FORTY-SIX
Billie
"I DON'T SEE what's wrong with going as Pokémon characters or Care Bears," I state again, hoping to convince the girls of a far more comfortable choice of Halloween costumes for the party coming up. My heart feels a little heavy with this being our last official soccer study block, and I want to talk about continuing in the offseason. But there are more pressing matters needing to be discussed.
"You just want to dress up in a pajama-like onesie." Heather smirks with raised brows while tightening her messy bun.
"Dude." I chuckle leaning into her space with wide no-duh eyes. "One hundred percent. I want to be able to move around and not freeze my ass or titties off, especially knowing at least some of the party will be outside."
"Girl." Maria snickers with a slash of her hand through the air and an arched brow of hell no . "I'm not wearing a fluffy onesie looking like a furry's wet dream."
That gets mixed responses, and by the look on Taylor's pinched face, I'm pretty sure she doesn't get it. "Fuck, fine," I relent with a pissy pout. Resting my resigned head on my palm, I ask, "What are the choices again?"
Taylor, like a true friend, acts as if she hasn't already repeated the choices for me several times. "Spice Girls, Britney Spears, Madonna, or superheroes."
I gaze at Annabelle with what I hope looks like pleading kit eyes so cute and pathetic no one could turn away. She takes in my apparently ineffective expression and shakes her head while lightly laughing. "I'm good with any of those choices."
My pathetic face quickly turns ferocious with a snarl of my upper lip and a narrowing of my eyes, only to have her laugh harder at me. I guess our captain doesn't fall for facial manipulations. Throwing myself back against my chair, I cross my arms and huff, "Okay, there's no way I'm doing the Spice Girls or Britney. I mean, you guys know the type of music I listen to." I get two eye rolls and two nods of understanding. Biting my lower lip, I mutter, "Madonna is at least iconic, and there are plenty of options to choose from."
"Done," Heather states with finality. "We'll do Madonna."
Maria claps her hands and squeals in delight. Clearly, she has an outfit already picked out, and seeing her this happy makes it worth it to me. Don't know if I'll feel so happy when I'm pretending to be a marshmallow, slowly spinning my frozen form in front of the fire in hopes of becoming toasty gold all around and not burned on one side.
* * *
The tap of Heather's pen on my notepad interrupts my hard-fought study focus. Organic Chem, it just requires more effort from me. Lifting my head, I take my earbuds out and raise my brows. "Do I even want to know?" And I'm serious, because it seems like every time Heather taps my notepad, nothing good is happening.
Hitching a shoulder, she says, "I think you already know."
Maria excitedly adds, "But, like, we didn't know, and holy shit!" With creased brows, my head swings from one to the other, hoping for more information, when Annabelle slides her phone onto my notepad.
It's a new article from the Business section of the Boston Atlas about William Knight's passing, the businesses he was involved in, and... scrolling down I come across a picture of Xander leaving the funeral in his tailored suit with his sunglasses on. It might not be my favorite look on him, but he's still freakin' hot. Zooming in, I can see the clench of his jaw and the tight hold of his hand around mine—but that's it. Otherwise, I'm not in the picture. "Feck," I groan, at least it's just my hand.
The article starts off with a note about Xander's inheritance and approximate net worth, which has my stomach plummeting. Micky's not poor by any means. He could have done more if the booze hadn't sidelined him for so many years. But with what he created with O'Sullivan's and the notoriety from the boxers (like Jimmy) he's trained, he's more than well off. But Xander's father is on a whole other level. The kind of money that could easily afford a place in Seaport, and one in Back Bay, then a home on the Vineyard, or even Fisher's Island. And maybe a private jet, or at least a timeshare of a jet.
It talks about the boards Xander will be on and what having young blood could mean. All the responsibilities that we were navigating with him the other night are right there in black and white. Obviously, there's no mention of the other vacancy many are hoping he'll fill. Of course, with his drool-inducing level of hotness and his newly inherited wealth and power, the writers thought of their single readers. Like, is this fine specimen available? And they did some investigative journalism, getting a direct quote from one of Mr. Knight's closest friends, a Mr. Brian Callahan, who said, "Oh, yes he's definitely single."
