Page 44

Billie

EVERY SHUFFLED STEP, every swing of an arm, every breeze of air through my hair, and—yeah, you guessed it— every breath I take , (adlib people) I feel his claim. The brush of my coat’s satin lining over my bare back is the sensual caress of his plush lips. The scratch of lace along my arms and sides is the bite of his teeth. The feeling of the satin bodice gripping my sticky stomach and chest is the firm press of his body on top of mine. My scalp tingles with the feeling of his fingers combing through my hair, and my lips burn as if we’d kissed for days under a blistering sun. My throat prickles at the slivers of his cum embedded in my flesh. Each one adds a whooshing his to the chant resounding in my head. His steady hand gripping my nape is the only thing keeping my wobbly legs from collapsing under me, my mind in a fog of him.

Little Fox is of little help, rolling around in a new plush flokati-like rug the color of X-Wolf’s blueish-black fur.

Seeking some sort of stabilizing force, something to clear the Xander haze I’m falling back under, I trace my fingers over the imprint of my no-metal knucks tucked inside the chest pocket of my coat. I’d prefer brass knuckles, but those are illegal in our fine commonwealth. I focus on the open link with Alessandro, hoping the directed attention is the smelling salts it was before.

Xander’s nose is in my hair again. He’s inhaling and purring with satisfaction while we stand in the white-on-white private sitting room of Mr. Bordeaux in the Executive Offices section, located on the twelfth floor. The journey from the limo to here was a blur. Xander’s picture was taken, during which he refused to let me go, our pinkies linked while I stood outside the camera’s view. Badges were given—his is a special badge. Yup, because my mate is so special, and I’m his , his , his .

“STOP!” I scream in my head and try to focus on the high-definition, brightly colored pictures of scientists at work and the philosophical quotes about science painted in a thick, curved font that’s a darker white than the walls. We needed Xander’s badge in order to gain access up here. Mine just says Guest, no special, no picture.

When the woman at the main reception desk asked for my name, Xander merely said, “She’s with me. Put her down as such.” Now, I don’t know if it’s because he’s oh so special or if it’s because he said it like there was no other option, all commanding and shit—either way, she bobbed her head, the movement making her blonde bob, well, bob right along with her head. She commented something about meeting Mr. Bordeaux, and I could feel Xander’s body tense at the statement. He brought up Dr. Lucas Dunne, and at the mention of his name, I noted a blushing of the woman’s cheeks as she confirmed he’d be here too.

My eyes trail over the quotes, my lips moving with the words, and I can’t help but feel a sense of grief. Science has always been my favorite subject: It looks for facts and embraces data and evidence, even when it contradicts old thoughts and long-held beliefs. My gaze narrows on the only color in the room, pictures of, I’m assuming, Decoction scientists performing tasks. One photo is of a gloved hand pipetting a solution into a gel-like substance, performing, I think, gel electrophoresis. Another is a close-up of a scientist inspecting fluid in a syringe, while another is of several analysts scrutinizing what appears to be DNA data and charts.

Thoughts of what they could be working on is the strike of a match sparking my anger to life. My rising temper helps burn off some of Xander’s claiming mist muddling my mind. Could those be samples of shifter DNA? Is the solution in the syringe what was injected into Jax? How many shifters were tested on and tortured in order to produce the data they’re analyzing? Is the knowledge worth the cost, the blood, the lives?

Little Fox pauses her languid rolling and sits back on her haunches. Shaking her head several times, she follows my gaze, my train of thought. Her eyes taper in on the images, and she kicks a few pieces of kindling into my low-burning embers, baring her teeth with a snarl of her upper lip. Xander’s hand massages my nape, and his lips press against my ear. “I know, mates,” he whispers, using his alpha waves, so we feel his words. “Focus on the long game. Breathe in and out. Step back and dissociate. Be curious. Gather intel.”

“Can’t make it personal.” I exhale. Closing my eyes, I visualize a whirling vortex inside a thick metal box sucking all of my emotions inside. I slam the heavy lid closed and snap a padlock through the metal rings in front, locking it. Then I place it next to several other identical boxes on one of the shelves stored behind bulletproof glass doors in the Plotting Den.

Little Fox swishes her tail in agitation, but she eventually blows out a hissing breath and spins around, heading for the closet in the salon. She dons her standard black-rimmed glasses and what would be a pristine white lab coat if not for HOOD QUEEN spray-painted like street-art graffiti on the back.

