FIFTY-THREE

Billie

XANDER AND I drag ourselves up the violet and parakeet green stairs, the colors matching the rest of the house (though it may be a mansion) to the large ornate wraparound porch. The abode—yeah, let's just call it an abode — is a large Queen Anne–style Victorian, with all the different trims, multilevels, turrets, overhangs... all the extras that just seem so Alessandro. So royal. Which is why I'm not surprised he and the twins have made this their home. It's located just across our back field, and I don't recall it being up for sale. Perhaps the sellers were getting it ready to put on the market, a coincidence or perfect timing. Right.

Before the open pack meeting, my mates and I discussed the order of importance when it came to all the things currently on our plates, and at the time, my shifter education, or lack thereof, was determined to be of the highest priority. Ethan and Jax are meeting with Warren DeLuca and six potential assistants for Xander. I guess with him now holding the title of alpha, they're thinking he may need two. Anyway, they're meeting with them so Xander can be with me tonight, though I'm uncertain about how I feel about it. In fact, after the pack meeting and all that transpired, I'm uncertain of so much when it comes to Xander that I've decided to do what I do best. Avoid.

Avoiding my feelings of—wait. Is uncertainty an actual feeling, or is it the lack of a feeling? Whatever . I'm ignoring the heavy, gooey lump that's clogging up my emotional arteries by focusing on classes, upcoming exams, our last soccer game of the season, which happened yesterday, and then what's been labeled as business dinners. My stomach roils and bubbles with just the memory of the two we've had thus far. Sorry, but I just don't think food and business should go together. Like lemon juice and milk, it's a recipe for a curdled mess. Then there are the PowerPoint presentations and handouts of company information that are served up like lima beans, the vegetable you have to eat in order to have dessert. Only then to have your stomach too upset to enjoy your reward.

All of this has me dragging ass, my feet feeling like they're encased in leaded boots as they shuffle-stomp across the porch. Lifting my finger to ring the doorbell takes more effort than I care to admit. Why can't it be lower? Xander comes to stand behind me, offering me support by wrapping his arm around my back and firmly gripping my hip.

Unfortunately, the simple gesture is like the emotional equivalent of a mystery Dum-Dum lollipop. Do I want to feel his hand on me? Do I want his support? Do I want to taste my feelings? I refuse to answer those questions. I can unwrap the lollipop and look at the color, but if you've ever had a mystery Dum-Dum, you know the color doesn't tell you anything. If you want to know the flavor, you've got to suck on the damn thing. So I stand motionless, neither leaning into him nor away from him, just holding the lollipop in front of me like it's Halloween, and I'm wondering if there is a razor blade held at the center of that sugary goodness.

Now do you understand why I'm avoiding my feelings? Avoidance alone has me pairing lollipops with razor blades.

Thankfully, I don't have to think about the potential health risks of lollipops besides cavities for very long. The beeping sound of electronic keys being pressed is quickly followed by Assad swinging the wood and stained-glass door open. Sweat drips from almost every pore on his large body, enough so that his black tank top is sticking to his broad chest. " Ciao, Duchessa , and Alfa," he pants, opening up the door farther and stepping aside for us. "Please come in, and I'll take you to Alessandro." He pulls the bottom hem of his shirt up to wipe his beard and face. The tank top looks well past its saturation point, so really he's just pushing his sweat around.

"Thank you, Assad," I say in greeting as we step into a pre-foyer where shoes are placed in cubbies. Taking the cue, both Xander and I remove our boots before entering the main foyer. It's painted in warm whites and pale yellows and is seriously ostentatious. The room is large and circular with a wide staircase on the far side that separates into two rounded staircases, leaving the middle of the room open for the crystal chandelier. Images of Gone with the Wind flash through my mind. It's a room whose sole purpose is to make a statement and draw the attention of guests—which I fall for hook, line, and sinker. "Wow, Assad," I softly exclaim, spinning around with my head tilted back and mouth hanging open, while my eyes take in everything. "This is pretty impressive."

Assad shuts the door and sets the security alarm, which is very high tech and in complete contrast to the decor. " Si , Duchessa ," he agrees, ushering us around the main staircase through a small hallway. "We were lucky the owners were open to negotiating and selling," he continues, taking a right down an arched hallway with mahogany wainscotting and black-and-white wallpaper with drawings of people working in fields or something. Near the end of the hallway, he knocks on one of the two black pocket doors and then slides one open.

We enter into a large library several floors high, in one of the turrets I assume, based on the roundness of the room. Looking around, I find Alessandro on one of those cool library ladders. His body is stretched out as he places several books on a high shelf. The position has his black cashmere sweater pulling up, showing off a slice of his tan muscular abdomen above his low-slung jeans. Alessandro is a fucking hottie, there's no denying it. It's weird how, since I've found my mates, I can recognize and appreciate Alessandro's physique, but there's no desire to take things further.

