Rejected And Claimed By Her Trio Alpha Mates

chapter 17

He knew what was between us just like I did that night. He knows what he turned his back on.

I stare him down, every cell in my body on fire with loathing. Gritting my teeth, I promise myself that I will stop him. No matter what it takes.

An explosion of glass and liquid next to our table startles me out of my vengeful thoughts. I jolt away from the splatter of alcohol and turn to find Brandee standing over an entire tray of shattered glasses, her big eyes shiny with unshed tears.

“I’m so sorry!” she squeaks. “The glass didn’t hit you, did it? It just slipped right out of my hands! I should have dried them off...”

I catch a blur of black out of the corner of my eye and realize Kian’s on the move.

“f**k!” I leap to my feet to follow him.

Glass crunches beneath my boots as I run through Brandee’s mess. I slip on a puddle of sharp-smelling alcohol and catch myself on the back of a chair, then launch forward on Kian’s heels. He weaves through the crowd of bar patrons like he’s made of water, while I slam into three different guys roughly the size and shape of small mountains. Each blow sets me a few seconds behind, so that by the time I burst through the open front doors, he’s gained a lead.

Kian sprints across the parking lot toward the tree line where a Harley’s parked alone. Because of course he also has a bike. It only cements the whole “we’re star-crossed soulmates” s**t.

He tosses a long leg over his seat and revs the bike to life so quickly it’s like he’s one with the damn thing.

I reach him as he lifts his feet off the ground and rolls into motion. I lash out, grabbing for his t-shirt, but as he gives the bike gas, the cotton tears beneath my hand.

“f**k!” I yell. Of course I chose not to drive over. Of course my bike’s across the f*****g street. Because I’m an i***t. Three years of dead ends and false leads made me drop my guard too much.

I don’t hesitate. It’ll take him a minute, maybe two to get out of the busy lot, even if the light is green. Hauling ass through the trees, I sprint for the parking lot of the motel and my own bike.

The fucker isn’t getting away.

I dart across the street, narrowly avoiding a collision with a Jeep. The driver honks and yells something obscene out his open window, but I keep running. I’ve got my senses turned up, shifter hearing on high. Harleys are loud. They’ve got engines that roar, so they’re not the kind of bike you want when you’re trying to outrun someone.

They’re also not as fast as my Ducati.

I sail onto the back of my bike and get it in gear in the blink of an eye, before I whip out of the parking lot on a squeal of tires. Down by the strip mall, Kian’s Harley is just pulling through the red light, turning away from the motel toward the empty highway.

I look both ways, then run two red lights—earning a few irritated honks for my disrespect of traffic laws—and take a right onto the street behind him. Once I’m past the strip mall, the traffic thins.

So I open the throttle and speed.

The wind whips around me, and my long hair snags at my face and neck. Away from civilization, the air smells wild, like freedom and fir trees and the musk of dead things. I close the distance between our bikes and grin like a fool because I’ve got the faster one. There’s not a chance in hell he’s going to outrun me.

Four lanes merge to two. Even though there are fewer cars here as we leave Oscura behind, we still pass a few traveling the speed limit. Kian whips around them in the emergency lane, and I follow suit, praying I’m not about to blow a tire on a stray nail or broken glass.

We leave behind the outskirts of the town for open desert filled with shrubs and lined by low hills painted red in the sunset. Another couple miles down the road, the desert gives way to deciduous forest, thick with spruce and fir trees.

He has to stop eventually. I’ve got a full tank of gas. I can go all night.

But then Kian veers off the road.

I cringe at the way his bike’s suspension bounces over the rough embankment. Harleys aren’t made for off-roading any more than they’re made for speed.

My Ducati flies down the embankment like a goddamn champ, and I speed after him into the trees. It’s the end of the road—literally. There’s no path here. Only thickening undergrowth, giant tree trunks, and wilderness. Birds scatter from us, screeching their discontent to the forest. I bounce over a small fallen tree, then barrel right into a thicket of dead thorns, cringing at the paint damage. A sharp branch lashes at my cheek, and heat flares where it cut me, but I keep going.

I’ll always keep going.

Kian brakes suddenly, letting his bike lay down on its side in the undergrowth. As it slides to a stop, he leaps off with deadly grace. Before he even hits the ground, he’s shifted to wolf.

Motherfucker.

I really don’t want to damage my bike more than necessary, but I want to catch Kian more. So I mimic his movements, laying down my bike and then using it as leverage to launch into the undergrowth before it can pin me beneath it.

When I hit the ground, I’m on four paws. I allow myself a brief second of despair for my destroyed leather jacket, then zoom after him.