TWENTY

Xander

THE TILED DRIFTWOOD flooring cools my bare feet in welcome as I carry Wilhelmina inside Marcus's ensuite bathroom on the second floor. Jax is staying in wolf form until backup arrives. He sustained several bites and lacerations from DuFraine's wolf that Blondie is still working on healing; also, this allows him to easily administer more beta toxin if needed. Marcus and Enzo are taking turns watching our guests in the basement with Blondie and showering in the guest bathroom next to Jake's bedroom on the first floor. I guess this is the half duplex Marcus grew up in with his mother. After she passed away three years ago, Micky cosigned the mortgage so Marcus could buy it. Looking at the flooring, light fixtures, walls, hardware on the cabinets, and doors it seems like it's all been renovated since.

Ethan gave me more energy so I could finish healing our mate before him, Jimmy and Jake headed back to Micky's house to shower, grab a change of clothes for us, and wait for Alessandro and the twins. With Jake renting the first-floor bedroom here, I assumed he'd stay and Enzo would go, but Enzo refused to leave. He hasn't said much with his mouth, but his eyes have been saying plenty. And it's all about my mate.

She has not left my arms since we left Castle Island, and I'm finding myself struggling to release her. My face is buried in her hair, nuzzling her, inhaling her scent, reaffirming that she's alive. Alive and in my arms where she belongs. "Mine," I growl low, puffing a few strands of her hair out.

"Xander," she whispers, her breath wispy and warm against my chest while her voice is dry and strained. "You're going to have to put me down so we can shower."

I snarl my discontent against her scalp before easing her out of my arms. Keeping one hand on her waist while she finds her feet, I reach the other into the shower and turn the hot water on. Once I'm certain she's not going to stumble, I reluctantly remove my hand and shuck my clothes off, pushing down the waistbands of my athletic shorts and boxer briefs, only then to realize that I'm not wearing anything on top. I've been shirtless all morning, even in public. I snort a disbelieving breath. Evidently there were more important things for me to focus on besides my marred body.

Naked, I fix my gaze back on Billie. She's managed to slide her pants and panties down to her ankles. Holding on to the black stone vanity with one hand, she uses her feet to push her clothing the rest of the way off, stepping on the toes of her socks and pulling her feet out as she goes. Her injuries may be healed, but the effects of the attack, the adrenaline spikes and the emotional toll, aren't things my abilities can take care of for her. With one hand stabilizing her hip, I use my other to slowly peel Ethan's T-shirt off her, tossing it into the waste basket. Like her torso, it's covered in her blood.

Turning her around to face me, my hands land on her neck, my thumbs instinctively caressing the tender skin, searching for her pulse as memories assault me. Fingers coated and slick with her gushing blood. My palms covering the ripped flesh from over a dozen deep puncture wounds. Her neck is still irritated and pink with what Micky couldn't wipe off, or what she would allow for him to fuss over.

With her eyes on my chest, she delicately traces a hand along the ridge of my collarbone—a hand that had two compound fractures and one knuckle completely out of joint. Her fingers gently graze their way up my neck—fingers that were broken in several places from punching a wolf in the face. My hand glides down her other shoulder, taking hold of her forearm—a forearm that had eight puncture wounds and bones broken to the point of shattered.

Exhaling, I pinch my lips shut, not wanting to or ready to vocalize what I'm feeling: a mixture of love, relief, frustration, and anger. I push the curtain aside with more force than needed; it seems anger is the emotion that's chosen to rise to the surface. Taking a steadying breath, I place my palm on her low back and guide her into the shower. Following behind, I snap the curtain closed. Again, you'd think it insulted me.

The feeling of warm water hitting my face washes away some of that anger, and the groan I release is accompanied by a breathier one. I dip my head further under the spray, soaking up the water before leaning away so more can hit Billie. Slicking my hair back, my hands land on her shoulders and slowly begin working their way down. Swirling, caressing, and spreading the warm water down her body, I help her pores open up with the heat.

She slants her head back, letting the water push her hair away from her face, and her bum brushes over my upper thighs. Bending over, I bring my mouth to her ear, and she immediately tilts her head to the opposite side, opening up for me. My hands continue to roam while my tongue licks the rim of her ear. She gasps, and my teeth clamp down. I growl, letting some of my frustration show.

I've tried to explain that the world she lives in has changed. That the shifter world has threats that don't exist in the human world. She may be twenty years old, but she's also in some ways a newborn with so much to learn. I know it's not her fault. I understand that she's been dropped into the deep end of the pool and is thrashing around, trying to figure out how to swim. Unfortunately, there are sharks in this pool.

