Page 28 of Rejected Bullied Mate

I frowned, “Ugh. No thanks. When do I start?"

Joe nodded. “Knew you’d see it my way. You can start today if you're able to keep your hands off your Alpha long enough to let him leave."

Samson straightened, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking something off. “Won't be a problem. I'll go. Appreciate it, Joe."

Joe raised a brow. “For what? Hiring your wife, or interrupting before you could ravish her on my counter?”

Samson ignored him and turned to me instead. “I’ll see you at home.”

My stomach flipped at the way he said it, full of dark promises that I had no intention of letting him fill until he managed to touch me again and make me lose all my senses, at least.

I nodded, forcing myself to be casual. “Yeah. See you.”

Then he left, and I hated the way I felt disappointed. Like I’d wanted him to do something. Like I was waiting for it. Joe had put the image of Samson ravaging me into my mind, and it was stuck like glue.

I swallowed hard, brushing my hands over my apron after tying it on, suddenly too warm. It’s nothing. Just lingering tension. Just hormones. Just—

Crap. My heat could really kill me this time, because every time I told myself that Samson wasn't ever going to touch me, I knew that it was a lie deep down. And I wasn't sure I'd survive being broken and abandoned by Samson Jones a second time, even if the sex was mind-blowing.

This time, I was terrified that my heart was involved, whether I wanted it to be or not.

Chapter 12 - Samson

Kit was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room, his tongue poking out slightly as he concentrated on his sketchpad. There was a small pile of colored pencils next to him, and he was surprisingly quiet and focused as he drew. I'd grown used to my son being talkative, so watching him sketch silently was a novel experience.

Kiera was at work, and it was a Saturday, so it was just Kit and me for the afternoon. I'd expected we'd spend some time together, playing catch or fishing in the creek behind the house, but Kit had settled down with his sketch pad over an hour ago and was still plenty occupied.

"What are you working on?" I finally asked.

His head popped up, blue eyes bright, glancing at me before flipping his book totally open and handing it to me without even a pause. "Wolves!" He said proudly.

I took the sketchpad, my heart lurching when he told me what I'd find inside. Every single page was filled with wolves, some quick doodles that looked like they'd been drawn in a rush, as if he needed to get the image out of his mind and onto the paper as fast as possible. Other pictures were more detailed than I would have expected—powerful, sharp-eyed, alive in a way that made my chest tight.

I glanced down at Kit, handing him the sketchpad, "You like wolves, huh?"

Kit nodded, but looked a little shy, "Yeah. I dream about them a lot."

I swallowed, flipping back to a page where he’d drawn a wolf mid-howl, its fur thick, its eyes fierce.

Most shifter kids had already experienced at least one shift by Kit’s age. The first shift was unpredictable, often clumsy, and exhausting, but it was normal. But Kit hadn’t shifted.

I’d assumed it was because of Kiera’s weak shift, but looking at his drawings and how his little hands had poured so much into capturing something that felt innate, I had to wonder. Was he ready, and he just didn't know it? Was the instinctual, canine part of him trying to shift and failing simply because Kit knew nothing about the process?

“Come on,” I said, setting the sketchpad aside and standing. “Let’s go outside for a bit.”

Kit blinked up at me, surprised, but scrambled to his feet without question. I led him out onto the porch, the afternoon sun warm against our skin as we sat on the steps.

I didn't speak at first, watching as Kit picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, making sure that I had the right words for what I wanted my son to understand. Then I said, “Kit, do you remember the red moon?”

He looked surprised, but his shoulders tensed before he nodded.

“How did you feel that night?” I kept my voice calm, easy. If his shift was as close as I thought it was, the red moon would have called to him powerfully.

Kit fidgeted, then finally spoke. “Restless,” he admitted. “Like… like I was supposed to be doing something, but I didn’t know what.” He looked down at his hands, his fingers twitching like he was remembering it all over again. “I didn’t feel right. It was like...there was something under my skin, but I couldn’t get to it.”

My stomach tightened, and my heart started to pound. Shit. That was exactly how a young shifter should feel before their first shift...how I had felt before mine.

I didn't want to freak him out, so I kept as calm as I possibly could. "Do you still feel like that? Restless?"

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