Despicable by Rory Miles

BELLATRIX

After he changes into dry clothes, I sit next to Creed on the couch, picking at a loose thread and biting my cheek. He hasn’t said a word since Dax ordered him to take me home, and I’m not sure what to say to him. ‘It’s not your fault’ sounds stupid, so I settle for sitting with him until he’s ready.

When I tug the string free, his hand brushes against mine. I slip my palm into his, linking our fingers and turning to face him. I lean my head against the back of the couch, holding his gaze.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His face contorts, like he’s in physical pain, and he shakes his head.

“Okay.” I nod, feeling like an idiot. “Can I tell you a story instead?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice hoarse from all the yelling he did.

“Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman. Her mate was an omega and got bullied a lot. The woman was a delta, and while she could defend him to a point, she couldn’t stop him from getting hurt or beaten. One day, she came home from work to find her mate lying on the porch. He wasn’t moving, and for a moment, the woman thought he might be dead.” I swallow, blinking a few times to clear the tears. “But he wasn’t. He was beaten within an inch of his life, but his heart still beat.”

I remember hearing my mom’s screams from across the pack’s land. I’d been on a walk with Bella when the cry rose through the air, the sound violent and broken all at once. My sister and I shared a look before shifting and racing home, dashing around the other members of the pack who heard her and came to see what was happening.

I’ll never forget how pale her face was or how wild her eyes were, like she’d challenge any wolf, even the alpha, if they tried to talk to her or take him from her arms. It took Bella and me a few minutes to get her to agree to let the healer come help. Shifters can heal on their own if they shift, but healers can provide tonics or balms for any lingering scars and pain. They can also help most shifters shift if they’re too weak to do so on their own.

His forehead creases, but I continue the story, skipping over the gritty details and hoping it’ll distract his mind.

“So she found her family a new home. Her two daughters followed them across the country, even though they were both fully grown, to a pack they thought would treat their father kindly.”

I take a deep breath and look away, wrinkling my nose as I continue and trying not to let the pang of longing in my chest make me cry.

“Well, when they arrived, the oldest daughter met her fated mate.”

“He was an idiot,” Creed interjects, guessing the rest of the story.

“Maybe.” I shrug. “Apparently, if you’re not a virgin, you’re tainted goods.” A bitter laugh passes my lips. Try as I might, I can’t get over that fact. Chad should mean nothing to me, but because he is, or was, my fated, the rejection still stings.

A soft growl rises in Creed’s chest, and I squeeze his hands.

“Trust me, I want to rip his dick off as much as you do, but we’re stuck here.”

“You’re not tainted.” His entire face softens, and he stares at me long and hard, begging me to hear him.

I nod, smiling at him. “I know,” I say, but even still, my eyes fill with tears.

Despite trying to pretend like it doesn’t bother me, being rejected made me feel like the only thing that mattered was how sacred my vagina was. That’s not what I imagined my fated mate would care about, and it’s kind of like I was lied to my whole life. The bond is supposed to be this epic connection: like fireworks exploding over the ocean. What the hell does being a virgin have to do with that?

“At least you didn’t know the guy. My fated was a close friend.”

“Really?” I give him a look. “Why’d she reject you?”

“He rejected me.” Creed runs his hand through his hair, grinding his jaw.

My mouth forms an O shape, and I search his face. “Your fated was a guy?”

“Yeah. Apparently, he wasn’t into the idea of us being together, so he rejected me. It was pretty brutal, because the bond had already started to form but neither of us realized what was going on until I kissed him. You don’t really expect same sex fated mates, you know? And he refused to believe he wasn’t one-hundred percent straight.”

I squeeze his hand. “That must have been hard.”

“Yeah,” he rasps. “But all things considered, I’m okay.”

“How long has it been?”

“Four years,” he says, blowing out a hard breath. “And you’re the first person I’ve told about my fated mate being a guy.”

“You didn’t tell Ronan or Dax?”

He shakes his head. “No. I didn’t want it to be weird. I’m bi, so it was easy enough to pretend like it was a woman who broke my heart.”