Now I wish they didn't cut me out of the picture.
This is just going to bring even more attention to him. More women will want him. More eyes will be on him—and whomever he's with. Is this how our whole life will be?
As if the phone is the physical representation of the bomb about to blow apart my life, I use the tip of my index finger to cautiously slide it back to Annabelle. Once it's secure in her hands, I take an exhale of temporary relief and fold my hands over my notepad, then proceed to bang my head against them several... many... a lot of times before finally lifting my abused head up and resting it on my hand. Dragging my tired eyes around the table, meeting each of my friends' concerned gazes, I ask, "How long? How long do you think before everyone knows?"
"All of the students in any of Professor Folger's business classes will know by tomorrow morning at the latest. Unless they don't complete their weekly assigned reading," Annabelle informs me in a calm, facts-only voice while her eyes hold a well of empathy.
Plopping back against my chair, I pull my hood over my head and cross my arms in agitation. My lips turn down, and my head hangs heavy as I fully slump into self-pity.
When we met, I thought I was just falling for three hot soccer players. Sure, soccer players with the baggage of two gorgeous and unstable ex-girlfriends and one mild-mannered obsessive stalker, but I feel like I handled that pretty well. Then I turned out to be a fox-shifter falling in love with three wolf-shifters through some divine magic-induced fated-mates thing that I still don't fully comprehend. Again, except for one day of disassociation and hiding in my big girl clothes, I thought I managed that shit exceptionally well. Then I find out that one of them is an alpha and the other two are betas, all in line to take over the largest wolf-shifter pack in the Eastern US, knowing full well their pack doesn't want me and is issuing threats. I'm still dealing with this, but I think I can manage it, because we have a choice—a choice to take over the pack or not. After last weekend, and the support we received from the shifter community, I have hope that we'll be okay. However, tonight's pack meeting will be the real test.
But this eligible bachelor crap? This "he's a millionaire many times over," business-tycoon's-son garbage? No. I'm not comfortable with this at all and have no desire to deal with it. Even though I seem to draw attention, I don't fecking like it. I don't have any real concept of what this type of lifestyle may mean, so all I have to go on comes from TV shows and what I saw on his father's memorial video. Images of fancy galas, business trips, and business dinners that turn into drinks where negotiations are made after hours. Fundraisers where Xander attends with either Jax or Ethan because even thinking about those events has me gagging with dread and anxiety. Can you imagine the mischief I'd have to get into in order to cope? I wouldn't put it past me to be sitting in the back of a cop car by the end of the night. Best for all, if I don't attend, which will just fuel the stories about him being single or paint me as unsupportive and not cut out for his lifestyle.
I feel insecure about my own limitations in supporting him and anxious about what I don't know. Logically I know these feelings are irrational. Unfortunately, my irrational mind is running on overdrive.
Hating how weak and powerless I'm feeling, I take those seeds of doubt that are rooted in fear and water them with fucking gasoline. Instead of putting them under grow lights, I light a match and watch them bloom into a fiery rage. Because rage feels powerful. And I aim that rage at someone who doesn't deserve it. But he's the one in the picture. He's the reason I'm being put in this position. He's the one under the spotlight drawing all the attention. A spotlight that will shine down on me and expose all my flaws. I focus my anger on Xander for not just being a hot-as-fuck soccer player or even for just being a hot-as-fuck shifter. No. The tosser had to inherit millions and become a candidate for next year's season of The Bachelor: Shifter Edition .
"Billie," Taylor whispers, but I don't respond, too focused on glaring daggers into the back of Xander's head.
