THIRTY-SIX

Billie

WE'RE SITTING IN the front row of the Northeast White Mountain Wolf Pack Meeting House, as people, both shifter and human, begin to fill the main hall from large arched double doors. It's Xander's father's funeral, on a gorgeous fall day. Not that I mind that it's in the midsixties, sunny, and all the leaves are at peak fall foliage. I haven't been looking forward to this time of year since I decided to attend WMU. Nope. I certainly don't want to be hiking through the woods and scaling the mountains, experiencing what it's like to be surrounded by all this vibrant color. Who'd want that?

Sensing not only my grumpiness but also the real emotions beneath them, fear and anxiety, Ethan dragged me out on an eight-mile run earlier this morning, through the woods no less. I had hoped the need to run would have dissipated with my fox coming through, but it doesn't seem like that's the case. Running, for all I grumble about it, helps me manage my emotions and my ADHD by providing an outlet for my feelings and silencing my monkey brain.

I'm seated between Xander and Ethan, with Jax on Xander's left. Xander's mom, Gran, and her mate Cassandra are seated next to Jax, with Elder Ralph and his mates on the other side of Ethan. Elder Allan and his mates are seated directly behind us, with all four of the councilmen who have been working with the pack, including Annabelle and Mr. Benton, spread out on either side. Councilman Hogan and Veronica are at the far end, seated as far away from us as the seating arrangement allows. Bruce, Brian, and their families, along with some other wolf-shifters, take up the other first row across the center aisle.

The pack house looks like the offspring of a barn and church. The exterior is made of vertical slabs of wood that's been allowed to age, all set on a raised foundation with stone steps leading up to it. There's a large cupola in the middle of the pitched roof that is framed by a spire on each end. Inside the flooring is all slate and stone, the wood walls are painted white, and instead of having stained glass depicting religious scenes, it's of wolves in nature from each season, from pups in spring to seniors in winter. There are pews much like in a church and a raised rounded dais with a rolling podium set up in the middle. There's also a small section that faces the side of the dais, where musicians and AV techs are seated.

Xander has not let go of me since we exited our house. His hand is gripping mine with enough tension that my thumb is on the verge of losing circulation, numbly running over my mark on his hand. In wolf packs, elders are a lot like priests, so Xander's gran will be officiating. The hall is full—like people-leaning-up-against-the-walls full. With the click of the doors fully closing shut, Gran releases a groan and pushes off Cassandra's and Xander's mother's knees to come to standing. "Better get the show on the road, huh?" She huffs, swishing her way to the podium in her customary Birkenstock sandals and wool socks, both of which are black for the occasion, matching her flowing black cotton long-sleeved dress that I'm pretty sure has pockets.

She starts off by welcoming and thanking everyone for coming to say their goodbyes. Then she pulls a binder with color-coded tabs from below the podium and flips it to read a list of Alpha Knight's accomplishments and achievements as he had recorded them, which she lets everyone know. Next, she pulls a remote from below the podium, and with the press of a button, a screen descends from the ceiling behind her, and she starts up a video containing photographs mixed in with short video clips.

There are pictures from when William was a boy with a young Gran and who I assume is his father. Some show him with Brian and Bruce. When the pictures of a young Ophelia flash on screen, I gasp at the woman I see. She was striking, as was Xander's father if I'm being honest. They're laughing and having fun, him tossing her into the water, her on his back nipping his ear. I just don't understand how they went from the images being shown to what I witnessed that day in the garage. From what I can tell, their emotions, their affection, and shit, even their love seemed genuine. But does one abuse someone they truly love?

Then there are pictures from Xander's childhood, including one of his father with the obligatory cigar in his mouth, holding a baby Xander and showing him off to his friends and family. A grin sweeps across my face; even as a baby, Xander's lips were big. As the video progresses, I see the distance forming between them. Videos of Alpha Knight calling Xander over to him and the flinch on Xander's face when his father pulls him in for a hug. There are pictures of what I can only assume are pack outings, from ones where the boys are all shirtless and playing in the water, to later ones where Xander's wearing a shirt while everyone else is shirtless.

