Page 6 of Broken Rejected Mate

Just as Sarina and I reach our spot, I turn and come face-to-face with one of Jerrod Blacklock’s men. I can tell from his scent—he’s practically doused in that of the alpha—and from he fact that he looks corruptible. Mean.

He’s tall and thick around the neck, with a buzz cut and the kind of mouth that seems not to have any lips at all—merely a line that opens when he speaks.

Behind him are three others, all smelling the same, all looking around meanly, their teeth bared, wolfish. The one in the very back holds a stained burlap sack in both hands, his face slightly green. I look away, trying to ignore the size, shape, and weight of the thing, trying to ignore my instincts.

Because my instincts are telling me there’s aheadin that bag, and I want nothing to do with that.

“Yes, sir,” I bow my head under the weight of his stare—my body does so without my thinking, even with all the spells I’ve concocted to lessen the hierarchy’s hold on me.

Alpha leaders compel all; alphas compel betas and omegas.

I’ve never met an omega who doesn’t wish they were born as something different.

Quickly, I rifle through my bags, finding the stones they asked for. A sparkling green and red gem imbued with stifling magic. Nothing too complicated, even if it did take a significant amount of energy from me to make it as strong as they asked for.

Slowly, carefully, I pull the stone from the pouch and flash it to him so he can see it’s what they asked for. Then, I drop it back into the velvety pouch and hand it to him.

When he reaches for it, he makes sure to slide his meaty palm against my hand. I keep my eyes fixed on his shoes, my face set. Sarina stands completely still beside me, her scent-blocking spell working overtime to cover the fear.

Other customers will come and go all night, and she’ll relax, sitting down and reading by the light of the flickering torches around us. But now, with these men here, she seems as aware as I am that something could go wrong at any second.

“And here’s what we owe you.” When he speaks, his rank, moist breath fans out over my face, and I hold my breath to keep from grimacing. He reaches out, unfurls my hand, tucks the coins inside, then wraps it up again. Then, still holding my fist, he says, “If you’re looking for a bit more, I’ve got a different kind of job you can do.”

“No, thank you.” I keep my voice level, flat, hope the myriad of spells floating around me will help to disinterest him.I’m not stupid—I know that, objectively, I’m a beautiful woman. Men have been “interested” in me for years. But the spells help to dampen it, either changing their perception of me, or kicking in to change their minds.

Like always, it works—I watch him blink, his brow furrow, and he pulls his hand back from mine, shaking his head and glancing at his buddies, as though confused about why he even said that. His expression shifts to a goofy smile, as though he’s trying to convince them it was just a joke.

“Yeah, right,” he laughs, then turns on his heel to go.

I’ve barely let out a sigh of relief when the unthinkable happens.

Sarina, next to me, starts to speak.

The moment she opens her mouth, the moment her lips form the first vowel, my mind has already devolved into a panicked, loosenonononothat I can barely think around.

I turn to her, to see what could possibly compel her to do something as stupid as speaking while at the dark market, and find that she’s not looking at me at all. Her eyes are closed, her face tipped up to the clouds, her lips moving fast, like she’s reading from one of her favorite books.

“…Adelphus pulls ahead, despite all the odds, taking the race by fifteen full seconds!”

“Adelphus?” the meaty man says, turning and looking in Sarina’s direction, and when his eyes widen, I know her protective spells have broken. He can see her.

Something emanates from her—some sort of energy, a force field rivaling the power I emit when casting. And it’s shattered every protection I’ve laid, the entire web of cover I’ve carefully and lovingly weaved around her.

“She talking about the race?” the second guy asks, face crumpled in confusion. “That race with Adelphus don’t happen for another month.”

The men take a step toward her, and something inside me snaps.

Maybe I still could have talked my way out of the situation. Perhaps I could have grabbed Sarina, said she wasn’t right in the head, and dragged her back to camp without anything happening.

But then they might have just followed us back to camp. Once, a fugitive running from Blacklock came to hide among us, and the devastation was complete. They set fire to tents, killed indiscriminately until they found him. Not one of us turned him in—he tried to run and they caught him.

So, even though I technically have options, it certainly doesn’t feel like I do.

I turn, grabbing a torch from its mount on the wall beside me and swinging it at the meaty man, catching him astride the face with it.

I’m smaller than them. Weaker than them. But what I do have is the element of surprise. I lunge forward, slipping a dagger from the inside of my sleeve and catching the other man across the back of the leg, severing his tendon so he falls instantly to his knees, screaming.

Sarina is still going, her body stock still, rigid as she continues, “Second place goes to Glanmore, third to Rylan—”

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