FORTY-SEVEN

Billie

"OKAY, ANNABELLE," I groan, breaking the agreed-upon silence at the start of our second lap around the school. "Talk to me about shifters and mates and displays of affection please," I say, my frustration coming out with a tone of whiny annoyance.

Annabelle tilts her chin down to me. Her curly hair, held in a high ponytail, bounces rhythmically with the steady beat of her feet. Her lips break into a wide smile that adds a glow to her rosy cheeks. "I wouldn't term it as affection , instead more as ownership and marking," she clarifies.

My arms shoot out in a Y, and my eyes roll so hard my head hurts. "I've already got four scarred bitemarks, a scarred mate symbol, and a freakin' multicolored eye. I'm feeling pretty well pissed on over here."

My frustration has me sprinting up the hill where Ethan and I first had sex, and with Annabelle's long legs, it's like I'm running with him, minus the sex. Annabelle offers me a knowing smile. "Not many of us have visible symbols and marks. And remember, our shifters have animalistic desires that are ingrained in them and are part of being a shifter." She shakes her head. "I know you were surprised by how I acted with Heydar and Assad the other day. You probably never expected that kind of reaction from me."

I bark out a short laugh. "I was shocked. Straight-up shocked." I playfully backhand her arm and toss her a smirk. "It was totally hot, by the way."

Annabelle, my stalwart captain, actually bites her bottom lip and giggles. "It was shocking for me too, but I trust my bear. I trust her implicitly, especially when it comes to shifter principles, judging the trustworthiness of others, and"—she waggles her brows, which, according to Xander, is something I can't do— "mates. How we act with our divinely chosen mates comes more from them than us." We exit the woods, and she sighs. "It feels best when I lean into her, trust her, and flow with her, especially when related to sacred shifter principles." I make some grumbling noises. I do trust Little Fox, and I do trust Annabelle. The problem is I'm feeling this huge chasm between my human perception of relationships and my fox's. "Also, Billie," Annabelle adds with worry in her voice. "You need to start training with Alessandro soon. What you did—what your fox did—in the library, the thump of energy she cast out without a care, that's not a normal shifter power."

Little Fox perks right up at that, damn pleased with herself, and I hear her quietly sing " Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta ," switching out the gangsta for royal . Yeah, she was a little gangsta, but that crap needs to happen at night, under a bridge, with a shit ton of background noise, and maybe, just maybe, Little Fox letting me in on it. She arches a brow and puffs out an irritated breath while snottily grumbling, Who's been slamming mental doors in who's cute snout? before snuggling back in on herself.

Yanking at my ponytail, I grit my teeth. "Believe me Annabelle, I know. I'll talk to Xander about it on the way back from the pack meeting tonight, if he doesn't bring it up before."

She lays a hand on my shoulder, stopping us, and her eyes soften. "I thought you already had it hard with how much attention your mates were getting, but that article. . ." She shakes her head and snickers. "It puts him on a different level of exposure and attention. It puts the four of you on a different level of exposure and attention. I'd feel anxious too." Having her validate my feelings about this is more comforting than she probably knows. It's like she's saying, It's okay Billie, your feelings aren't outlandish, so don't get frustrated about them.

Annabelle pats my shoulder, indicating for us to start up again. She continues, "I get what you're feeling, though not necessarily to the extent that you're experiencing. With Assad and Heydar"—her upper lips twitch into a Billy Idol–like snarl— "I'm finding they're very sought after in our community, and frankly, because of how they look and their workouts, they have a significant number of female followers on social media." Her eyes glow a golden honey before dimming, and she gives me a wicked smile. "But I know my bear will handle anything and anyone that comes our way. I trust her. I trust her to know how to express what being mates means." She pauses, and I can see the stroke of insight in the shine of her eyes. She jumps up and starts sideways running with a huge open-mouthed smile on her face. "That's what it's about, Billie! It's not about ownership. It's about expressing what being divinely chosen true-mates means—how we feel about each other, our connection, how remarkable and exceptional it is, then just letting that show for all to see. As if it's for those who can't see the marks, don't understand them, or don't know what shifters or mates are." She enthusiastically pokes my arm with bear-shifter strength; I'll be bruised from this lesson. "Be with them in a way that if someone first heard of true-mates, they'd think of you and yours, and they'd need no further explanation."