“If they were real friends, it wouldn’t matter to them.”

Nodding, he glances away and closes his eyes.

We fall into a comfortable silence, simply holding hands and being there for one another. I’ll guard his secret as long as he needs, but I think he should tell Dax and Ronan. I don’t think they’d be bothered by it, and he shouldn’t have to hide who he is. It doesn’t change anything about the time we spent together, and I want to make sure he knows that, so I scoot closer and snuggle into his side, smiling when he wraps his arms around me.

* * *

RONAN

The guard arrives about twenty minutes after we shoot the flare off. We covered Seth with a tarp from the supply shed, and sat in silence on the dock, watching the water and wondering if anyone would even come.

“Hey, there.” I point to where I see the edge of a boat. There’s only one guard, the same one who came out for the last murder. “Took Dean long enough.”

“We’re the least of his concerns. I’m sure something more important was going on.”

“More important than a death?”

Dax scrubs his hair and shoves off the wooden planks, standing and walking to the edge of the dock. “More important than a bunch of rejects nobody wants.”

“You sound like Creed,” I mutter with a frown.

Creed is always going on about how no one cares about us and they couldn’t care less about what happens, and while I’ve held out hope that we might be able to leave, the stuff with the murders has tarnished my optimism. There are stories of shifters being let off the island and returning to their pack, so that’s something. Maybe we can get off the island someday, once we prove we’re not feral. Having a mate would help the cause, and I’d be lying if my mind didn’t immediately picture Trix.

If she took one of us—or all of us—as a mate, we could ask the High Pack to consider our petition to leave. If it’s happened before, it’ll happen again.

Unless they’re just stories.

Not to mention, Trix may not like any of us, so I shove the thought aside. It was a stupid idea anyway. No one will ever love me. Creed and Dax? Definitely. But me? No way. I may be fun on the surface, but I’m otherwise worthless. My fated rejected me because of it and even my mom told me as much growing up. No one wants a worthless shifter as a mate.

“What took you so long?” Dax asks in a hard voice. His alpha bleeds through when his emotions are high, and Dean glares at him, definitely not appreciating the tone.

Dax may be a reject, but he’s still an alpha.

If it weren’t for his fancy gun and taser, he’d rip this guy apart.

“We had Wolfe Island business to take care of.” Dean whips his sunglasses off and his eyes land on the tarp. “Another body already?”

I clench my mouth shut because nothing I have to say will help anything.

With a nod of understanding to me, Dax takes charge. “He was poisoned, but the killer tried to cover it up by dragging him out to the sonar range.”

Dean whistles and sets the glasses on top of his head. “Any leads?”

“No. I thought there was going to be an investigation.”

“High Pack business comes first.”

“Do you think they’ll help us now?” I ask, surging forward.

You’d think I was the hotheaded alpha, but alas, I’m a mere beta with a temper and a healthy distrust of authority.

His hand falls on the butt of his gun. “I’ll talk to some people, see if I can get some investigators out.”

“That’s all we ask,” Dax says, stepping in front of me so I can’t rush the dude.

“All right. Give me a few days.” Dean eyes the tarp again then spins on his heel, strutting back toward his boat.

I start to sputter, but Dax elbows me.

“What about the body?” he asks in a deadly calm voice, which means he’s pissed. Dax doesn’t get loud when he gets mad, he gets quiet and calculated.

“Bury it somewhere. The High Pack doesn’t have resources to deal with this right now.” Dean hops onto his boat and pulls the rope from its post. “I’d lock your doors at night if I were you.”

The engine sputters to life, and he backs the boat out, staring at us for a few seconds before lowering his sunglasses and taking off toward the main island.

“Are you kidding me?” I shout, not caring who will hear me. “We need help! There’s a dead body for fuck’s sake.”

He holds up his hand in acknowledgement, but doesn’t bother turning around.

“Fucking prick,” Dax says under his breath.

We turn and look at the tarp at the same time.

“I’ll go get the shovels.” I storm off, cursing the stupid guard the entire way and hating that Creed had it right.

The High Pack doesn’t give a crap about us.