Page 32

Billie

THE HIGH DARK cherry wood wainscotting, matching built-in bookshelves, burgundy-painted walls, plaid drapes, dark area rug, and soft brown leather sofas could seem comforting. The lighting, primarily coming from the wall sconces and the small crackling fire in the large brick fireplace, is dim and could be inviting. A room made for snowy days, reading books, drinking hot chocolate, and snuggling under soft blankets.

Or it could seem foreboding and ominous, a setting where the fate of lives could be decided over a shared bottle of whiskey sipped from lowball glasses—the weight of the room suited for the heavy topics, not allowing for joviality to falsely lighten the dark mood.

And unfortunately, it’s the second variation we’ve stepped into tonight—without the mind-dulling benefits of the whiskey. I’m standing behind and to the side of Xander, with Jax and Ethan a little behind and to the sides of us. The Callahans are where Xander positioned them, kneeling on the slate floor with their backs to the small fire and their fronts to Xander.

Xander is bent over Brian’s kneeling form, his fingers squeezing the beta’s head with enough force to leave an imprint, while giving him a final warning: “Share them with me, or I’ll pull them out myself.” His voice, the rumbling of a soon-to-erupt volcano, is backed up by the swell of his power swirling around the room, sending several shelved books from their perches, and stacks of fliers on a side table fluttering down to the floor. Brian’s body sways, sweat streaming from every pore, while blue veins pulse out from his temples all the way down his flushed neck. Spit and drool cover his mouth and chin, the whites of his eyes seeming to protrude from their sockets as tears of pain, fury, and fear run freely down his face.

Coco, sitting on her knees next to him, clasps his fisted hands in both of hers and begins pleading, begging, crying for him to do what Xander demands. To let him in and not make their alpha hurt him more than he has already.

I force my head to stay neutral and not nod in agreement because, damn, I want this to end too. Treating this like a boxing match, I’ve taken on my corner-ring stance, wide feet, shoulders rolled back, chin lifted, and arms crossed over my chest, knowing that keeping my reactions minimal, my face blank, and my emotions in check will make it easier for Xander to do what needs to be done. But it’s getting hard to maintain this persona. I feel like we’re in the seventh round, and Xander’s opponent has taken a beating for all seven and still won’t back down, won’t let the ref or his corner call it even though he’s stumbling and swaying unsteadily, unable to see through the blood and sweat, too stupid to give in.

Brian’s agonizingly angry eyes slide to his mate, and he flinches, seeing the absolute desperation stretching out her features, her face a ruin of makeup and tears. His entire body deflates, going limp-noodle loose as his eyes roll back into his head. Xander’s grip on his skull is the only thing keeping him from collapsing onto the floor.

Xander’s face tightens and twists, and his eyes glow brighter. Through my fox’s eyes, I can see threads of his power spiral around his wrists from under his sweater and down each finger. His hands seem to be pulsing as if he’s suctioning thoughts or memories or something from Brian’s brain. The wheezing silent screams coming from Brian’s open mouth support the idea. Xander’s upper body quakes, and his head shakes while his inhales become choppy and garbled.

Grinding my teeth and hugging myself tighter, I put my weight in my heels and refuse to go to him, to wrap him up in my arms, and share this pain, this strain, with him.

Keeping his glowing gaze on Brian, he reaches one hand out to Coco. “Wolf, come to me,” he hoarsely orders.

She does so readily with a little too much enthusiasm for my liking, rubbing her head and cheek along his outstretched hand, purring and cooing as she does. Xander stands motionless, his arm made of stone, letting her do what I assume he feels she needs to do, until her head is fully under his palm.

Then he takes hold, gripping her skull in a similar manner as his other hand on Brian’s. Xander sucks down a sharp inhale, and on the exhale, he releases another bout of his energy—this one like a wave crashing down, causing several strands of my hair to slash across my face.