My fox hums in approval of Annabelle's description, and I'm warming to the idea. It brings me back to when we first met with the elders, when we got a glimpse of what they hoped for from us. And I think it just needs a tweak. We don't need to be the change ; we just need to be the love. Love like shifters love, without restrictions.

I enter the library sweaty and panting, with a need to see my mates. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I walk in the direction of our tables and notice that aside from Maria and Stefan, everyone is still there, including Rachael and her friends. Only Rachael's not sitting with her friends. Nope, she's pulled a chair over to sit next to Xander. She's not just sitting next to him—she's draped over the table, encroaching in on his space. My space.

His body posture alone tells me he's uncomfortable with the seating arrangement. He's reclined as far back as possible in his chair, holding papers up in front of him, creating a barrier that's even less solid than the Solo cup barrier I held between Derek and me. And we all know how well that worked.

Little Fox pops up from her ball with teeth bared. My hand smacks over my mouth in time to muffle the snarling growl clambering up my throat. But this only incites her further, as I watch the swishing of her tail zig-zagging higher and higher. Little shocks and zaps prickle up my spine with each slice of her tail through the air. Taunting me. Mocking me. Letting me know she's got no problem laying down the law. I don't know where she learned this or how, but at least she's letting me in on it. I roll my shoulders back, put on my best thug face, and show her I'm ready to earn my royal fox-shifter gang colors. Give me a chance before we shank anyone.

Somehow or other, a red-and-white bandana has appeared wrapped around her head with her ears, which are now pierced with large gold hoops, poking through. She arches a brow at me. I mentally arch a brow back and lift my chin, rubbing the back of my knuckles under my jaw. Bring it on.

Shifters love their mate's sweat, she sings with a lick of her lips, her hoops swaying with the movement. She also includes an image and associated feeling of the attitude she wants me to display. Gulp. I have to grab hold of Annabelle to steady myself.

She peers down at me with knowing eyes. "She just told you how to handle it, didn't she?"

My cheeks, already flushed from running, are now more so, and I'm pretty sure my ears are blushing. I nod. Annabelle pats my hand and winks. "Trust her." Then we walk toward the tables. I will earn my colors. I will.

Xander

I'm looking through some of the information Rachael's pulled together, while she continues to prattle on about the recent news article. "I guess we'll probably see each other at the company holiday party," she mentions with smugness in her voice. I lift my eyes from the notes to meet her awaiting gaze and raise my brows in question.

Her head is resting on her hand, and her eyes are sparkling with the victory of getting a reaction out of me. Curling one side of her glossy pink lips up, she says in a haughty voice, "My father is CEO of Decoction Biopharmaceuticals, one of the companies you're now a board member of."

I roll a nonchalant shoulder. "I'm not sure how involved I'll be with the companies outside of the board meetings, so I wouldn't bet on it."

"Your father was at every one of them, so they'll probably expect you to attend," she surmises. Sending her eyes skyward she muses, "I don't ever remember him bringing your mother, preferring to get to know everyone, on a"—she brings her now heated gaze back to my cool one and practically purrs— "more personal level."

"My father and I are significantly different people, Rachael," I firmly state. "I wouldn't base anything about me off what you knew of him."

Her lips curve into a coy smile, and she scoffs with an attitude of we'll see . Ignoring her bait, I return to reviewing her notes.

I smell her as soon as she enters the building.

Hearing two sharp intakes of air, I glance over at my pack-mates, both of them sitting with straight spines, having been called to attention. Her attention. My neck stretches, and my head cranes around as I try to locate my mate, while my lips sweep up into an eager grin. I shove the papers back at Rachael. "These notes are good. Do you think you could email me a copy?"

Rachael pushes her chair back and stands right next to me. Her hand cups the papers, but she doesn't take them. No. She takes another half step into my space and licks her smiling lips. "Sure. Want to show me what has you grinning?"

"If you insist," I hear my mate giggle from somewhere close by.

My head swivels, but I still don't see her. Inhaling, my nostrils and mouth fill with her scent. It's heated and concentrated, and all of a sudden, I'm very, very thirsty.

"Um," I hear her chime and see her finger tap Rachael's shoulder. Rachael half turns around and glares at Billie. My mate is flushed red from her run, and drenched. Sweat trickles down her face and is beading along her jawline. She looks up at Rachael and nudges her with her arm while flashing a megawatt smile. "Wanna like move out of the way?"

