Alpha’s Rejected Warrior (Shifters of Clarion #5)

Chapter 1 — Rhiannon

Today’s prestigious mission for Commander of the Guard: Retrieve the old belongings of your ex’s new mate. And they wonder why I’ve been drinking.

I pace as Akila fiddles with the apartment door, tongue poking between her lips in concentration.

Akila’s nose wrinkles. “I hate how everything reeks in the Outer Lands.” Her chestnut waves fall forward as she leans closer to the lock.

Her shoulders draw up, spine straightening, the leather of her guard uniform creaking slightly.

“How do humans live with all these chemicals burning their noses?”

Akila is not wrong. The hallway smells of musty carpet, microwaved food, and synthetic cleaners — the nauseating cocktail that defines human dwellings.

“It’s not that bad. Intriguing, even.” Branson shifts his massive shoulders, dark hair pulled back in its usual tight knot. His deep brown eyes scan the hallway with practiced vigilance. “You just have to appreciate that it’s a different culture.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Can you open the lock or not?”

She scowls slightly. “Of course I can, but if we’re in a hurry, Branson can just break it down.”

Branson doesn’t take his eyes off the hallway. “No, it’ll draw too much attention.”

My wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin, uncomfortable with the foreign scents and sounds of the human world. Cars honk in the distance. A television blares through thin walls nearby. The stench of the sweat of too many humans living in close quarters hangs in the air.

This is beneath me. Being reduced to a glorified delivery service because our pregnant Luna is feeling sentimental and wants some trinkets from her old life. I should be preparing security protocols for the upcoming summit, not fetching stuffed animals in the human world.

“I just want to get this over with and get back to Kortan before nightfall.” I turn away from the smells and the conversation both. “We’ve got more important things to worry about than fetching junk for Thea.”

Akila pauses and exchanges a loaded glance with Branson. “You mean Luna Thea.”

“Yes, of course.” I stiffen at the correction. “Luna Thea.” This mission is already getting to me.

The lock clicks.

“Got it!” Akila stands up and grins at me.

“Thank Goddess,” I say.

“After you, Commander.” Akila motions me forward and I step through the doorway. She follows on my heels while Branson brings up the rear, clicking the lock into place behind us.

There’s a faint lingering trace of Luna Thea’s scent that confirms we’re in the right place, that distinctive blend of wildflowers and honey now nearly smothered by months of emptiness.

I’m struck by how tiny the space is, most of it taken up by a small living area with a ratty-looking couch draped in clothing and an even smaller adjoining cooking area.

Dust motes dance in the light of the setting sun streaming through half-drawn blinds, highlighting the worn patches on the furniture.

Letters sit in a pile on the small dining table, their edges wrinkled from humidity.

A short hallway leads to the bedroom and bath.

This whole place could fit four times over in Thea’s chambers back at Kortan.

“What exactly are we looking for again?” Akila picks up a dusty picture frame, examining it with mild disgust.

I roll my eyes this time. I’ve already repeated this to her three times. “A ceramic cat paw print, a one-eyed stuffed bear, and a purple box of photos.”

Akila grins. “The Luna of a Lycan pack is sentimental about a ceramic paw print of a dead feline. Don’t you find that funny?” She giggles to herself.

“Less talking, more searching.” I scan the cluttered living room, the walls already pressing in. “Akila, check the bedroom. Branson and I will search the living area.”

Akila tosses the frame back onto the table with a clatter. She snaps to attention with a mock salute, saying, “Yes, Commander,” before disappearing down the short hallway.

I move methodically through the living room, lifting magazines and shifting aside stacks of mail. The apartment feels like a time capsule of Thea’s human life. A life she abandoned for Xander. For the position in my pack that should have been—

I cut off that thought before it can fully form.

My gaze catches on a purple box tucked on a shelf between some worn books. “Found a purple box,” I announce, moving toward it.