Coco releases a pained and—because it’s Coco—a slightly erotic moan. Her spine arches, and her chest pushes out against the rather loose sweater, the mother in her clearly having a hard time coping with her daughter’s crimes and the associated verdict.

The lights in the room flicker and dim just as the blue light under Xander’s hand on Brian’s head pools. It grows brighter, and with a growl, Xander pulls that light, that magic, into himself, guiding it up his arm, and down his other arm into Coco. Sweat beads along Xander’s brow, and his arms shake with the effort.

Coco starts choking while crying out, “What?” She gasps. “What am I seeing? Who is this woman?”

“She is you,” Xander snarls long and low, but I hear the pain in his voice, the toll this punishment is costing him. She gasps, and I watch fascinated as stripes of fiery copper slice through her glowing honey eyes. When the light under Xander’s palm flashes out, he shoves the couple back, ripping his hands away as if he were touching a hot stove.

Brian and Coco are so lost in Xander’s power that when he pushes them away, their bodies are like wet towels, flopping to the floor, their heads hitting the stone. Gazing at Brian, I see the coppery-red stripes in his glowing eyes also. Their wide eyes are unfocused and skittering all over the place as if watching a movie while their mouths stretch out in horror. Brian wails out in anger and outrage, shouting “No! No! No! It wasn’t her! It wasn’t my mate! Stop it! This is a lie! This isn’t real!”

Coco’s arms shoot above her head, with her wrists crossed like they’re tied down. She softly cries out for help, calling for Brian to help her, to save her. But her words are muffled and slurred like she’s been drugged. Her low, whimpering pleas are almost worse than if she were screaming. She sounds so helpless so defeated. She repeats, “Stop. Please, Divine, make it stop. Make them stop.”

That’s when I get it, when I fully understand what Xander meant when he said, “She is you.” He took the memories of what Brian, Bruce, and Xander’s father did to Esmeralda and Maria, and he’s making Brian relive it and Coco experience it—except for one difference. He’s put Coco in the place of the abused mates. He’s making her experience what Maria and Esmeralda had to endure at her mate’s hand.

It goes on for twenty or thirty minutes. It’s agonizing to watch, but I can’t help feeling impressed with my mate, with how he’s decided to handle this situation. It’s brilliantly ruthless. My stomach twists upon realizing he had to see the memories with enough detail to alter them. What makes it even worse? He had to take on the responsibility of making Coco suffer in order to... I don’t think just punish but also teach Brian a memorable lesson. I absently wonder what he will do with Bruce.

Coco’s and Brian’s breathing evens out, and Xander slowly approaches her. Squatting down at her side, he hovers his hand about six inches above her chest. His hand glows, and then he brushes the air away from her chest to her head—back and forth, back and forth—like he’s sweeping away the energy, freeing her from the experience, from the images. A look of calm settles over her features, and Xander places his hand on her tacky forehead. “Be still, my wolf. Be at ease. It was only a memory, a mental experience of what others endured. You are safe. You are loved. You are pack.”

She takes several gulping breaths and nods her head under his hand. She opens her watery eyes, which are still glowing honey but missing the bands of copper that were there before, staring at Xander with both awe and a little fear. Yeah, I’d be afraid too. He looks down at her and frowns. “It was the only way I could think of, Coco. The only way for him to understand, for him to see his actions from the victim’s point of view. For him to feel the pain he caused and hopefully learn from it. You are more important to him than anyone. Your pain is the only pain he feels, the only pain he cares to ease.” He glances over at Brian, who’s rolled on his side, facing away from Coco, his body in a tight, convulsing ball of tears, snot, and guttural sobs. “He’ll need you. He’ll need you to recover from this. To move through his guilt. His shame.” He gazes back at her, and her eyes have slid to her mate, looking at him with anger and distaste. “He has good in him,” Xander assures her, stroking his hand over her sweat-caked hair. “You both do. Be vulnerable, be open, and most importantly, learn to be the wolves you can be. It was this or—”

“Worse,” Coco finishes on a clogged breath. She brings her eyes to Xander, and fresh tears leak from their corners as she nods. “I know. What he did... you could have given me to them. I could have been retribution for his actions.”