We will study the scientists , she asserts, heading over to the Plotting Den and pulling a clipboard and pen from a hook hanging on the wall near a small framed picture of Einstein, which I’m assuming she just thought into existence. Sliding her glasses to rest on the tip of her snout, she looks down her nose at me They will be our lab rats. I match her perspective, and when I open my eyes, it’s with a curious yet detached gaze.

She proceeds to enter the Royal Grotto and set up an observation station along one of the counters away from the screens. My feet tingle in my shoes as her hind paws brush over the new X-Wolf rug that has followed her. My skin hums with another body quivering his . I’m not engulfed by the feeling anymore, and I’ll take it.

The opening whoosh of a seamless, shiny white door, practically hidden in the far wall, is followed by a pretentious voice booming, “Ah, Xander.” A resounding clap of large hands pulls my gaze from the pictures as his feet tap an unhurried yet purposeful pace across the tiled floor. His rigid posture, broad shoulders, and narrow hips make him appear taller than he is. His long fingers trail a line from the button of his light-gray suit jacket up to the pointed edge of the lapel, drawing my attention upward. His blue eyes, full dark-brown hair in a side part, and plush lower lip let me know where his daughter gets her looks.

My inspection is interrupted by Alessandro asking me to keep the video on the CEO, and all I can think of is those damn chickens that pecked my feet when I was a kid—the bobbing of their narrow heads as they side-eyed me, and how disturbing it was, like they were possessed or something. I let Alessandro know I’m not comfortable playing chicken and they’ll have to work with what they get.

“Mr. Bordeaux,” Xander cooly says while discreetly pulling my body a little closer. “With tonight’s events, I’m surprised you’re able to join us.”

Mr. Bordeaux comes to stand in front of us, his eyes level with Xander’s chin. He slips a hand into the pocket of his light-gray dress pants while opening up his chest. He gestures an arm out in the direction he came from, and Lucas Dunne seemingly appears out of thin air, standing not five feet from us. His smaller stature having allowed him to hide behind Bordeaux.

“I really don’t have the time,” Bordeaux admits, cupping Lucas’ slender shoulder, his fingers gripping tight enough to bunch up Dunne’s tan suit jacket. “But I thought I’d help with the introductions,” he explains. Returning his gaze to Xander, his tongue darts out between his smirking lips. “Rachael’s told me about how well you two have been working together, the ease of your partnership. And I was close with your father, so, well, I feel as if I know you myself.”

He pauses and waits for Xander to give some sort of reply or response— something other than Xander holding a forced, relaxed posture and continuing to look at him expectantly. Eventually Xander says, “I see,” while his fingers around my waist flutter and grip. The press of satin from my jacket’s lining against the lace of my dress under the grip of his hand has another his slipping like silk through my mind. A squeeze of my quads keeps my body from swaying under the lull of his possession.

“Right...” Mr. Bordeaux mutters, his blue eyes dancing around Xander’s face. His brows raise just a fraction before knitting together, and he heavily bobs his head. “I imagine this all must be so hard for you. Losing your father like you did. He often spoke of how close you two were and the plans he and you had in place for when you graduated. His death must have come as a shock, and I’m sure you’re still reeling from losing such a commanding presence—the role model that was Will.”

“It was a shock, and yes, the absence of his commanding presence is felt,” Xander drily replies. I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to prevent my lips from tilting up into an indignant smirk, and I’m barely able to swallow down the derisive scoff. If this guy thinks he really knows Xander solely based on the image his father painted, then he should prepare his canvas of artful lies to be hit with a flurry of paintballs destroying that false portrait.

Xander’s eyes flick to Lucas Dunne, whose diamond-shaped face has remained utterly stoic and blank, while his shoulder is still being held captive by Bordeaux’s long fingers. “I understand we don’t have much time for the tour with the event tonight, and I’d like to take advantage of the opportunity,” Xander says, his indifferent gaze sliding back to Bordeaux with raised brows. “As you mentioned, my father’s death was not expected, and as such, we were not prepared for his passing. I want to fulfill my responsibilities and my position on the board to the best of my ability. In order for me to effectively do that, I need to understand what Decoction is working on, what my father’s role was, and what is expected of me.”

“Just dive right in then?” Bordeaux observes with a half-smile.

“Yes,” Xander replies, his steady gaze not wavering. “This is only one of several businesses and positions I’ve inherited since my father passed. I’ve found that being clear and concise is what has been working. I don’t have time for pleasantries or for socializing unless it’s scheduled as such. I’m here to learn what I need in order to keep our association beneficial for all those involved.” So feckin’ smooth .

