Rejected And Claimed By Her Trio Alpha Mates

chapter 35

I finally doze off around the time dawn begins to paint the sky red, though I feel like I’m barely under before I wake again. What little sleep I managed to get was fitful and full of shadows.

When I awake, Kian, Malix, and Frost are already up and loading their bikes. The moment my eyes open, they stop talking and all three glance my way like they’re one goddamn person.

Not suspicious at all.

Malix grins. “Sleep well, kitty?”

I bare my teeth at him and briefly consider throwing my knife at his face for funsies. It would only cut him a little. Add a little extra pizazz to that stupid smile.

“Yeah,” I snarl. “How ‘bout you? Did the bed bugs bite?”

Malix’s grin widens, and I wasn’t even aware that was possible.

“Time to go.” Kian speaks up as he closes his under-seat storage compartment. He turns a dark, unreadable gaze on me. “We’ve got another few hours on the road.”

I get to my feet and roll my shoulders, working the tension out of my muscles. While I load my gear back into my bike, none of the guys speak. Not even to each other. The deep silence feels more like a condemnation of me than anything else, but at least no one mentions my attempted murder.

And I know Malix told them.

We ride for a few more hours, breaking around lunch time to grab food at a local barbecue joint off the highway. There’s a western boutique next to the restaurant, and even though the selection isn’t great, I manage to find a pair of boots that look more heavy metal than cowgirl. Good thing too, because my ankles are starting to blister.

Back on the road, there’s nothing as far as the eye can see. This is deep desert, absolutely beautiful but deadly. In places like this, people can get lost and die pretty easily. We stick to the state highway for the rest of the morning—prime real estate for enjoying the view without getting lost in the wilds.

I start to see signs for the Mexico border in the early afternoon. I’m concerned they’re about to drag me across the border and kill me, until Kian signals to leave the interstate in the middle of damn nowhere only a few miles before the country ends.

The off-ramp spills us onto a two lane road with yellow lines so faded they’re almost nonexistent. A gas station sits right near the highway, and behind that, a general store that looks straight out of the wild west. We pass a few dusty strip malls, half the spaces empty except for a bar, a diner, and a few odds and ends like a lawyer’s office and a tax pre paration place. We fly through one green light and don’t see another one for the rest of our trip.

We turn off on a gravel road surrounded by empty desert. Several houses dot each side of the road, though they thin out the further we drive. Then the gravel ends and turns to dry, caked dirt, and up ahead, a rundown shack leans listlessly on a backdrop of barren land.

We park in a line outside the shack. Out here, you can’t get away with sneaking up on people when you’re traveling on four loud bikes. It’s too deadly quiet. Even an eagle’s cry seems loud in the desert.

So the witch is already on his porch staring at us as we cut our engines.

He’s… not what I expected. He’s abnormally tall with limbs so thin he looks overstretched, and long, dyed black hair that frames his face in scraggly lines. He has ridiculously pale white skin, the kind that looks as if it would turn lobster red in the desert sun, and huge green eyes. He wears a Metallica t-shirt, half a dozen beaded necklaces and even more bracelets, and carpenter jeans with giant legs.

I didn’t even know the latter still existed in modern fashion.

Malix grins as he knocks down his kickstand and swings a leg wide to dismount. “This’ll be interesting.”

Kian grunts, then speaks in a low voice. “Mind your manners.”

I fall into line with the feral shifters as we cross the yard. Dried grass crackles and breaks beneath my new boots, and the sun beats down mercilessly on my shoulders. I can’t imagine living out here at what seems like the unforgiving edge of the world, but clearly people do.

Including this weirdo.

Kian halts a few feet away from the shack’s lopsided front porch.

The witch crosses his skinny arms over his chest. His eyes are too large for his face, giving his features a strange, cartoonish slant. “You folks lost?”

Kian ignores his question. “You Erik?”

The witch drops his arms, and his fingers twitch at his sides. “Maybe. Who are you?”

“I’m in need of your special brand of assistance,” Kian replies. “Can we talk?”

Erik’s green gaze moves over all of us, one at a time. He knows we’re supernatural—I can tell, I just don’t know how. He’s on edge, standing on his tiptoes, ready to fight or flight. Something about him seems off. If my gaze slides away from him, he takes on a smoky, half-formed haze in my periphery, as if he’s cloaking himself in magic. But when I look at him head on, he looks like he’s about to hop in his car and head to Comic-Con. I’m not sure which view of him is the truth.

I don’t like him. Something about him feels strange enough that I think he’s dangerous.

Malix claps his hands together and says, “Hey, man. We’re not looking for handouts. We can pay.”

Erik’s eyes gleam. His green gaze slides over Kian’s torso in a look that—on someone else—might be a s****l leer. But I’m pretty sure Erik’s interest has nothing to do with Kian’s muscles. He’s looking at the tattoos.

“We can find someone else,” Kian says with a shrug.

The witch leaps into action, opening his door and holding it wide as he motions us inside with an overly dramatic flourish. “No, no. That won’t be necessary. By all means, come in.”