"Couldn't just be a hot-as-fuck soccer player, could you?" I snarl under my breath. Unfortunately, I breathed a little louder than I thought, and the man of the fucking hour sits up tall in his seat. Pulling his head back from his laptop, he turns to me. His stupidly gorgeous eyes scan my face with an expression of surprise that quickly changes to one of concern. Screw him . I don't want his concern, because I don't deserve it. What I do want is to hold on to my unreasonable anger and submerge myself in a false sense of power over a situation in which I feel like I have none.
"Billie," Jax calls out.
I glance up at him with the same expression I've been staring at Xander with.
"Oh shit." Jax gasps a chuckle, his eyes going wide with shock and glee. Right, because of course this would be oh so fucking entertaining to him. His eyes slide to the back of Xander's head, "Damn, X, any idea what's caused her to look at you like that?"
Xander says nothing and just keeps on staring at me with those big blue eyes that are welling up with unwanted worry and compassion.
Annabelle coughs and explains, "She just read the article in the Business section of the Atlas about. . ." She pauses, but I don't know why since my glaring daggers have grown into swords and are lengthening their way into spears getting closer to their target. Can I draw blood from a glare alone? Does that shifter superpower exist? Little Fox tries to stir in my chest to get my attention. I shut her out with my rage like I'm slamming a door in her cute little face.
Maria exhales a long breath. "About Xander's inheritance. The businesses he's now a board member of. Oh, and"—she snickers— "how he's now taken over the top spot of most eligible bachelor, according to Amber's father."
"Wilhelmina," Xander implores with softening eyes. "You know what you mean to me."
"Yup," I snap. "I do. That's not the problem or the reason you're the proud recipient of my unwarranted and nonsensical anger."
"Then you're aware—" Ethan starts.
I don't give him time to finish, hissing, "Yes, Ethan, I'm very well aware that my feelings at this moment are by no means rational, justified, or deserved." Don't care because at least I feel powerful.
"What's the issue then, il mio cuore? " Xander inquires in a voice stinging with hurt.
As if the pain in his voice just stabbed me, I flinch and lose my glare. Looking at him with non-glaring eyes, I see how my reaction to this situation is just adding another side dish of stress to his already full plate. Not surprising, though, since clearly I'm inept and unable to be the mate he needs to navigate this new life of his. My skin heats, and my body feels thick from the shame pouring over me. The hot stickiness of it oozes down my face and cascades over my shoulders until it smothers me entirely.
Shaking my head, hoping to fling the beads of shame off me like water off a wet dog, I groan and hitch my shoulder. "There's no real issue, Alexander. My thoughts have just been spinning."
I drop my gaze to my textbook, put my earbuds in, and focus back on my lab prep. That's how badly I don't want to face him or myself right now: I'd rather work on organic chemistry.
Xander
I forced myself to read the article at the very beginning of the study block since it's required for microeconomics. I fully expected an announcement to be made, and I'm well aware of what kind of attention this will bring, particularly with them listing my approximate net worth. I've already contacted the editor and required them to issue a retraction and correction regarding my romantic status—something I'll also be addressing tonight with Brian personally.
I focused more on the picture, specifically her hand in mine, remembering how much holding her saved me that day. Then I felt a burning gaze searing a laser-like tunnel into the back of my head, followed by my mate snarling her displeasure over me not being just a hot-as-fuck soccer player. My mate doesn't care about my money or perceived power. She only wants me. I turned around intending to share a loving moment with her, only to be met with a frightening expression of seething anger.
Billie's self-aware enough to know her feelings of anxiety, which she's keeping hidden under a spiked cloak of rage, are not associated with anything real. Not yet anyway. Regardless, I don't want her to feel that way. When I pressed her for more, I saw her flinch. I saw her face flush with the realization of how unfair she was acting by allowing her feelings to be projected onto me. Having stabbed me with her anger, she's put her earbuds in and returned her attention to her homework, effectively shutting me out. Or so she thinks.