Bordeaux releases Dunne’s shoulder to interlace his fingers in front of him and hedges, “So you understand what we’re working on?” As if his own body can’t help but communicate his thoughts, his eyes drop to me, and a spark of something dark, something greedy, flashes through them before he forces his gaze to return to Xander. The slipup lasts only a second, but judging by the tightening of Xander’s hold on me, his fingers digging into the spaces between my ribs, he caught it as well. Bordeaux adjusts his violet tie and clears his throat. “The details of our research, the specimen we’re working with, the scope of our research and development group, and how sensitive everything is?”

“I won’t claim to understand anything when it’s spoken of in such broad, generic terms.” Xander scoffs like he’s unimpressed by Bordeaux’s word games. Obviously, with me as his mate, his word-game expectations are pretty dang high . “Again, my father’s death was unexpected, and anything I’ve been told I won’t rely on as truth without seeing for myself.”

Rolling his recently freed shoulder and bringing a loosely fisted hand to his mouth, Dunne tentatively coughs, his light-brown eyes stilling on me briefly before flicking between Bordeaux and Xander. Inhaling deeply through his nose, his face scrunches up, and he curtly shakes his head. Setting his gaze on his boss, he raises his brows, and with drawn-out words, he offers, “If I may, Mr. Bordeaux.” His boss’s eyes narrow, and he arches a brow. Dunne half turns to face Bordeaux, which puts a little space between them, and he hitches a shoulder. “I believe there was a reason you wanted my presence here this afternoon.” Dunne’s eyes slide to me, and they glow just a bit as he takes in another deep inhale.

Bordeaux twists his lips and follows the path of Dunne’s pointed gaze. His blue eyes shimmer with delight, as if he’s felt the thump, thump of his shovel hitting the treasure chest buried deep in the sand of a deserted island. “Yes, Dr. Dunne,” he lowly affirms, a hint of snobbishness pitching his tone. “I’m confident you’ll be able to find a way to communicate the importance of the work we’re doing here. How important Will’s position, and now Xander’s position, is in continuing our groundbreaking research. What we’re trying to achieve and the benefits Will and his colleagues gained through our association. And how close...” His gaze bores into my eyes like he’s begging for them to glow, to change color, to give me away. I let my vision drift behind him and trace the outline of the hidden door. He clicks his tongue. “How very close we are to what is sure to be a revolutionary discovery. Decades of research, millions of dollars, and sacrifices made by so many have all brought us to this point.” I feel the weight of his gaze lift from me as it settles on Xander. He sighs. “If only Will was here to experience it. But I’m sure he’ll be watching from wherever he his. No doubt he’s wearing an impeccable suit, puffing on a cigar, and smiling down on his son as he continues to forge ahead on the path he started.”

Xander releases a forced chuckle and swipes a hand down his face while bobbing his head. “Yes, I wouldn’t expect he’d be in anything but a suit. As for following his path, that’s tough to do when I haven’t seen the path yet.”

“Right,” Bordeaux clips out, his blue eyes becoming frosty while he cuts a glare at Lucas. Dunne crosses his arms over his trim chest and tilts his head to the side, waiting for his boss to get on with it. “Well then,” Bordeaux grits out, clearly not liking the silent dismissal. “I’ll let Lucas show you around the facility, show you the progress we’ve made, and he’ll explain the part your father played in making it all happen. I’m sure if you have any questions or concerns, we’ll find some time to discuss them this evening.” He extends his hand out to Xander. “I’m looking forward to working with you over the next couple of years, Xander.”

Xander takes his hand in a firm clasp and replies, “You’ve definitely piqued my interest in what my father was working on.”

Bordeaux’s gaze drops to me, and his lips curve into a salacious smile. “I hope you haven’t felt left out, my dear,” he chortles. “All of this talk has been rather boring, and the tour will be more of the same. Feel free to have a light bite to eat in the cafeteria while Xander and Lucas continue. My daughter raves about their salads. Or”—he raises his brows like he just had a fabulous idea— “I could escort you to the fundraiser. The entire museum is open to us tonight. I’m sure you’d find something to busy yourself with.” Dunne’s brows furrow, and he side-eyes Bordeaux as if he’s perplexed by his offer.

Ignoring Dunne’s reaction, I say with a mocking bat of my lashes, “Oh, I’m sure I could. But I’ve been there many times before, and this is my first time visiting a global biopharmaceutical laboratory—and you’ve just made everything sound so fascinating. I don’t want to miss the opportunity.”

