Page 45 of Sold Bullied Mate

That panicked leaders are bad leaders. Men who let their anger control them are the very emotional beings they scorn.

Taking a breath, I slowly ease my hand from his throat, satisfied when he coughs roughly, heaving for air. Behind me, I can feel Emin’s gaze on me, his pulse rate increasing.

He has never seen me act like that before. I don’t care—the idea that this man is here and Kira is at home alone makes me sick. I turn around and glance at Emin, giving him a look, and he seems to understand it, nodding and climbing out of the bunker.

Right now, he’s making a few calls, sending some shifters to my place to watch over Kira.

“Let’s be very careful about what we say next,” I growl, watching as he finally gets his breath back. When he raises his gaze to mine, there’s something less than respect, more than acknowledgment.

“Fine,” he rasps. “I have information that you want. But I need a place to stay for the next month. I’ve been through hell and back—been sick. I plan to challenge Jarred and take my pack back, but I need time to train. To regain my strength.”

I let out a bark of a laugh, “You can’t be serious. You think I’m going to let a shifter from a rival pack into my territory?”

“Throw me in your jail,” he shrugs. “Just as long as I have a place to train, food to eat. I don’t have much, but I’ll pay you what I can. The Grayhide name has been poisoned by that greasyasshole. And I intend to take it back. Agree to my terms, and I’ll give you the information I have.”

“Your terms,” I raise an eyebrow. “A place to train, food? That’s it?”

He chews his lip, raises his head once more. “And one more.”

“What is that?”

“I want you to kill me.”

Chapter 28 - Kira

It feels like a cliche, but I’m sitting in the living room, starting to doze off, when Dorian finally comes walking through the door. I can tell that he’s trying to be quiet, but the gentle brush of his jacket against the door alerts me to his presence.

If not that, then the scent of him.

I sit up, rage and uncertainty rolling in my stomach. Dorian hasn’t claimed me as his mate, but I’ve been stuck in this house, still hiding myself from everyone, despite the fact that I have his bite on my neck and his scent has started to mingle with mine.

I’ve been sitting here all day with the knowledge that I now have. Pregnant with his child. All day, I’ve been subconsciously reacting, resting my hand against my belly without realizing it. Wondering if that pregnancy is now or later, but having the sinking, elated feeling that it’s now.

The words roll through my head at a fast clip, popping up intermittently.

I’m pregnant with Dorian Field’s baby.

And he didn’t even send me a single text today, nothing to let me know he was okay or when he would be back. I made dinner earlier, prepared a creamy wedding soup, but it’s boxed up now in the fridge, cold and slimy, the thought of it making me sick.

Hunger gnaws at my stomach, reminding me of how I sat at the dining table, staring down at the soup, willing myself to take a single bite.

“Kira,” he says, the moment he turns around. Surely he could sense me, must have known that I was waiting for him as he walked up the steps and toward the house.

“Dorian.” I stand, realizing my words are choked by anger and try to breathe through them. “What—where have you been all day?”

He blinks in surprise. “There was an … issue. I had to deal with it.”

I get the sense immediately that he’s holding something back. There’s something he really doesn’t want to tell me. I shouldn’t—in reality, I don’t actually—care that much that he’s keeping something from me, but the fact that I’ve been stuck in this house and he’s in no apparent rush to tell anyone about me is making my skin itchy.

Does anyone else in the pack even know I’m here, other than my parents, Emin, Ash, and Beth? I’m tired of feeling like Rapunzel stuck up in her castle, looking out on the town. I want to go walk the streets again, actually browse the aisles of the market, rather than making an order to be delivered here and intercepted at the gate.

“What was the issue?” I ask, watching as Dorian’s face goes carefully blank. He swallows, looks to the side, and levels me with a completely apathetic expression.

It’s so different from everything this past week that it cuts to the bone, hurting more than any expression of anger would have.

“It’s none of your concern, Kira,” he says, and his tone is so pinched and tight that it makes me want to scream. I scan his face, eyes trailing over his strong cheekbones, straight nose, the black hair on his forehead. I’ve known Dorian as a boy, a teen, and now as this man.

In high school, he tormented me regularly. Taunted my body, my smell, pointed out every inadequacy.

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