Xander's hand grips tighter on my hip. I tilt my chin up to him, and he's staring down at me with hard eyes, a clenched jaw, and flared nostrils. I furrow my brows in confusion. His response is to dig those fingers deeper into my hip. My stomach cramps, as this is another sign of how off we are with each other, how my avoidance is messing with us, even when I'm doing it to protect us.

" Principe ," Assad states, pulling my attention to him. " La Duchessa and l'Alfa are here." And whoa, did he just l'alfa Xander? Feckin' great. Taking on this role has even changed how Assad, and probably Heydar, addresses him. Behind the curtain of my eyelids, I roll my eyeballs into the farthest reaches of my skull while internally groaning to myself. Will this new position change every interaction, every relationship, every decision we will ever have from this point forward? My stomach, which before was only cramping, now feels like it's been ripped from my body and tossed into a blender. I inhale a deep breath, willing my diaphragm to expand, and slowly open my eyes.

Alessandro turns to us. His green eyes sparkle, and his lips pull back, showing bright-white teeth. " Grazie, Assad," he states, gracefully floating down the ladder barefooted. Assad bows and leaves, leaving me looking at the empty doorway with confusion. I felt as though I was developing a sort of friendship with the twins, and his abrupt departure kind of stings.

" Ciao, la mia stella ," Alessandro greets in a voice offering nothing but warmth.

I step away from Xander and murmur, "Hey, Sandro," walking into his open arms. Inhaling his lemon meringue scent, I hug him with a sense of reprieve. "Thank you for making time for us tonight."

" Nessun problema , " he replies, both of us releasing from our embrace . "And do not worry about Assad." He winks, answering the question I didn't pose. "Annabelle is down there working out with them."

Alessandro approaches Xander with his arm outstretched. Xander shakes Alessandro's hand, his face relaxed and at ease, completely opposite of what he showed me only moments ago. Is he putting on a mask? Or worse, are we both feeling more comfortable with someone else besides each other? And yup, Billie, why not pour some acid into that gut blender—ya know, just for a little zing?

"We're highly appreciative of your willingness to help." Xander grins. Their hands drop, and Alessandro motions for us to take a seat on the floor, where dozens of large pillows are set up around a low circular coffee table with a steaming teapot, three teacups, and associated saucers. I forgo sitting and move right to lying down. Curling up on my side, I snuggle into the pile of plush pillows and cushions, sighing with the comfort and coziness of it all.

Xander comes down near me, his large hand rubbing my jean-clad hip and ass, and it's like the softness of the pillows softens me, and the feeling of his hand on my hip has my eyes watering with deep gratitude that he's with me, touching me. And dammit, emotions just bloody suck.

"You seem tired, la mia stella . Are you sure you're up for this lesson?" Alessandro inquires, taking a seat on the other side of the table across from us.

I find a squishy pillow and pull it under my cheek while mumbling, "Tired or not, I can't put this off any longer, Alessandro. Little Fox is getting more comfortable exploring things on her own, and. . ." I falter, thinking about the pack and the state of their wolves, but also the threats they pose. The glares and snarls were so sharp, my skin stung like I'd been bitten.

"Her ability to wield her powers effectively is paramount," Xander finishes for me, his hand gripping my ass. Yeah, 'cause your pack wants me dead, I think and then shut that down. Dammit, I hate this. I hate all these feelings and how everything changed in one night and how fucking scared I am. How hurt and angry I am and how one moment I feel justified in those feelings and then the next moment I'm ashamed of them. Because really, what could he have done? Those wolves were falling apart. Little Fox was ready to shed blood when she sensed what Hogan was doing to Bruce and his wolf.

Bruce's wolf.

My fucking God, the state of not just his wolf but his entire mental existence. I had no idea. Okay, I have no idea about so much that really, I should speak about what I know and stay silent about what I don't know. It'd be more efficient that way. And huh, that's only what I know I don't know. Imagine all the shit that I don't know to not know about. Feck, my brain hurts.

"Well, then let us begin," Alessandro proclaims with a clap of his hands. The sound stirs me to rise, and I sit up in a cross-legged position. My head swims, and it flops sideways to lean on Xander's shoulder. And I feel messed up about that even—like, should I be seeking support from him when I've got all these negative feelings that I'm blaming him for, knowing full well they're uncalled for and he doesn't deserve the blame? Doesn't he have enough people, humans and shifters alike, looking to him, leaning on him for support? Can't I hold my own damn head up? And yet... when I rub my cheek against his broad shoulder covered in his thick hoodie, I know that no one else's shoulder will make my body warm and my mind settle like his. I like the comfort of physically knowing he's here with me.