Branson’s large frame suddenly blocks my path, his broad shoulders filling the narrow space between the couch and bookshelf. The unexpected proximity makes my wolf bristle.

“Do you mind?” I scowl up at him.

“Commander, we need to talk,” he says, his voice serious but low enough that Akila won’t hear from the bedroom. He’s intimidating to look at, with his low brow and strong, square jaw, but there is a softness in his eyes as they narrow with concern.

I cross my arms. “About?”

“Your outburst at the Council Meeting yesterday.” His dark eyes hold mine.

“My ‘outburst’ was completely justified,” I say. “I disagreed with a tactical decision. That’s my job as Commander.”

“You were insubordinate.”

It’ takes enormous effort to keep my voice calm. “Alpha Xander was being unreasonable and wasn’t listening to me, so I raised my voice to be heard.”

“You shouted at our Alpha, Rhiannon.”

My jaw tightens. “I lost my temper. It happens. And this stupid errand is my punishment.”

“I know you. This isn’t about a disagreement over tactical decisions.” Branson pauses and lowers his voice further. “You and Alpha Xander were mates for such a long time. We all thought you’d be his Luna.”

I don’t like where this is going. “Don’t.” I turn away from him, not wanting to have this conversation.

But he continues. “It’s completely understandable if you’re upset, especially now that our Luna is expecting a pup.”

Heat rises in my face. “This has nothing to do—”

“Doesn’t it? Tell me you’re completely over Alpha Xander choosing Luna Thea. Don’t lie to me.”

My wolf snarls beneath my skin, hackles rising at being cornered and having our pain exposed so plainly. “I’m handling it!”

“By picking fights with our Alpha?” He shakes his head. “That’s not handling it, Rhiannon.”

I hate when he’s right. I take a deep breath, regaining control. “You know I have the utmost respect for our Alpha and our Luna. I would gladly lay down my life for either of them. My outburst had nothing to do with their relationship. I just lost my temper for a moment, but now I’m fine.”

He studies me for a good minute. “You deserve happiness too, you know.”

Hmph. . .happiness.

“What I deserve is irrelevant.” I reach past him for the purple box. “What matters is what the pack needs. And right now, they need a Commander who follows orders and completes her missions.”

I flip open the box to check inside. Photos, check.

“Now, help me find the other things so we can get back to real work.”

My fingers freeze on the lid of the purple box as the hair on my arms stands up. My wolf stirs beneath my skin, ears pricking up at a sound too soft for human hearing: footsteps that stop at the front door.

Every muscle in my body locks up as I hear the quiet slide of a key in the lock. Luna Thea said her apartment would be empty.

“Someone’s coming.” I cut a sharp look at Branson and drop my voice to nothing, setting down the box.

No time to warn Akila. I gesture for Branson to hide, though I don’t know where someone of his size could hide in such a tiny place. I duck behind the couch just as I hear the sound of the lock click and the door creaking open.

A rush of scent hits me that makes my mouth water almost instantly. Cinnamon and musk, unmistakably human male, with undertones of coffee and other foods I can’t quite place. Oddly, my wolf doesn’t bristle with aggression but instead perks up with... interest?

The scent is rich and grounding, like something that belongs near a fire. I take a moment to breathe it in. My wolf pushes forward, eager to catch more of him. I force her back. Why does he smell so... alluring?

I’m distracted by the scent until the sound of struggling erupts through the apartment.

“What the—” the human shouts.

I peer over the couch just in time to see Branson catch the intruder in his massive arms, trapping him in a bear hug. I consider drawing my sword but recall that he’s only human. Branson hasn’t bothered drawing his blade.

I step fully into view, and the man’s struggle against Branson’s grip suddenly halts. His jade-green eyes lock with mine, widening with surprise rather than fear.

My wolf goes still. So do I.

He’s taller than average — shorter than Branson, of course, but certainly taller than me or Akila — dressed in simple jeans and a fitted t-shirt that reveals an athletic build. He’s not Lycan muscular, but toned in a way that shows he takes care of himself.