We didn't have any information regarding those shifters, and I don't think she understands how unusual it is for them to be in the human world as they are. It might have seemed like I was being overprotective this morning, and perhaps I was. I could have pushed her more, but her attitude was glacial. She wasn't going to budge. She not only disregarded my concerns but did so with a bite. That sharp refusal cut me deep. I never expected her to dismiss me so coldly. She'd made her decision, her choice, and in my mind, she didn't choose me. She chose Enzo. It hurt. Unsure of my own reaction, my own hurt, I snapped my mouth shut. Then we almost lost her, and now our pack-mates and The Den are at risk.

Fear in the form of anger crackles in my chest, and my hands grip around the front of her hips, pulling her against my hardening cock. The tips of my fingers prick and burn with the simmering rage flickering down my arms and through my hands as they dip just below her hips, toward her center.

"Open," I sizzle around her flesh, her lobe still held tightly between my teeth. She steps her feet apart, and my hand dives deeper, through her hot soft flesh, finding her slick for my fingers as they push up into her. Pressing my palm against her clit, I begin to slowly move in and out of her channel. She moans, and her palms slap down on my thighs. My balls pull up in appreciation, and I increase the force and pace of my thrusts, ready to make her feel something good, something real. Some life-affirming pleasure. And then she speaks.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles.

My eyes fly open. My wolf rises with a growl, and I push myself away from her. My ears ring from those two words, and I know when I look back at this moment, my reaction will seem extreme and unfair, but I don't have it in me to see that future perspective right now. She's not the only one who's been pushed to their limits today. The last threads of my emotional control are frayed at the ends and quickly unraveling. "You're sorry?" I snap.

She turns to face me, lifting her head up with trembling lips she exhales. "Yeah, I'm sorry."

Stepping into her and knocking a knuckle under her chin, I hold her firmly with my thumb just below her lower lip and crane her head back so she can feel the full intensity of my glower. Her eyes expand in shock. I huff like a raging bull into her face, seething through gritted teeth. "You almost died today. You passed out from blood loss. Now us, our pack-mates, and your family, could be in even greater danger!"

Her eyes close, and she whimpers. "I know. I know, and I'm sorry I don't... I don't know what else to say about it. To do about it."

My ire has my hand squeezing tighter around her jaw. Miniature trembles run through her entire body. Through the bond, I feel her regret and, worse, her fear. I quickly release my hold on her and shake out my hand as if it wasn't me but some other force that took over my limb. I don't want her to feel fear ever, especially from me, and I don't want to be my father. Needing to calm myself down, I reach behind her and grab the shampoo. Squirting some in my hand, I hold the bottle out to her. She looks at the bottle, then up at my face, and then back down at the shampoo before nodding in resignation. Her hand grips the bottle, and I don't let go. She gazes back up at me, frowning with confusion.

"Don't read into this. Many people, many showers. Efficiency right now." Letting her take the shampoo, I swallow. "Plus, I need to get my emotions in check. I don't want you to be afraid to come to me ever. I'm. . ." I sigh and pause. In order to respond instead of react, I bring my attention to the feeling of the shampoo lathering in my hair, letting my physical senses become my primary focus for a moment.

Truth. If I want her trust, I need to give her my truth, at least part of it. "I'm at a loss. Before this weekend, I thought you trusted me as your mate, as your alpha. And now. . ." Swallowing the bitter hurt, I exhale. "I'm not sure, and I'm trying to figure out how to gain a trust I thought was already there." What I don't say: Are we not enough for you? Are you in love with another? Will you always choose Enzo?

Wilhelmina, like me, has learned to be comfortable with silence. She has learned that sometimes it's better to not say anything than to speak too soon. With a dollop of shampoo in her hand, she begins working it through her damp, mangled tresses. With her attention on the task, her body has stopped trembling. Reaching above her, I remove the showerhead and let the water rain down over my head, rinsing out my hair. When I'm done, we rinse her long locks out. As I watch the water go from a pinkish hue to clear, I wish these feelings would do the same.

We continue to wash, and when the last of the conditioner has been rinsed from both of us, she finally breaks the silence. "I do trust you, Alexander, more than anyone."

Though her words are what I want to hear, her actions lend a hollowness that makes them hurt more than the silence. Not trusting myself to speak, I don't respond. Replacing the showerhead, I grab one of the loofas and survey the surprising variety of shower products in here. Squirting some (really, Marcus?) cucumber melon bodywash on it, I pull Billie into me, thoroughly washing her body, lifting her hair up, and scrubbing the dried blood that's somehow still caked on in places. It's clear there's a tension in the silence between us. One that is palpable and not one I can wash away like the blood and dirt.