I sit here and observe her for a minute. I watch her scribble down notes with a trembling hand. I notice how she pulled her hood down as far as possible, and she's bent so far over her notes that one would think she may need glasses. Sometimes I wonder if she had another shifter form if it would be an armadillo. That way she could curl up in a ball and roll away, effectively hiding and running at the same time.
Getting up and out of my chair, I step over to my mate and crouch down next to her. With my hand on the back of her neck, I bring my mouth to her ear and whisper, "Wilhelmina, you need to talk to me."
She sits up with aggravated distress. Tossing her earbuds on the table, she sneers a grunt. "Xander, it has nothing to do with you as a person, or who you are. It's just. . ." Billie rubs her eyes with her palms, then hangs her head and hugs her arms around her waist. "It's just, like, can't you be less desirable or something?"
Her friends giggle while I stay silent, still confused. I can't see much of her face, only her lips, and there's no smiling or grinning happening. In fact, I catch a glimpse of her trembling lower lip being stilled by the bite of her teeth, like she's about to cry.
She hitches a shaky shoulder. "Another facet of this inheritance that I didn't think about hit me when I read the article, that's all. And I don't know if any of what I'm thinking is true, but shit—" She inhales an uneven breath. "I really hope it's not true because I don't know if I'm cut out to be who you'll need then." She goes to say more, but her breath catches, and she presses her lips into a tight line, trying to hinder her emotions from escaping. Her words have my stomach knotting in fear of her either pushing me away or her pulling away. The thought has me wanting to keep close and not give her the option. Squatting down, I turn her chair to face me and keep my hands on either side of her seat, caging her in.
Her hand comes up to wipe a tear away while she mumbles, "I'm an orphaned foster kid who grew up in a boxing gym in Southie, Xander. Feck, I even lived on the streets for a while. Not really the type of person you take to meet business colleagues or to go to networking events." I hate how hard her life has been, but I'd never want her to be ashamed of what she's gone through. I never thought she was. If anything, it shows just how strong and resilient she is. She takes a quaky inhale. "If I don't go, if I don't show up at your side. . ." The sound of the library door opening and hushed female voices have Billie hesitating. She lifts her gaze in that direction, and her face hardens. She slashes her hand at whoever must have entered and grumbles, "Then she and the likes of her will be all over you." I have a guess who it is, because I'm expecting her today. We weren't able to switch partners, and meeting her here with my pack-mates was the only way I felt comfortable.
Wilhelmina's eyes turn to me. They're brighter than normal, and I move closer, trying to block her from the view of others. Grinding her teeth, she slams her fist down on the table. Her friends, who have been openly watching us, jump in their seats. She snarls, "And you're fucking mine. You're mine. Jax is mine. Ethan is mine. And I'm getting fucking sick of others forgetting that, and it will only get worse."
My dick is rock hard hearing the fierce possessiveness in her voice. This type of animalistic need to publicly own, claim, and mark is shifter romance at its finest. Jax, Ethan, and I have been holding back on how we show our feelings around others, reigning in our shifter instincts. My wolf would gladly have me fuck her on the library table in front of everyone. My dick twitches at the image, and I've got to shut that train of thought down before it goes too far.
"What does your Elder Wiser Self say, love?" Ethan murmurs. I turn to find him and Jax on their way over and see that all our soccer friends are observing us with apprehension. He remembered she used to refer to Little Fox as her Elder Wiser Self before she knew she was a shifter, so he's asking her to consult Little Fox.
Wilhelmina shimmies up higher in her seat and scoffs. "Dude, I'm not consulting her right now. She's got ideas that are just"—Billie's eyes bulge as she numbly shakes her head— "way the fuck out there."
"Oh," Jax teases, flashing his teeth. "I for sure wanna hear what she has to say on the topic." Both Ethan and I nod in agreement, wanting to hear, see, and experience how Little Fox wishes for Billie to claim and mark us in front of others.
Annabelle, who's sitting next to our mate and has been observing the interaction with concern, softly suggests, "I think she knows what you need to do." Billie turns to her with shocked eyes and vigorously shakes her head. Annabelle steadfastly nods hers and leans in closer whispering, "If you don't and these feelings persist, she will take it into her own hands."