Tousled chestnut hair falls across his forehead, framing a face that’s annoyingly striking. Nothing like the rough, rugged faces prized back in Kortan, yet compelling in a way I can’t dismiss, with defined cheekbones and a strong jawline.

Staring at him is too easy. Heat crawls across my skin, prickling at the back of my neck and the tips of my fingers. My wolf is practically whining, straining toward him with an alarming intensity. What the hell is happening? A pull toward a human stranger. That alone should terrify me. It does.

Get it together, Rhiannon. He’s a threat to your mission.

After an eternity locked in that unsettling eye contact, the human blinks, remembering his situation. His muscles tense as he renews his useless struggle against Branson’s iron grip.

“Let me go, you oversized—” he grunts, twisting against Branson’s grip. “Who the hell are you people? What are you doing here?”

He starts kicking as Branson lifts him off the ground. One of his heels connects with Branson’s shin, causing him to flinch and loosen his grip, giving the man an opportunity to bite into Branson’s forearm.

Branson grunts in pain and tosses the man into the living room like a rag doll. I duck as his body flies over me, crashing into the wooden coffee table and smashing it to bits.

The man moans in pain and curse words float up as he writhes in the middle of the broken table.

“You okay?” I ask Branson, eyeing the trickle of blood running down his forearm where the human’s teeth broke the skin.

Branson grunts, inspecting the wound with mild annoyance.

“What’s going on?” Akila bursts into the living room, a box clutched under her left arm and her sword drawn in her right hand. Her eyes dart between us, taking in the broken furniture and the human sprawled on the floor.

She sheathes her sword upon seeing that the situation is under control. “Shit! Is that a human?”

Before I answer, a groan from the wreckage of the coffee table draws my attention back to our uninvited guest. Despite the fall that would have kept most humans down, he staggers to his feet, wincing as he clutches his side. His green eyes dart between us before locking onto the front door.

My wolf surges forward before I can think, predator instincts taking over as he makes his desperate dash for freedom.

I’m across the room before my thoughts can fully form, my hand shooting out to snatch him by the throat.

His skin is hot beneath my fingers. The beat of his heart slams against my palm.

I push him against the wall hard enough to rattle the cheap artwork hanging nearby. His feet dangle inches above the floor as I hold him there, my claws extending just enough to prick the skin of his neck in warning.

My lips pull back. “Going somewhere?” My fangs unsheathe instinctively.

The man gasps. “What are you?”

With my face now just a breath away from his, the spicy, cinnamon-musk scent of him floods my senses again, making my wolf purr, and I suddenly have an urge to lick him that I find deeply disturbing.

The man’s fingers tug at my wrist, straining to break my grip.

His eyes flash with defiance despite his obvious disadvantage.

Any other human in this position would have gone limp by now.

Yet this one keeps pulling at my wrist. Stupid, but oddly...

appealing. He glances at the box that Akila is holding.

“Do you want money?” he croaks through his stifled vocal cords as a thread of blood cuts down his forehead into his chestnut hair. “My wallet. . .It’s in my left pocket. You can have it. Take the TV, too. Whatever you want.”

I tilt my head at him. Stupid human. As if mere theft is what he should be worried about right now. The momentary thrill of the catch surges inside me. He’s seen us. I get to kill my first human. Perhaps this childish errand won’t be so bad after all.

“Commander, what should we do with him?” Akila asks.

“Commander?” the human repeats.

The easy assumption he made about our motives for being here drains from his mind as the color drains from his face.

A sharper look comes into his eyes — a raw alertness — as he changes his whole calculation of his fate.

Beneath my fingers, his blood pumps harder.

He’s smart enough to figure that out, at least.

I meet his gaze, noting the fear that now mingles with defiance in those green depths.

“He’s seen my claws and fangs.” I tighten my grip slightly. “We can’t risk exposure. He has to die.”