Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 43

Lisa's POV

I stomped into the kitchen like a woman on a mission to knead her frustrations into submission. Calla trailed behind me, wisely choosing to stay silent for now. My fingers were twitching with anger, and my head was spinning with the aftermath of what just happened in the garden with Alpha Enzo.

Who did he think he was?

Okay, dumb question. He was the Alpha. That didn’t mean he had to be such a sanctimonious, emotionless statue of superiority.

The moment I stepped into the bustling kitchen, all activity seemed to pause for the briefest second as everyone turned to look at me. I must have looked like I was about to start a food fight or scream bloody murder. Or both.

“Lisa?” one of the girls asked carefully, her hands frozen mid-chop with a knife hovering above a carrot.

“She’ll be fine,” Calla answered before I could open my mouth. “Just… give her a minute.”

I marched over to the wooden counter, grabbed a bowl of flour, and slammed it down with more force than necessary. A small cloud of white dust puffed up and settled in my hair, but I didn’t care.

“I’m not mad,” I muttered to myself.

Calla snorted. “Sure. And I’m not standing here watching you abuse that poor dough.”

I poured water into the bowl, added yeast and sugar with precise aggression, then shoved both hands in like I was about to perform surgery.

Everyone gave me space. Even the firewood guy, who usually hovered near the oven like a clingy boyfriend, drifted away.

I could feel Calla’s eyes on me, but she didn’t say anything. Smart move.

Kneading dough might not have been the most efficient therapy, but it beat screaming. I pummeled it, folded it, stretched it, and twisted it like it had personally offended me.

How dare he speak to me like that? How dare he imply I had no place questioning what was going on in his pack?

As if his word was law and mine was… well, just noise.

I could still hear his voice in my head. That cold tone. That sharp look in his eyes.

“You were bought, not chosen.”

It shouldn't have stung as much as it did.

I took a deep breath, squeezing the dough tighter. This wasn’t about pride anymore. This was about not bursting into tears in front of the pack’s kitchen staff.

After what felt like hours but was only fifteen minutes, I wiped my forehead with the back of my wrist, leaving behind a smear of flour across my skin. I was still fuming, but at least now the anger had turned into something more manageable. Exhaustion.

I reached for a bowl to fetch some water and walked toward the large clay jar in the corner where the drinking water was stored. As I leaned down to fill the bowl, my bare foot stepped on something slick—something traitorous.

“Careful, the floor’s wet,” someone called too late.

My body tilted.

The bowl flew out of my hand.

And gravity, that unforgiving little devil, pulled me forward.

I landed on my side with a thud, water splashing everywhere.

Except… it didn’t hit the floor.

“Oh no,” Calla whispered behind me, her voice filled with horror.

I blinked and looked up slowly, my heart already sinking to my stomach.

There, standing like a storm cloud in the middle of a perfectly sunny kitchen, was Beta Ash.

His entire front was drenched.

From shoulder to boots.

Completely soaked.

The bowl rolled pitifully beside him and came to a stop near my elbow.

Oh. My. Goddess.

I scrambled up, slipping again but managing to catch the edge of the table before I could fall flat on my face. “I—Ash—I didn’t—I mean—I was—there was a wet spot and—”

He blinked.

Then he looked down at himself.

Then back at me.

The silence was… unbearable.

“Do you always greet your betas with a splash, or is this a special occasion?” he asked dryly, one brow raised as water dripped from his hair to his collar.

I stared at him, mouth open, trying to summon words. Any words. Even vowels would do.

“I was aiming for the floor?” I tried, the voice was barely above a squeak.

Calla smacked her palm over her mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.

Ash exhaled through his nose, ran a hand down his wet shirt, and then flicked some of the water in my direction.

I flinched.

“You did a fine job of hydrating my ego,” he muttered, turning slightly to inspect the damage on his back. “Not a dry patch left.”

The rest of the kitchen staff had gone dead silent, watching with horror and awe.

“Ash, I swear, I didn’t see you,” I said quickly. “I slipped. The bowl—”

“It’s fine,” he cut in, raising a hand. “Accidents happen. But next time, try not to weaponize your bowels.”

My cheeks were burning hot. I couldn’t meet his eyes.

He turned to Calla, expression unreadable. “I came for a jar of ginger honey paste for Kael.”

Calla nodded quickly. “I’ll get it. Right away.”

Ash looked at me again. “You alright?”

I nodded, still mortified.

“Good. You can resume your war with the dough.” And with that, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, water trailing behind him like breadcrumbs.

The moment he was gone, Calla burst out laughing.

And then the rest joined in.

I dropped onto the nearest stool and buried my face in my hands. “I’m never showing my face again.”

“That,” Calla said between giggles, “was the most entertainment this kitchen’s had in weeks.”

“Why does embarrassment always follow me around like a loyal dog?” I groaned.

“Because you make it look good,” she said, ruffling my hair.

I shot her a look through my fingers. “If he tells Enzo—”

“He won’t,” she assured. “Ash isn’t the tattletale type. Besides, if anything, he looked like he was struggling not to laugh.”

That made me sit up straighter. “He did?”

Calla grinned. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I won’t,” I said, already letting it get to my head.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with snickers, flour, and a whole lot of teasing. But even as I resumed kneading dough, my thoughts kept drifting to the moment I’d looked up and seen Ash—wet, unimpressed, and somehow still stupidly handsome.

Only me.

Only I could turn a kitchen trip into a splash attack on a beta.

At least no one got hurt this time.

Unless you counted my pride.