I'm turning her around when she abruptly stops me and snatches the loofa from my hand. Repositioning us so I'm out of the spray and she's partway under it, she rinses off the loofa and reapplies some more bodywash. "I fucked up, Alexander," she admits. "I know I did. I acted like Den Billie. Stubborn." With a harsh force, she scrubs the loofa down my arms. When she reaches my hands, she spreads my fingers out, ensuring to wash in between each one of them. Keeping her eyes on her task, she snickers. "I even cursed myself out for being so stubborn and not listening to you." Lifting my arm up, working down from my armpit to pelvis, she continues in a mocking voice. "Fully expected to get a tongue-lashing and punished if I survived." Those last three words, if I survived , have me seeing blood on her when there is none. She squats down to wash my lower body, gliding the loofa between my ass cheeks and balls, all the way down my legs. When she reaches my feet, she pays just as much attention to my toes as she did my fingers, before meticulously moving upward.

Crouching down and slipping my hands under her arms, I pull her up to standing. Her chin lifts to face me. Both of us are getting pelted by the water now. Bringing my hands to her neck as they were earlier today, I swallow. "I almost lost you today. You almost died." I know I'm repeating myself, but those thoughts are repeating in my head. One hand cradles the back of her neck, my thumb rubbing over my bitemark, while my other hand cups her face. With our foreheads touching, our eyes unflinchingly staring into each other's, I groan out in pain. "Your life was literally in my hands, Wilhelmina. As your mate and your alpha, I will always take responsibility for your life and well-being." She inhales and is about to interrupt me, but I nip her lips, silencing her. "Whether you want me to or not." I pause and kiss her. "I'd prefer to not have it be so literal."

I need to stop thinking and start feeling. My hand on her neck trails down and spreads out against her lower back, pulling her into me. Her hands grasp my ribs while my lips take hers. Our kisses are soft, a gentle tasting. But when her mouth opens for me, it ignites a hunger that a taste will not satiate. I push her into the wall, pressing my body against every inch of hers I can. She inhales a startled moan into our kisses, and they only become more consuming.

My chest heaves with all the emotions from the day breaking free, and from want. Want for her. Want for her trust. Want for her submission.

Turning off the water, I bend down and lift her into my arms. I feel the click of rightness lock in my heart at having her once again in my embrace. Pushing the curtain aside, I take the two short strides over to the vanity. A familiar location. She gasps as I set her warm bum down on the cool stone, but it doesn't stop her from tilting her hips in invitation. Her scent of orange blossoms is headier as it floats up through the steam, swirling around my dick, drawing me toward her center. As I kiss and nip my way across her jaw, she slants her head to the side, once again opening up for me. I groan with approval at her signs of submission, and my teeth clasp her ear. She lightly, blissfully mewls, and my ears delight at the sound. Her legs lift up to hug my ribs. With one hand on her hip and the other stroking my cock, I guide myself into her. My tip breaches her entrance, and we both moan in pleasure and anticipation.

Flicking my gaze to the fogged-up mirror behind her, the glow from my eyes shining brightly back at me. My wolf needs this too. With a commanding growl, my teeth bite into the flesh of her ear, letting a little of her essence drip on my tongue, while my hips drive forward, absolutely slamming my dick all the way into her pussy in one hard thrust. Wilhelmina's cries are muffled by the flesh of my shoulder as she clamps her mouth down in response.

My need to move is stunted when I feel her body shake, and not in a good way. My attention diverts from my body to hers.

The frantic rise and fall of her ribs and chest. Her trembling limbs wrapping, unwrapping, and rewrapping around me, seemingly not able to find the right position. I don't need to link up to understand the emotions that are being shaken out of her with every attempted grip and quivering release. Desperation. Need. Guilt. Fear.

My body becomes motionless. A granite rock face, solid and unmoving. All she needs to do is hold on. But it's like she's not able to find purchase, or is afraid to. All she has to do is hold on to me, trust me, knowing I'll never let her fall. But trusting in me means fully accepting not only who I am but also who she is—who we are. Shifters. We are shifters, not humans. I release an imposing growl, and her pussy clenches around my cock. Her body knows, her body trusts. It's her mind that's questioning each hold and grip. Keeping my teeth on her ear, I flick my tongue over the flesh in my mouth, nudging her to move past her fear.

"I submit," she pants.

Billie

I almost died today.

Enzo could have died today.

I've put those closest to me in danger. For the second time in my life, I hoped for a punishment, because the only other option was death.

All because of fear and denial.