Before he can reply, Xander turns us to Dunne, “Shall we then?”

Dunne’s features pull down and heavily nods. “Of course.” He spins on his heels and swiftly heads over to the wall with the hidden door. It takes a moment for Xander and me to catch up to his quick departure. We make it to him just as he pulls on the badge zip-clipped to his belt and passes it over a camouflaged scanner. There’s a ding, and apparently the wall hides more than one door, as a set of white-lacquered elevator doors open. “Just follow me,” he says, stepping inside the secret elevator. Xander and I position ourselves at the back wall. Dunne passes his card over another reader, hits the button labeled L3, and then keys in a passcode.

Bordeaux stares at Dunne with an arched brow of Do as you're told , and his expression doesn’t waver until the doors finally close. Dunne releases a long sigh and shakes his hanging head, grumbling, “You know it was pointless, don’t you?”

“What was?” Xander questions.

Dunne straightens his posture while keeping his back to us and eyes on the stainless-steel doors. “The scent marking.” He waves an indifferent hand. “Don’t get me wrong, you thoroughly—very thoroughly—scent marked her. I can’t smell her shifter form through yours. Even her arousal was difficult to detect.” My face flames—totally flames. He drily laughs. “But it’s pointless. Even when I tell them I couldn’t scent fox, it will make no difference.”

“How so?” Xander asks, his body freezing like a block of ice around me, causing a chill to roll down my spine.

Dunne still keeps his head forward, but tension tightens his shoulders and hardens his voice. “They know,” he hisses. “They know who she is. They know who she was. They know what she holds inside of her.”

My stomach drops with the force of an elevator free-falling down a shaft. Little Fox whirls inside me, her eyes skittering around the Royal Grotto. She rushes to Central Command. Forgoing the chair and standing at the desk, she clicks through several screens on one of the side monitors, bringing up a file labeled Wolf-Shifters. She opens the file and creates a new one, labeling it Lucas Dunne, PhD. Then, after she presses a button, one of the metal ceiling tiles slides open, and a small tray of our energy slowly drops down, followed by several tools that hang from a steel bar located above the opening. She picks a flexible tube and connects one end to one of the three computer units located under the desk. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she pulls down another flexible tube that’s hanging from the hole in the ceiling. It’s connected to something, or maybe it’s just floating there—who the feck knows with these mental spaces? She places a small ball of our shifter energy inside the tube hanging from the hole in the ceiling, and my nose starts to tingle. Taking a deep inhale, she shoves the open end up one of her nostrils while closing the other off with a pinch of her paw. Then she blows her nose through the tube and—

“ACHOO!” I yelp as a huge sneeze hits me, sending a little green mist into the air that lands on Dunne. He startles, and his shoulders twitch like ants were just poured down the back of his dress shirt.

Xander says, “Bless you,” and before I can reply, Little Fox has us inhaling through our nose like a friggin’ Hoover. My nostrils burn, and my throat dries making me want to cough. But I don’t. I hold it back, seeing her expanding her chest to suck down everything she can.

From my position behind Lucas, I watch the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and his entire body shudders as if he can feel her drawing on his essence—hopefully not like a dementor. She then holds her breath, removes the tube, and wedges the one hooked up to the computer unit into her nostril. Grabbing the mouse next to one of the keyboards on the desk, she opens a program on the computer and activates it, showing a dark screen with thin white outlines of more than fifty circles ordered from small to large. Pinching her other nostril, she blows her nose through the tube. Small little lights flicker across the screen, moving through the circles until finally they all coalesce on one spot between two of the middle circles. A number flashes above the blinking yellow light. She removes the tube from her nose and clicks on the blinking light, typing out Lucas Dunne PhD Wolf-shifter and then hits Save before moving the data into his folder. She looks over my shoulder, winks, and says, Just in cases ,

like the waitress from Love Actually . I make a note to ask for details later.

“They want her,” Lucas admits with a sad chuckle, rubbing his eyes from behind his glasses.

A deep growl resounds through Xander’s chest, and I lean into him, muffling it. “And you?” I question with a little residual sniffle. “Are you part of they ? Do you want me in a cage?”

Dunne stiffens and rakes his thin fingers through his dark, slightly oily hair. “It’s more complicated than that,” he answers just when the doors open to a darkened entryway. His dress shoes clack on the gray cement as he steps out. Xander and I hesitate in following him. “Come on, let’s get the husbandry wing over with. It’s the”—his presses his lips together— “most unpleasant portion of the tour.”