But is he really with me if he chose to lead a group of individuals who want me dead? Oh my God, I'm just an emotional mess right now. Yeah, a right-twisted mess of emotions that are stinging and suffocating and somehow too slippery for me to hold on to and examine.

Electric eels.

My emotions are a barrel of electric eels. Fan-tas-tic.

"Here, perhaps some tea will help," Alessandro offers, pouring some into the fancy-looking teacups. Xander reaches for one and hands it to me, then takes one for himself. So thoughtful. He's so thoughtful—and I still have the urge to yell at him. I quickly swallow a mouthful of tea in an effort to drown those screams, and oh my heavens, this tea is fabulous. It's like raw caramel in liquid form, magically transforming my subdued screams into low moans. The magic spreads and Xander moans, giving me hope. Maybe tea can save us. I mean, the Boston Tea Party started a war, so there's got to be something charmed about the stuff, right? Couldn't have just been about taxes.

Alessandro grins widely and winks. "I'll be sure to send you home with some." We take a moment to sip our tea before he sets his down and cants his head to the side. "What did you mean by your fox is exploring her powers?"

Putting my teacup down, I hitch a shoulder and blow out an exhale. "I don't know how she learned it. She's deployed it, definitely two times, and she took me by surprise. I wasn't even aware of her intentions or actions until she was done." My cheeks heat, and not with the warmth of the tea but rather embarrassment. I've been so clueless about her. Just more evidence of my own ignorance. Tugging on my ear, I stammer, "She... she's been taking her tail and slamming it down when she or I or both of us are agitated, or angry, and"—with spread fingers, I push my hand down and through the space in front of me— "sends her energy out into the air... I guess."

Alessandro looks from me to Xander with a crease between his brows. "Xander, where you present for any of these incidents?"

Xander nods his head and replies with a sigh, "Yes, both. The first one—" An unexpected chuckle escapes my lips as I remember when it happened, and Xander looks at me with a sheepish smile. He rubs the back of his neck and explains. "It was directed at me, sent in several small waves. It felt like Little Fox was letting me know she was unhappy with how I was handling things. It was only a rippling of the energy around her mostly—nothing anyone, especially a nonshifter would take note of." Xander pauses to sip his tea, the dainty cup looking comically tiny in his large hand. He groans. "The second one was a large slam of her tail. It was felt by several people, nonshifters at least twenty feet away."

"What was the catalyst for the second one?" Alessandro probes while sipping his tea.

My jaw clenches, and Xander catches it. His brows dip down in concern. He's not the only one who's concerned. Those feelings and worries are still within me, and if I'm honest, they're getting worse. Worse because he now holds the title of alpha and, maybe even more so, the persona of a young board member millionaire.

Feeling heat creep up my neck, I quietly admit, "I've unconsciously been ignoring my fox's nature with my mates." I refuse to look at either of them and instead keep my eyes on the steam rising from the spout of the teapot. "My laid-back approach to the female attention my mates receive had or has become unacceptable to her, and she decided to take it into her own... tail."

They're both quiet for several long seconds that feel like hours. It's finally broken by Alessandro's elegant giggle spiraling up from his chest and into the air around us, much like the steam from the teapot. The tension eases, and I chance a glance at him. His cheeks are rosy, and the corners of his eyes are crinkled, while his hand fails to cover the wide smile curving his lips. I still refuse to look at Xander.

" La mia stella ," Sandro says, "please know she is asking you to act as the shifter you are, yes."

I nod and with annoyed sarcasm I intone, "That's what everyone keeps telling me. But remember, I was brought up in the human world. What she wants, how she wants me to act"—yup, cheeks definitely red again— "the images she sends me, they're very far from what I'm used to. But I promised her I'd listen and work on this." In order to control the direction of the conversation, I ask, "So what is it she's doing, and is this a good starting point?"

The smile on Alessandro's face drops when he sees how much this is truly affecting me. He nods his head. " Si , this is a good starting point, though we may need to go outside to learn it." He inhales, and his tone takes on a serious note. "There are some royal powers that are common among all of us, like the frequency disruptors. Then others are not so common. If what you're describing to me is what I think it is, then this is one of those rare powers. One that, with increased energy, could be more. . ." He hesitates and tries to ease my brewing distress by waggling his brows. " Impressionante ."

Apprehension and excitement bubble up within me, because of course Little Fox has some rare royal juju magic powers. I check in with her, and she's checking herself out in a full-length mirror. Don't know where that came from or how she got it into the Plotting Den, which seems to have expanded to include a salon or reception room of sorts. She sashays toward her own reflection, then does a dramatic end-of-catwalk twirl, glances back at her reflection, and winks at herself before sashaying away again.

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I groan, "Well, let's head outside then." And I rock myself up to standing. I stuff my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie, forcing myself to refrain from grabbing a pillow and hugging it to my chest like a stuffed animal on the way out.