Though it's a request, she doesn't wait for an answer and steps into my space. My nostrils flare, my lungs screaming their need to suck down all of her scent. With each clementine- and sea-breeze-infused hit, my heart rate spikes, and my vision tunnels in on her. I slap the papers at Rachael, and she finally takes them. Then I snatch the front of Billie's The Sword zip-up hoodie and tug her toward me. She flows with the momentum leaning her side up against my open shoulder, while my arm bands around her back, my hand gripping her heated hip. Goosebumps bloom over my skin, up my neck, and along my jawline as her heat seeps into me. She rests her arm over one shoulder, letting her fingers play with the ends of my hair. And my jeans have developed a strong desire to go camping.

I note that Rachael still hasn't left. I hitch a brow at her and rasp, "Are we good?"

Her eyes narrow and swing between Billie and me. She presses her lips into a thin line like she's refusing to answer.

"Good run, love?" Ethan inquires, his voice rough and pitchy.

"Yeah, it was E," she grins while slowly unzipping her sweatshirt to below her sports bra. "Got a little sweaty, though," she adds, puffing out the collar several times, effectively fanning out her heated scent.

My mouth and throat are as dry as Death Valley. My eyes lock onto the beads of sweat dripping down her chest with a voracious need. One drop will bring forth life from a barren landscape. Nothing else exists. Licking my lips, I lean into her, into that sliver of glistening skin. I want to suck down every drop of sweat. I want to lick every shimmer of moisture. Off her entire body... in front of everyone.

Her heat is tickling my lips so close when I hear Rachael purr, "Yeah, Xander we're good. We'll always be good." The surety in her voice snaps my head back, and I stare at her. "Especially now," she winks and saunters away.

Billie's body tenses in my arm, and Little Fox hisses a pissed-off warning growl that vibrates through her chest. My wolf wags his tail and growls back in acknowledgment. Billie grips on the back of my neck, and her hand heats right before she pushes a surge of her power into me. I close my eyes as it rolls down my back like warm maple syrup, my spine melting under the flowing energy, and I bow forward. My spine may be yielding, but my cock is rock hard. Grabbing at her sweatshirt, I pull her in tighter and drop my head to her chest, muffling my moans in her flesh—her hot, sweaty, salty flesh that I am now nuzzling, licking, and kissing. I'm rubbing it all over my face, sniffing it up my nose, coating my mouth with it, and wanting to fucking drown in it.

Trailing her hand up the back of my head, she pulls my hair into her fist. She wrenches my head back and away from where I want to be. I growl my discontent, feeling her warm, wet sweat dry on my face, making my skin cool and tighten. She stares at me, watching my eyeballs practically bulge out of their sockets, fixated on her two first fingers as she dips them into her cleavage and slowly drags them out.

Breathing has become a thing of little importance with my whole focus on her shiny fingers coated in her sweat. I jerk my head forward, desperate for a taste, only to have my scalp protest in pain, her grip on my hair unyielding. Mini shudders rack my body, and I nearly whimper when her wet fingers skim over my dry lips. "Open," she demands, and I do so gladly. My mate slides those sweat-covered fingers into my mouth. My tongue greets them with enthusiasm, while my teeth clamp down biting into her flesh, taking them captive. Moaning, I suction her scent-infused fluid down with the force of a wet vac.

Wilhelmina brushes her sweaty cheek against mine, scent-marking me while she brings her mouth to my ear. "You. Are. Mine," she snaps in a cutting voice that is a prelude to the sharp sting of her teeth biting down on my flesh. I gasp and attempt to nod, but she has me in her grasp... until she doesn't.

She's gone.

My eyes, which I had closed, flash open with urgency, looking for her while my breath comes out and in short, shallow pants. My chest heaves with the effort to breathe without her, and I have to fight for each inhale because I don't want to breathe without her. Twisting my head around, I find her leaning against the girls' table with her ankles crossed. She zips her sweatshirt back up and crosses her arms over her chest. Lifting her eyes to the clock on the wall before dropping her gaze back down to me, with an arched brow she says, "I think we were supposed to leave five minutes ago."

"We're fucked," Jax groans, pulling at the front of his shirt, puffing it out. "But like in the best way possible, yea."

Looking at my mate, though her face appears placid, her chest is rising and falling at a rapid rate, and her pupils are dilated. All I can think is, fuck yeah, we are. But so is she, and I can't wait to play this game with her.