

Probably because the mated and protected females are perfectly comfortable. They’re allowed to wear short sleeves, and per usual, the males who aren’t wearing tank tops are bare-chested.

My wrist is so tired. I switch so I’m holding the tray in two hands. My palms are getting slick. It’d serve them right if I dropped the tray, and they’d have to go get their own damn beer. The folks at the far table are already casting me dirty looks—like why don’t I wade through the shifter fight?

Ugh. I press my legs tight together. Sweat is dribbling down my inner thighs and tickling the back of my knees. And my stomach’s doing something weird. Do I have a fever? I can’t get sick. I’ve got a mushroom deal in the works.

FortNuriately, the match seems to be wrapping up. Adam Bell is squatting and squinting between Jackson and Calvin’s entangled bodies. I’m not sure why he doesn’t call the match. Jackson is howling at the ceiling in victory, and Calvin’s face is beet red, fur sprouting from his collar. There’s definitely a winner and a loser, and if Adam doesn’t call it, there’s gonna be a wolf fight in the great room.

I can’t stand here any longer. I need air. All this male musk is making me queasy. I’m gonna yak. I grip the tray and pick my way around them, praying Calvin doesn’t break free at the very last second and topple me ass over tea kettle.

Luckily, I make it past them to where Draken’s lieutenants sit next to the dais. From the way everyone treats the table like sacred ground, you’d think it’d be special, but it’s like the others—worn laminate top, backless benches, wheels. The tables came with the building when the pack bought the property in the 80s and stopped living in dens.

“Took you long enough,” Jim Murphy gripes as he grabs a pitcher, knocking my hand as he helps himself. I set the tray down and unload it. I don’t bother to respond. I don’t talk to d***s.

“Get us some more.” Jim shoves an empty bread basket at me. He doesn’t meet my eye, just gnaws on a drumstick while he watches Jackson help Calvin off the floor.

“Bad call,” he grumbles under his breath. He’s just sore because he’s in cahoots with Calvin. From where I was standing, Jackson won without a doubt.

I snag the basket and turn to go. I’m going to “forget” about the bread and duck out the back. The sun is setting. There’ll probably be a breeze from the foothills. I can cool down.

I want to be outside so bad. The desire hits me so hard, it’s a longing. I need open sky. I want to breathe in the night air. I want to bask in the moonlight.

Mostly, I want out of these clothes. My bra straps are digging into my shoulders, and my khakis are damp and too damn tight. They must’ve shrunk in the wash. Or I’ve ended up wearing Annie’s again by accident.

I take a step toward the kitchen, but before I head back, I glance up at the dais. I have to. I’m called. It’s instinct even though no one said my name.

But there’s only Draken, staring at me.

Heat bursts from my core, surging down my limbs, leaving my toes and fingertips tingling. I hold onto the empty tray for dear life.

Why is he checking me out?