Thankfully, there are pictures of my three mates as kids, some of Jax being a goofball, and videos of the three of them setting up bike ramps and doing tricks. These bring many much-needed chuckles and laughs. The laughter soon dissolves into awkward silence when pictures of Alpha Knight in Florida, in a swimsuit with women in bikinis all around him, are shown. These are soon followed by pictures of Xander and Jaxson as teenagers with Cortney and Amber on their laps from junior prom. I ignore those as well as the wistful oohs and ahs from across the aisle. Then come ones of his father making business deals. Maybe? I don't know. It's guys in suits shaking hands—draw your own conclusions. Finally, there's him gambling at casinos with scantily-clad waitresses around him. Needless to say, it was one long-ass montage. I saw many people leave for the restroom, and I'm pretty sure some even snuck out the side exit for a smoke.

The slideshow ends and Xander's gran comes to the microphone, flipping to another tabbed page in the binder. She interlaces her fingers on the edge of the podium and arches a brow. "Well, I guess that showed the many public faces of my son. William requested several people to speak on his behalf today." She looks to the audience and slants a smile. "I was surprised he did not write the scripts himself." Most of the audience laughs. Even if they don't know the evil hidden under those three-piece suits and perfectly coifed hair, we all know how controlling he was. Gran looks to Xander, her ironic smile replaced with a tender one, and she says, "First will be my grandson, Alexander Knight." Xander's rigid body eases just a fraction at hearing her introduce him as hers and not Alpha Knight's. He gives her a nod.

Xander

Gran had called early on Friday morning, reminding me the will stipulates I give a speech at his funeral. When I said I'd rather not, she said she understood, as she'd rather not do her part either. But since his death was listed as a heart attack, and many of his associates and friends outside of the pack would be attending, it would seem odd and raise suspicion if I refused. Suspicion would lead to questions that we wouldn't want to answer. I grunted a contemptuous sigh, then agreed.

I talked with Wilhelmina about it on our way to statistics that morning. She shrugged and said, "Just keep it simple and honest, Xander. No need to lie, merely leave space"—she waved her hand around in the air— "open for interpretation. No need to go into detail or share the truth of what kind of father he was." We exited my truck, and she came around to stand in front of me. Pressing off her tiptoes, she pushed my hood back and held my face in her small hands. With serious unflinching eyes and a sly smile, she added, "He's dead. Bury him. Dance on his grave. Let the worms have him. Let them wiggle through his putrid, rotting flesh and feast on his insidious insides. Then be done with him." I stood there looking at my mate, impressed and possibly disturbed by the images her words evoked. Reading my conflicted expression, she patted my check and eerily cackled. "Told ya when we first linked up—I get scared in my own mind, like on the daily . It's not all rainbows, games, and butterflies. There are dark shadows, creepy corners, and bats flying around."

Grinning at the memory, I kiss her hand and approach the podium. As I stand before my father's pack, his business associates, and friends, an unwelcome realization ices down my spine. I will most likely be interacting with many of these people in the coming years. Truthfully, I have no desire to. But if in ten years things are worse than they are now, I don't want to wonder if they could have been different had I stepped up. Just because I'm not taking on the role of alpha now doesn't mean I won't in the future, and just because I'm reluctant doesn't mean that I'm not capable.

I pull the folded paper from the outside pocket of my darkest gray suit, because I refused to wear black. Childish? Yes, but I rationalized it by telling myself I'd be lying about the actual level of my grief if I wore black. I unfold the paper and flatten it on the podium with the hand bearing Wilhelmina's newest mark. It's still warm from holding hers all morning, and it feels like she's up here with me, still holding it. Holding me.

