Rejected Bookish Mate of the Lycan King (Possessive Small Town Alpha Kings #10)

Chapter 1 Riley

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Riley

I was going to throw up.

Or pass out. Or maybe both, in whichever order my body decided would be most humiliating in front of the twenty people currently staring at me from their folding chairs at Chapter & Verse bookstore.

Deep breaths. I was fine. This was fine. Everything was completely, totally, absolutely fine.

My fingers found my godmother’s watch on my wrist, the one that stopped working three years ago but I couldn’t bring myself to take off. I rubbed the worn face of it, counting the seconds in my head, trying to convince my nervous system that this was not, in fact, a life or death situation.

It was just a book signing. My first book signing. No big deal.

I’d been a published spicy fantasy romance author for four years. Four years of pouring my guts onto pages, writing about werewolves and fated mates and monster men who would burn down the entire world for the women they loved. Because real men?

Real men were disappointing. Real men signed you to predatory contracts and took forty percent of your income while smiling at you and telling you they loved you. Fictional men, instead…They couldn’t hurt you.

“Tell them about chapter fourteen, Ri!” Sloane hollered from the third row, all black lipstick and tattoos and chaos. “Tell them about the knot!”

The audience tittered. My previous book, Moonbound Hearts, had gone viral on BookTok a few months ago.

Some college girl with fairy lights and a sobbing problem had filmed herself ugly crying over chapter twenty-six and suddenly my sales exploded.

Online, at least. In my little mountain town of Lysmont, population three hundred thousand, nestled deep in the mountains, I was still just “that girl who writes the werewolf porn.”

Thanks, Mrs. Henderson from the grocery store. Real supportive.

I pointed at my friend Sloane with my pen, embarrassed. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to kill you and write a book about it and dedicate it to your memory.”

“Aw, babe.” She clutched her chest. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“It’s not romance, it’s a threat.”

“Same thing in your books.”

The audience laughed. Jade, sitting next to Sloane, was already crying a little, clutching my book against her chest. Margo gave me a subtle thumbs up from behind a mini wine bottle she definitely snuck in.

My girls. My ride-or-dies. My reasons for not committing arson.

For one moment, just one shining moment, I felt real. I felt like a real author. Like someone who mattered.

Then I caught Damien’s eye from across the room, and my stomach clenched.

He stood near the biography section, charming a bookstore employee with his Nice Guy smile. The smile that used to make me feel special. The smile I now recognized as a warning sign.

Damien Cross. Literary agent. Ex-boyfriend.

The human equivalent of stepping on shit.

He’d swooped into my life when I was twenty-four and stupid and desperate for someone to believe in me.

He’d promised me the moon, told me I was special, told me he’d make all my dreams come true.

And I’d signed a contract without reading the fine print.

The fine print that gave him forty percent of my royalties.

Forty percent. Industry standard was fifteen. But did I know that at twenty-four? No. Did Damien conveniently fail to mention it? Absolutely.

It took two years of dating, of “I love you”s and “you’re so talented” and “what would you do without me?” before I realized his love was manipulation, the compliments were control, and the answer to “what would you do without me” was “literally anything else.”

He winked at me, possessive, like he owned me, and I looked away quickly, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Hello, everyone! Thank you so much for coming out.” My voice only shook a little. Victory. “I’m Riley, and yes, I do write the spicy werewolf books, and no, I will not apologize for it.”

More laughter. I held onto it with both hands. Good. I could do this.

I talked about my newest book, The Alpha’s Reluctant Heart. Yes, it was cheesy. Yes, it sold. No, I had no shame. Women in the audience asked questions. A few made teasing comments about specific chapters, eyebrows waggling suggestively.

And through it all, I could feel Damien’s gaze on me like a weight. I felt his cold eyes all over me, calculating, already tallying up what tonight would bring him. My money, my time, even my damn energy.

I pushed the dread down, forced my smile to stay in place, and told myself to enjoy this. I earned this moment. I worked hard for this, and I wouldn’t let him take it from me.

Not tonight.

The Q&A ended and the event coordinator directed everyone toward the signing table the staff had set up near the front. A line formed. Not huge, maybe fifteen people, but it was my line. My readers. I still couldn’t believe it.

I got weirdly emotional about it.