"Xander," Rachael practically sings my name from somewhere nearby.
Billie's eyes glow, and she cuts a glower in Rachael's direction. Before I or my wolf can do anything to calm Little Fox, I feel the slam of energy like the other day. It's as if her tail has mutated into a beaver's tail that's humming with amassed electrical energy. Unlike the other day, this one has far more force, sending out a shockwave of aggravated energy that reverberates through the air.
Stefan, who's sitting at the far end of the guy's table, exclaims, "Did you feel that, man?"
Right, because my mate isn't just a shifter—she's a royal with royal powers. It seems Little Fox has become more confident in exploring those powers, powers we still don't have a clear understanding of. Billie's face pales, and her throat bobs in worry. Pulling her hood down even farther and keeping her chin tucked, her shaky hands start packing up her things while she stutters, "I... I'm heading out. I need to go for a run." Then she stands up and gives us her back while putting her things away.
"I'll go with you," Annabelle declares in her captain voice, leaving no room for objection. "I was planning on running today anyway and"—she tosses Billie a lopsided smile— "with some of the changes happening for me, this could be of help to me too." I bet she could use some help.
Billie nods in agreement and proceeds to pack up completely, ignoring her mates hovering around her. "I'll drop this stuff at the truck," she says with her back still to us. It's not the words that irritate me, it's her tone, the blatant disregard for us, and her assumption that because she's done with this conversation, we're done. It's like the morning she and Enzo went for a ride. Then, with her bags in hand, she turns to head toward the door without saying goodbye or even acknowledging us.
Without a doubt, she'd be an armadillo.
I'm about to grab her when Ethan beats me to it. He takes a firm hold of her upper arm and tugs her, gently but firmly. The action shocks her enough that she stumbles, making her bags fall from her shoulders and her hood dislodge. He guides her into my chest, and I band my arms around her torso, trapping her arms inside mine.
Ethan's chest heaves as he towers over her. His long fingers grip her chin, forcing her head up—forcing her to meet his eyes, to look at us. With a slitted gaze, he hisses, "You do not turn your back on us like that, love."
Her body shudders in my hold, and I bring my mouth to her ear, letting the demanding growl that rumbles from my chest tumble from my lips. She tilts her head to the side, opening for me like a good fucking mate. I bury my face into the crook of her neck, sucking down her scent, nibbling my way up to her ear, feeling Ethan's shaved head against the top of mine as I scrap my teeth over her flesh. Her moans are muffled by his mouth, while the scent of her arousal intensifies.
"You go for that run," I snarl in a whisper. "Listen to Annabelle and connect with Little Fox, because we can't have you sending out energetic blasts on a whim. And I can't have you running away from me, from us, from who we are. Who you are." Giving her ear one last lick and suck, I pitch my hips forward, thrusting my steel rod of a cock into her low back while Ethan pushes his forward. Wilhelmina's entire body quakes between our greedy embrace, her weight sinking into me, and I'm pretty sure if I let her go, her knees would give out.
I pull back just enough to watch Ethan's mouth drag her bottom lip out, his top teeth scraping the tender flesh. His tongue swipes over his teeth and lips, licking up her blood. With her chin still firmly held in his grasp, he cranes her face to me in offering. "I think your fox would like your taste, your scent, your essence on his lips before you go, don't you, love?"
A soft, sultry growl ripples through her back into my chest, and I meet her pupil-blown eyes. She gives the briefest of nods as a whimpering plea releases from her mouth. My mouth kicks up on one side, because this is part of what we've been craving and needing. Let every hound and bitch watch how we affect each other. Let them know how unique and intense our love and lust for each other is.
This is what being divinely bonded true-mates looks like, sounds like, feels like.