Erecting my spine and casting my gaze over the audience, I take a steadying inhale and say, "Thank you all for coming here today to say farewell to William Knight." I swallow and push the words that feel like hot tar out of my mouth: "My father." Calling him that turns my stomach with the turbulent emotions of anger, rage, and shame. Anger for all he put me through, all the pain and suffering I endured from someone who was supposed to love and support me. Rage at the audacity of the fucker for requesting and expecting me to speak of him in this manner. Shame for not exposing his true nature, hiding the evil that was within him by following through with his wishes, even in death. Feeling lost in the swirling emotional eddies building up inside me, I let my eyes slide to my strength. To my pack-mates. To my future. Jax is seated where I was. One hand is intertwined with our mate's, both resting on his thigh, while he gives me a discreet thumbs up with the other. Ethan's reclined with his arm slung over the back of the bench behind Billie, looking completely relaxed with his black suit jacket unbuttoned and open, like he has no question in my ability to do this. Wilhelmina, on the other hand, stares me dead in the eyes and with a straight face, drags a finger across her neck, and then—fuck my mate, really? —pretends to shovel some dirt while doing a little seat dance. She trumps all that by having her hand mimic the serpentine path of a worm, and she ends it all by wiping her hands clean, then casually relacing her fingers with Jax's. Dead. Buried. Dancing. Worm food. Done.

Against all odds, I find myself biting the inside of my cheeks to prevent myself from laughing. Clearing my throat, I return my focus to my notes and continue, "There are many things I could share about him and many stories I could tell." I scoff a sardonic smile. "Since we've already had the slideshow of his life, as he wanted us to see it"—there are several light laughs— "I thought I would share what I've learned from being his son." Looking up, I scan across the room, settling on Bruce and Brian. My gaze hardens, and my jaw clenches. Meeting my cold stare, they shift uncomfortably in their seats, looking both nervous and, dare I say, guilty. Because they knew—shit, they saw some of it happening—and never once did they intervene. They may not have encouraged him, but they never objected or even tried to help me after. They did nothing. Knowing this is not the time, I unclench my jaw, and in a strong, unwavering voice that's bolstered by the strength of my wolf I state, "I've learned to trust your own instincts above all else and to never turn your back on someone who's crossed or hurt you in the past. I've learned words mean very little if the actions displayed are contradictory. I've learned it's often better to remain calm and stoic, to wait and respond, instead of reacting, and that there is great power in silence. I've learned that we are all much stronger than we think we are, and you just need to get up one more time than you were knocked down." My hands start to tremble as memories flash through my head. My broken body lying on the cold cement floor. The strain in my arms and the pain in my stomach and back as I forced myself to push up onto all fours. How I stayed there panting, unable to stand but refusing to lie back down.

Placing those same hands flat on the top of the podium, I press down. Pausing, I inhale and exhale through my nose, finding the inner strength within me, not just from my wolf but the boy who survived that garage. Rolling my shoulders back, I face the crowd and look to my pack-mates and to my gran as I continue in a clear yet warm voice. "I've learned taking the time to appreciate what is good in your life, no matter how small, can change your life. That asking for and accepting help is a sign of courage. Recently. . ." I pause and let my wolf come to just below the surface, keeping the glow in my eyes dim as they track over the members of the pack, all of whom are perking up in their seats. I remember the looks on their faces when we came out of that garage—their shocked expressions as the mask of their alpha was torn off, revealing his true nature and his view of those he was meant to lead and defend. Raising my voice with a strength tempered by that unshifted boy inside, I state, "I learned that only a weak individual would bring others down and use misinformation and apathy as a way to strengthen themselves. A strong person would lead by example, stand on the solid ground of truth, show others what they have inside themselves, and help them rise." I pause and let the weight of this truth, of this hope, float down like dust in the air to settle over them. I sigh. "Finally, I've learned that in dire times, when things are at their bleakest and darkest, a belief. . ." My gaze meets my gran's and I grin. "A belief in magic. A hope." My eyes trail to Wilhelmina, and I repeat, "A hope for a future love—a true love—will get you through the most unimaginable horrors." Turning back to the room, I fold up my notes and dip my chin. "Thank you."

Stepping down the few steps, my gran rushes to me, her strong arms holding me in their protective embrace, hugging me so fiercely and passionately I could never question her love for me. She whispers, "Well done, my grandson, well done. I love you, Alexander."

We squeeze each other one more time, and I thickly murmur, "I love you too, Gran."

Jax and Ethan are both standing by the time I release Gran. Without hesitation, Ethan pulls me into his chest, our arms wrapping tightly around each other. "He's fuckin' dead," he grunts, patting my back.

I return his pats with a few of my own and nod into his neck. "Yeah, he is."