I trust Xander. My instincts and intuition trust him completely, and it scares the shit out of me. My fear had me defying and disregarding not just his concerns but his hurt. Somehow feeling like I'd be losing part of myself if I allowed that trust to truly manifest, I rebelled.

I've been lying to myself, acting as if my life is only mine, as if the pain I experience will be mine alone. I've been acting like I can be both a human and a shifter. Like I can both be Billie with Enzo and Billie with her mates. We may be in my old stomping grounds, but the world I live in is not the same.

I cannot act like a human and pretend to live in a human world anymore.

I am not a human.

I am a shifter.

I am a shifter bonded to three other shifters. Our life forces, our damn souls, are intertwined and connected in a way no human could comprehend. My life is not just mine anymore. Xander saved my life by giving me part of his. Part of him is inside of me. He's still here. I'm still here. We're still here.

The realization of who I could have lost, who I've hurt, and how much unnecessary pain I've caused because of my refusal to accept the truth is the hard shove from behind that has me stumbling toward the cliff I need to leap from. There is no other way.

Panic zaps through me like a live wire, prickling the tips of every nerve ending. That overwhelming anxiety starts to take over, and I can't seem to control my body. I keep trying to hold on to Xander, but my body won't cooperate. Knowing that I must jump, that I have to get off this damn cliff before I pull others down with me, doesn't seem to help. Something inside of me is still resisting.

He growls, and my body responds. His tongue flicks my ear, and my body stills. I swallow my fear and do what my fox, my body, and my soul have been requesting, urging me to do. I'm not alone, and he's already taken the leap. Now he's just waiting for me.

I jump.

My lips part, and like a soft wind, the words I submit breeze through them. The trembling abruptly stops. My arms solidly band around his torso, my whole body and soul melting into his.

His hips begin to move, and with each thrust of his dick inside of me, I submit.

I submit to him being my alpha. Thrust. I submit to being a bonded pack-mate. Thrust . I submit to being a bonded true-mate three times over. Thrust. I submit to being a royal. Thrust. I submit to being a shifter. Thrust.

With each submittal, with each thrust, with each willing acceptance and surrender, my pleasure heightens. With one last suck on my ear, Xander's lips—those plush, fleshy lips—kiss up and down my neck. And I submit to the pleasure they're giving me. My lips find his neck, and I suckle my way up toward his ear, groaning at the taste of him, at the reality of him. I moan at the familiar feeling of a coiling pressure building deep within me.

If I'm jumping off this cliff, then I'm doing it with my eyes open. As if sensing my needs, my thoughts, Xander begins kissing his way back to my lips. With our eyes open and hearts fully connected, our kisses slow down and soften, but his dick never relents. Hard and fast. I relish it. I relish him.

"I love the feeling of you inside me," I breathe against his lips, my hand tenderly cupping the side of his face, my eyes on his.

He smiles, and I rejoice at the feel of it. "That's good," Xander pants, licking my lips before sucking the bottom one into his hot mouth and groaning. "Because I love being inside of you."

With our eyes locked and our mouths open, our breathing escalates as he continues to hammer into me. My hand slips around his neck and up to the back of his head, fingers weaving through his damp, thick locks. I grip with the effort to hold out and wait for him. Then I whimper—a pleading, dainty whimper that I didn't even know I was capable of.

Xander releases a deep growl of satisfaction, and his kisses match the sentiment. He kisses me harder and deeper, his grip on my hips strengthens, and my fingers dig into his flesh, matching his dick's punishing claim of my pussy. Grunting, he commands, "Come with me mate."

I submit.

Anchoring me to him, he plunges himself as deep as he can, groaning and cursing, his dick spraying his seed, mixing with my climactic release. Both of us pulsing in and around each other. His hands let go of my hips to needily encircle my waist; mine wrap around his shoulders. His face nuzzles behind my ear, mine into the divot above his collarbone. His strained, hot breath on my skin sends tremors down my spine. I gulp and gasp with love and appreciation for him.

"I won't survive without you, Wilhelmina," he pants in a hoarse voice. " Il mio cuore , you are my heart. I cannot live without my heart." He swallows. "I cannot live without you."

My soul breaks with the truth of his words because they are my truth as well. Tunneling my fingers through his hair, I murmur, "We are each other's heart, Alexander. Il mio cuore sempre ." He squeezes me tightly before reluctantly releasing.

I don't want him to release me. Not now. Not ever.

True to form, Xander growls at having to pull out. When I go to clean up, he orders, "NO." Sliding my gaze to his, I keep my face placid and wait instead of rebuking or refusing. His hand smacks my ass and he smirks. "Punishment."

"Feckin' tosser," I mumble, but I take my punishment with a grin. Better to have it than not. I know that better than most.