My lips are mere millimeters from hers when Ethan adjusts his hold. He pushes her lower lip out and away from her teeth so I can see her blood collecting there. With a groan of lust I dive my tongue in, breaking the surface, and it's as if I licked an electrical outlet. Hot desire zaps through every tastebud and nerve ending on my tongue, and my scalp prickles as if my hairs are standing on end. Wanting, needing , to go deeper, my mouth opens over hers, inhaling and sucking up all I can while my tongue sweeps through, seeking any remaining drops. Drool streams from my mouth and into hers enough that some trickles down her chin. With her face held firmly in Ethan's clutches, all she can do is make little begging noises and succumb to our desires. With one final suck, I tear my mouth from hers and gruffly say, "Keep your phone tracker on. Stay with Annabelle. We're leaving here in an hour."
Her eyes blink several times, and she says through swollen shiny lips, "Okay, I'll be here or at the truck within an hour."
Ethan's thumb wipes up my saliva and our mate's blood from her lower jaw and chin. His eyes roll back as he sucks his thumb clean and steps away from her. Wilhelmina stands motionless, her eyes hazed over in a dazed state of arousal, while we pick up her bags and help her load up.
Annabelle comes to stand next to her and nudges Billie's arm. "Ready?" she asks with a sly smile, acting like this is all normal. Because it is. For shifters, it is.
Billie jostles her head and dryly replies, "Yeah."
She takes a few steps toward the doors, then stops. Turning around, she looks past us to Jax, who's standing with his feet wide, one arm across his chest, his other bent, holding his chin grinning at her. They stride toward each other, and he wraps her up in a huge swaying hug, holding her head to his chest, nuzzling, and kissing her while murmuring, "Be safe. We love you."
"I love you too," she murmurs, snuggling deeper into him, and both of them decompress with twin exhales.
The three of us stand together and watch her leave. We don't return to our table until the doors to the library close. Glancing around, everyone including Rachael and her friends are looking at us with mixed expressions. I mean, the soccer team shouldn't be too surprised. They've seen me claim and carry her several times, and that behavior needs to be seen by everyone, and repeated, until they all understand that nothing will ever compare to what we have—until she understands that nothing and no one will ever compare to what we have.
"Stefan?" Maria calls out in a husky voice from the girl's table. I don't turn around, but I do look at Stefan who's seated diagonally across from me.
He lifts his gaze to her, and whatever he sees has him licking his lips and dipping his chin while attempting to cooly put his supplies away. He ends up just stuffing everything into his bag and half zipping it up before shooting to standing. His pupil-dilated brown eyes circle around the three of us, and he winks. "Thanks, guys." Then he and Maria swiftly leave the library.
After a few moments, I go through my notes on the Mathew effect and force myself to walk over to where Rachael is sitting with her three friends. Every one of them gives me some sort of appraising and desirous look. "Here," I say handing her my notes. "This is what I've got on the history of the Mathew effect, how it originated, how's it been interpreted, and its present-day applications."
Fluttering her long lashes and widening her blue eyes, she comments "Oh, I had thought we'd be compiling and going over everything together." She purposefully grazes her long nails over my knuckles before taking the papers.
Wiping the back of my hand on my jeans, I shake my head and tersely reply, "We had agreed I'd research the Mathew effect and you'd do the same with your portion on social investment. Then we'd review each other's notes and bring it together afterward."
"Xander," she whispers, pressing to standing and stepping close to me. I cross my arms over my chest to prevent her from getting too close. "Are you okay? I read the article." The corners of her eyes turn down, and her bottom lip pouts. "You must be going through all kinds of emotions. I'm here for you." She lays a hand over my tucked forearm. "In any way you need."
"I need your notes," I hiss, dislodging her hand and stepping back. "Do you have them?"
She assesses me for a moment, taking in my posture, my face and hopefully my irritation. She twirls a strand of her dark hair around her fingers and exhales a long breath. "No, I had misinterpreted how we were working together. I'll work on that now."
"Fine, I'll be over there for a little less than an hour."