Jax's face is flushed with emotion, and his hands are trembling as they grip and snatch at me, eagerly tugging me into his arms. He rocks me side to side in his warm, open embrace, and I feel the walls I've been trying to shield my emotions behind quake, and a painful croak gets strangled in my throat. He rubs his cheek against mine and nuzzles his mouth just below my ear. "We got you, X," he affirms in a hoarse voice, his breath hot on my flesh. "Back then, now, and in the future. We've always got each other, yea."

My arms tighten around him, and my eyes close in an effort to keep the tears burning my eyes from leaking out. I pull back and bring my forehead to his, meeting his loving gaze. "Fuck yeah, we do," I gust out on a tremulous breath. The sound of my gran's voice breaks through our private moment, reminding me that we are not alone and there's far too much ahead of us to let myself succumb to the emotions that only my pack-mates are able to free. We release each other, and Jax steps to the side, revealing the small form of our mate that was all but hidden behind him. She stands on shaky legs, and I have her in my arms before she can gain her balance. Afraid that the small cracks already veining through my emotional barrier may rupture if I hold her too long, I keep our hug brief. When we sit down, my hand once again takes hers, and I hope it will be enough.

My ears burn hotter and hotter as I sit here, listening to my father's friends and business associates talk about how great a man he was, how he was always ready for a good time, how he could close any deal, and of course, and how much he will be missed. All I want to do is scream, He was a shitty abusive narcissist who beat and battered his son within an inch of his life, for years! FUCKING YEARS!

Those emotional eddies held behind the seawall of my stone exterior keep gaining strength with every word of praise spoken about a man who deserves none. My chest heaves, and my muscles constrict with the determination to keep them from spinning into uncontrollable whirlpools that may soon develop into tidal waves of rage, with my wolf howling as he surfs them to destruction.

Sweat beads on my forehead and rolls down my spine from the heated blood rushing through my body and the pressure of my heart thundering in my chest and pulsing between my ears. The edges of my vision begin to blur, and my mouth waters with the rising of my wolf, howling to be released, demanding retribution. I'm assaulted by incontrollable shakes from my body swiftly losing the battle to maintain my human form. Jax is murmuring something in my ear, but I can't comprehend what he's saying. Wilhelmina's thumb stroking her mark on my hand is the one thing that I'm able to focus on and ground myself with.

Only to lose that anchor moments later.

Absolute terror blasts through me at the loss of her, and my head shoots up, my eyes trying to see but unable to as my vision alternates from focused rage to blinding worry. My wolf howls at her loss and pushes himself through the last few paper-thin sheets of my resolve taking over my senses. Growling, he huffs and inhales, smelling the air tasting her scent. She's still here. My arms blindly reach toward her scent, finding her standing in front of me. Gripping her body, I yank her closer. She stumbles into me and hastily climbs onto my lap, straddling me. With one arm banded around her back, and my other hand savagely tearing at the knotted fabric of her tuxedo wrap jacket, I burrow my face into her chest, licking and inhaling her flesh above the low cut of her jumpsuit. Her arms lock around my neck and head while my free hand sneaks under her jacket to her midback pressing her closer.

I'm panting and inhaling all I can from her skin, trying to calm my wolf with her scent, but he needs more, and I scrape my teeth across her flesh, letting him savor the taste of her essence as I lick up the blood dripping from her skin.

Wilhelmina's body shakes, and her chest vibrates under my mouth with her fox's purr. My mate brings her face to the side of my head and nuzzles her request. Tilting my head, I open for her, granting her access, submitting to her.

Her breath gusts over my skin as she takes these deep inhales and exhales, letting me feel her ribs expand and contract in my arms. She's giving me a rhythm, a tempo to follow and match while my skin absorbs the feeling of her warm breath and soft lips over her mark, settling my wolf. Ethan slides next to us and stretches his arm behind me, his hand capping the top of my shoulder. Jax links his ankle from behind around mine and presses his body against my side while splaying his strong hand over my knee. This is how we stay for the rest of the service.

Me buried in her.

Her body and soul protecting and sheltering mine.

Our pack-mates shielding and surrounding both of us.