Page 20 of Sold Bullied Mate

“Kira,” he says, voice cracking. “Are you crying?”

At that moment, I feel the tears running down my cheeks and swipe at them, letting out a quick, embarrassed laugh.

“Sorry,” I say, voice quiet, “my heat is coming, and that always makes me emotional—”

Dorian’s throat bobs, and I find myself staring at the movement, the way I can feel his heat with how close he is to me, his scent, spicy and clean, something between pine and eucalyptus, softened by his animal heat.

I didn’t realize how much I missed it, how odd it was not to smell it on him, until it finally came back. He must have been blocking his scent to get into the Grayhide territory, to go to that market without anyone realizing who he was.

“Kira.”

The sound of my name on his lips is so desperate, so wanting, that it nearly breaks the resolve inside me. Half an inch, and our bodies would be pressed together.

But his words from earlier come rushing back to me—what he said was cruel and pointless, but not a mistake.

Sucking in a breath, I step away from him, leaving the half-washed plate in the sink.

“Wait—” Dorian says, voice hoarse as he reaches for me, but I slide out of the way just in time, feeling the phantom of his touch as his hand nearly grazes my arm.

“Sorry,” I lie, “I’m not feeling well—I’m going to lie down.”

With that, I turn on my heel and race up the stairs, not stopping until the door is behind my back and firmly locked. My core pulses with heat, need licking up the inside of my thighs, everything in my body begging me to open this door and go to him, to put aside my pride and plead with him to satisfy this primal, aching want.

But I won’t. I can’t. Dorian Fields rejected me, and I’m not about to throw myself at him like I don’t understand that fact.

As I flip the light off and head for the bed, I can’t ignore the thought that keeps running through my head—if it was this hard to resist him today, what is going to happen when I go into heat?

Chapter 13 - Dorian

The kitchen is dark by the time I’m able to get control of myself, sure in the knowledge that if I move, I won’t go after Kira, follow her up the stairs. Take her how I want.

I need more of her. The hunger is rooted deep inside me, as primal as thirst or exhaustion. If this is what resisting her is like now, it’s going to be nearly impossible when she goes into heat.

The thought of that sends me reeling again, and I have to grip the counter tightly, knuckles turning white, to stay rooted in my spot.

“I can’t stay in here,” I mutter, the words just for myself. Kira can’t hear me, but the sound of my voice out loud helps to shake me out of my daze. Turning, I push through the screen door at the back of the house and out into the periwinkle blush of dusk.

The cool air hits my face and arms, further shaking me out of the lust. This is what I need. In fact, what would be best right now is a whole fucking pool of ice water, something to freeze any heat or wanting out of my body, but I don’t have access to that.

So, instead, I shift.

Touching my hand to the watch on my wrist, I feel the Amanzite set there start to heat, the power shifting and channeling into me as I transform.

Without this stone, I’d feel the excruciating pain of my bones sliding against one another, ligaments stretching to the point of breaking before resetting and shifting, accommodating the new body.

I have, like all other shifters, done that once. To have a connection to what it was like for our ancestors, and to better understand the importance of caring for the Amanzite. And I have no desire to ever do it again.

The second my transition is complete, relatively painless with help from the magic, my paws are against the scrubby grass and racing toward the woods at the back of my house.

I’ve been to the northern territories, seen the towering, moist forests in their lands. But that’s not what our woodlands look like—our trees are closer to the ground, our brush wiry and strong, able to withstand the long, dry heat. And if you run carelessly, you might just find yourself with a cactus stuck to your paw or fur.

But I know this land like the back of my hand. It’s where I shifted for the first time, where I ran and hunted with my grandfather, where I wandered and explored as a kid. I know where the trees curve and fall away, leading to a secluded clearing. I know where the scraggly rock cliff is, a place where a waterfall would be in any other territory.

As I run, finding a rabbit to chase, my thoughts wander, as they always seem to, back to Kira. The sight of her like that, standing at the stove, made it so obvious. That the thing I’ve been missing isher. The soft curve of her hips, the way she’d turned her head to look at me, little tendrils of her red-golden hair coming loose from its updo.

My mind flashes back to what she was like as a teenager—a little rounder, less sure of herself, clothes baggy and unflattering, like a larger T-shirt would conceal the fact that she had curves. The boys and I weren’t the only ones to pick on her—girls could be ruthless.

Especially the first time she came to school in heat, the scent of her rolling off like steam from the mountains, pooling around the classroom.

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