Page 12 of Sold Bullied Mate

There’s a long moment of silence before she says, “Have you finally lost it—am I right? It’s one in the morning, and you’re calling me about clothes?”

Of course she’s not just going to do what I ask without an explanation—I should have known better than to expect that. So I sigh, gather myself, and detail the situation to her. I start at the meeting with the council—leave out the part about the theft—and work up to now, with Kira in my bathroom, undressing, needing some clothes to wear.

“Oh-kay,” Ash finally says, blowing out a breath. “Not gonna lie, Duckie, I’m not exactly sure what the hell you’re doing here. You just … decided to buy her? On a whim? What kind of evil fuckersellssomeone at an auction, anyway? And I’m fuzzy on the details, but didn’t she kill Gramps?”

That sentence runs a pick into my heart, and it takes me a second to breathe around it. I don’t blame Ash for saying that—it’s what I thought for a long time. Convinced myself of it. And Ash wasn’t even there to witness it firsthand.

But he was old, and we’d all begged him not to run into the fight. What happened with Kira was unfortunate. Bad timing. Not murder.

“No,” I grunt. “She didn’t. Can you bring clothes or not?”

With a stuttering sigh, Ash relents. “Fine. I’ll be there in five minutes. Turn on the outside light so I don’t break my fucking neck.”

Chapter 8 - Kira

“Well, good, looks like we have the same body type.”

I nearly jump out of my skin the moment I open the bathroom door and find a woman standing outside the bathroom, clothes draped over her arm. She has the same facial features as Dorian, the same inky black hair, but hers is longer, hanging above her shoulders, and highlighted with streaks of silver.

There’s a little nose ring nestled in her right nostril, and tattoos snake up and down her arms. She closes one eye as she looks at me, and despite the fact that I know she’s not checking me out, I blush.

Ash said we have the same body type, but she isgorgeous, with an hourglass figure and strong thighs stretching out from the hem of her athletic shorts. It’s the middle of the night, but somehow her eyes aren’t tired, and her hair doesn’t look a mess.

“Come on,” Ash says, as though I haven’t just been standing here, speechless. “I’ll show you to the guest room.”

There’s something odd about the way she’s talking to me, reserved and slightly friendly, like she’s not sure what she thinks about me. Ash wasn’t there for the incident all those years ago, but I have no doubt that she might blame me, too.

“I—” I start, my voice coming out hoarse, but she holds her hand up, shaking her head and pushing open the door to a room.

“Don’t wanna hear it,” she grunts, in a remarkably similar fashion to Dorian. “Not tonight. I’m way too fucking tired, and I figure Dorian has to know what he’s doing, right? That’s why Gramps chose him for the leadership spot?”

I’m stunned silent—at the easy mention of their grandfather, and the strange way Ash talks about that leadership role. This pack hasneverhad a female leader, and the thought never even occurred to me that it could be her over Dorian.

We’re silent as she sets all the clothes on the bed—sweatpants, T-shirts, one dress, a pair of shorts, a pair of loose pajamas. None of it is my style, but I’m grateful to cover my body, and Ash pointedly looks away while I slip the pajamas on.

The whiplash of the day hits me. It’s the early hours of the morning. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was standing in my kitchen, cooking banana fosters pancakes. Preparing myself for the day, not looking forward to seeing Jarred again, but okay with it. It was my life.

And now—nowthisis my life. Standing in Dorian’s guest room with his sister, putting on her clothes, having lost everything and been humiliated in front of everyone.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, gesturing to the clothes, eyes on the floor. It’s natural for me to cast my eyes down when talking to an alpha. I realize, with a start, that earlier I was looking Dorian right in the eye, repeatedly, without even thinking about it.

“Sure,” Ash says, and I can feel her gaze on me, sweeping up and down my body. “Listen, I have no idea what’s going on here, but … I know things haven’t been easy for you. I trust my brother not to be a shit, but in case he is…” She crosses the room, scribbles something down on the paper, and thrusts it in my direction. “My number. Call me if you need to.”

My throat grows, and I stare at the chicken scratch writing on the paper under my nose. How is this possible? I left this pack because I was so unwelcome, so uncomfortable amongthem, and now here’s the granddaughter of the man they say I killed, telling me to call her if I need anything.

“Kira,” Ash says, her voice low. “You were just a kid. I get that, now. Seriously. Call me.”

With that, she turns and walks out of the room. It takes me several moments before I remember myself, cross the floor, and press the lock into place, hands shaking and mind swimming with confusion over what the hell is going on.

***

When I wake up, it’s to the golden light of afternoon sun streaming in through the windows, catching dust that floats lazily through the air. I blink against the light, stirring in the bed, confused about where I am, until I hear the noise that must have woken me up in the first place.

“Kira,” Dorian’s voice comes through the door, and my eyes dart to the alarm clock on the nightstand in front of me. It’s four in the afternoon—fourin the afternoon. How long did I sleep?

His voice comes through, something like worry tinging the edges of it. “Kira, come down and eat something. I know you’re awake in there—I can hear you moving.”

I get to my feet, my legs wobbly, and realize I’m thirsty more than anything. After a moment, I manage to croak, “Coming. Just give me a second in the bathroom.”

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