“Yes,” Xander replies, giving her forehead one more brush of his hand before pressing up to standing. He swings his gaze between them and exhales a long breath. “I don’t agree with retribution in these types of circumstances. It just causes more pain, most often to the ones who shouldn’t serve the sentence. But he needed to learn and—” He pauses and swipes his hand over his hair, slicking the sweat back. “And Bruce had a very different reaction tonight when they told us what happened. After Cortney, after seeing his daughter abused by his bonded alpha, it changed him. It made it personal. I think sometimes until it’s personal, we don’t truly comprehend the pain others suffer, the pain we’ve caused.”

“I understand, Alpha,” she replies.

Xander nods. “I’ll let you two be. One of the officers will escort you home and will check in on you for the next week.”

Without another word, Xander spins on his heels and faces me, the dim lighting from the sconces casting shadows over his features, making the hollows of his cheeks appear gaunt, sharpening his normally rounded cheekbones. Sweat glistens where the light does touch, while his eyes remain dark, hiding whatever he’s feeling. Uncrossing my arms, I reach for him, my hands clasping his shoulders. He squats down and belts his arms around my bum, picking me up into his embrace, my ankles hooking behind him. I burrow my face into the crook of his neck, rubbing my cheek along his hot, sweaty skin. He does the same to me as he confidently strides out of the room at a measured pace. Not rushing, not thumping, he’s simply walking as if he didn’t just subject himself to memories he’d rather have never seen—as if he didn’t just make another experience the pain, the suffering, and the humiliation her mate delivered onto another.

I hear the whispered voices of Jax and Ethan as they follow not far behind us. Jax scoots forward, opening the back door of the truck on the passenger side for Xander and me. One of Xander’s hands moves to protect my head, and I readjust my legs to straddling as we climb in. Jax softly closes the door behind us, and then swiftly jumps into shotgun, while Ethan slips into the driver’s seat.

The entire ride home, all I do is hold, kiss, hug, caress, and share some of my shifter energy with my alpha, murmuring how he’s not alone, how we’re here to share whatever he’s feeling, and that he handled the situation well beyond anything I could have thought of. He mostly stays silent, more interested in our flesh. Removing all my top layers and his sweater, pressing our naked bodies together, his hands grip, knead, and slide over my back and sides, while his mouth tastes all the flesh I offer to him. I damn near gush about the feeling of his power quaking under my feet and how hot he looked with it whipping around him, which does gift me with a hoarse laugh.

Ethan’s already vaulting up the stairs by the time we enter the house, and I soon hear the sound of water running.

“Head up to Ethan’s room,” Jax suggests from behind us. Xander, with me in tow, makes our way to find Ethan in his bathroom, drawing a bath in the large clawfoot tub and tossing in some bath bombs.

Xander sets me down, and the three of us finish undressing our alpha, kissing his shoulders, his neck, his torso, and any other body parts while our hands continue to massage and brush over his heated flesh. Our shifters hum, purr, and, murr as we do this. With all of us touching him, I can feel the buzz of Ethan’s and Jax’s energy entering Xander, gifting him with not just their shifter power but their energy and their calm, confident strength. Then we all bathe him, me in the tub with him, and there’s talk of purchasing a bigger one so we can all fit.

By the end of the night, we’re all naked and cuddled up in my bed, all of us emotionally satisfied. Because tonight was not about sex. It was about intimacy, connection, and filling up our alpha, my true-mate, our pack-mate, with our strength, our belief in him, and our love. Pulling the covers up, that comforting, blissful feeling you get on a snowy day when you’re exhausted but rested settles over me. I know my mates feel it too.

In yoga it’s called santosha —the state of complete contentment. Contentment in the moment, needing nothing else, wanting nothing else, just immersed in the bliss of the now and the beauty of being alive.