Sloane was first in line, because of course she was, slapping her book down on the table. “Sign it: To my favorite chaos demon, may your enemies perish slowly.”

“That’s disturbingly specific.”

“Do it anyway.”

I did it anyway.

Jade came next, still sniffling. “I’m so proud of you, Ri. You actually did it.”

“Please don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll cry, and then my mascara will run and I’ll look like a raccoon in all the photos.”

“Emotional support raccoon,” she said, and hugged me anyway.

Margo slid a mini wine bottle across the table with her book, leaning in to whisper, “Survive.”

“That’s not a toast, that’s a warning.”

“It’s both.”

I tucked the wine bottle into my bag and signed her book with slightly shaky hands.

Then came the strangers. Actual strangers who had read my words and felt moved by them.

A woman told me my book helped her leave a toxic relationship.

I had to blink very fast to keep my composure.

A college student said she’d read Moonbound Hearts four times.

A nervous guy was buying it for his girlfriend and kept blushing when I asked which chapter was her favorite.

I was floating. This was what it was supposed to feel like. Connection. Purpose. Proof that my weird little stories about werewolves and fated mates actually mattered to someone other than me.

Then a young girl approached the table. Nineteen, maybe twenty. Shy, fidgety, wouldn’t make eye contact with me, just kept staring at the stack of books on the table. Her clothes were worn but clean, her bag held together with safety pins in a few places.

“Hi,” I said gently. “What’s your name?”

“Emma.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I want to buy two copies. One for me and one for my sister. She’s the one who told me about your books. She’s gonna freak out when I bring her a signed copy. She’s in the hospital and I thought...”

My heart squeezed as her voice died down. “That’s so sweet. What’s your sister’s name?”

“Lily.”

“Lily and Emma. I love that.” I reached for two books, already planning what I’d write in them.

A hand landed on my shoulder.

Damien appeared behind me, his cologne making my nose burn. His hand landed on my arm, casual to anyone watching. His fingers pressed into the soft skin just above my elbow as he smiled down at Emma, all teeth and charm. I knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth.

“That’ll be sixty dollars total,” he said, smiling at her. “Thirty per signed copy.”

Emma’s face fell. She started digging through her bag, pulling out crumpled bills, counting them with fingers that were trembling slightly.

Seventeen dollars. She only had seventeen dollars.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. “I thought... I didn’t realize... maybe I can just get one?”

The words stabbed at me. I knew this feeling. I remembered being this girl, counting coins, wanting so badly to escape into stories but never having enough money to buy them. I remembered the shame of wanting and not being able to have.

I grabbed both books and signed them with a flourish, making sure my signature was extra nice on each one.

“It’s fine,” I said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. I slid both books across the table toward Emma. “Take them. Both of them. It’s a gift.”

Damien’s grip tightened until I felt the bruise forming. “Riley...”

“It’s fine.” I repeated, not looking at him. Just smiled at the girl and pushed the books toward her. “Keep your money. Buy ice cream.”

“But I can’t just...” Emma’s eyes were huge, darting between me and the books.

“Take them.” I kept my voice warm. “Thank you for reading me. That’s payment enough.”

Her face transformed. Her entire being lit up, joy radiating from her features. She thanked me approximately a thousand times, clutching the books against her chest, and practically floated away from the table.

I felt good. I felt like I did a thing that mattered.

“Can we take a break?” Damien asked the nearest employee, all charm.

“What?” I asked, “No, I’m not...”

But Damien was already pulling me up from the chair, guiding me toward the back of the store with a grip that would definitely leave marks. My skin screamed under his fingers, my heart started pounding.

The warm feeling from helping Emma curdled into dread.

I knew what was coming. I always knew.

The storage room was cold and quiet, surrounded by boxes of unsold books and promotional materials. The door clicked shut behind us and Damien’s charming mask dropped.

“What the fuck was that?”

I wrenched my arm free from his grip. The skin underneath already ached. “That was basic human decency. You should try it sometime.”

He stepped closer. I stepped back. Damien wasn’t tall. Average height, average build. But he knew how to use space, how to make himself feel bigger, how to make me feel small. I’d spent two years of my life shrinking for this man.

My shoulder blades hit a shelf of unsold books.

“You gave away my money.”