by Hettie Ivers
Compounding my temporary confusion was the fact that his taut, rounded ass cheeks were also now pressed solidly up against my stomach. And oh, dear Lord, they were better formed than even my previous ogling session had determined.
I froze against him, baffled as to how and when I’d become such a pervert. An innocent man was being chastised for being kind enough to attempt to bring me a beverage. And here I was becoming engrossed in Alex’s obnoxious, sex-walking physique again.
I resumed my struggling and tossed out what I hoped would be the magic words. “Alex, you’re hurting me!”
I was released. And I nearly fell backwards onto my ass, but Alex’s hand shot out behind him to grab the front waistband of my jeans just before I lost my balance, steadying me back onto my feet.
“Alex, you have the most atrocious manners of anyone I’ve ever known!” I reprimanded, trying to work my way around him to the mysterious human chef he was shielding from my view. “You just attacked the man for no reason, and the way you order people around is despicable.”
Alex pulled me into his side, locking his arm around my shoulders so that I couldn’t move an inch, but affording me a view of the gentleman he’d been hiding at last.
“You should say you’re sorry,” I reproached. “He never ever says he’s sorry, right?” I looked to the horrified chef for confirmation. “It’s impossibly rude, don’t you think?”
The chef’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates as they stared straight forward, refusing to look at me.”
Alex coughed. “Franco, have I offended you?”
Franco immediately, emphatically shook his head, his eyes trained straight forward. “No, my Alpha.”
“And have you ever found my manners to be lacking?”
“Never, my Alpha.”
“Very good,” Alex concluded. “Pour her drinks, follow my instructions for our meal, and you’re dismissed.”
“Yes, my Alpha.”
“Oh, my God, that does not count!” I protested as Alex dragged me away from the only other human I’d seen since Felix. “You terrified the poor man like the big bully you always are,” I railed recklessly. “I want to stay with Alcaeus! I have every right—it’s the law.”
Once we’d passed through a little door at the rear of the kitchen and were alone in a secluded, narrow hallway, Alex stopped and swung around to face me, gripping me by my shoulders.
“You’re dangerously close to crossing a line with me, Milena,” he warned, his voice a menacing rasp. The black-brown eyes that glowered down at me held no kindness. No warmth. “Don’t.”
Gone was the silly tall chef hat from his head, and along with it his boyish charm and appealing sense of humor had vanished as well. I hated him for being able to just turn on a dime like that. And I felt stupid for letting him con me into expecting anything different.
I couldn’t think of anything mean enough to say in retort, and I knew it didn’t matter anyway, so I focused on sticking with what was important. Survival. And survival meant getting the answers I needed in order to know what I was dealing with.
I stared down at my sandals. “I just want to know … did Franco say I looked like Mateus?” I spoke the words as coolly as possible.
“Yes,” he affirmed, offering nothing further.
I didn’t look up. “What did my blood results reveal?”
His grip on my shoulders slackened. “DNA tests confirmed Mateus to be your biological father.”
I nodded, feeling something in the pit of my stomach clench painfully. I might as well get it all over with at once. “And my mother?”
His palms ran up and down my upper arms in a soothing gesture, providing the answer I knew was coming next before his words confirmed it. “Aracely Caro, the woman who raised you, was your aunt.”
I nodded mechanically again.
“Her twin sister, Kamella, was your real mother.”
My eyes shot up to his. “My mother is still my mother!” I contended, anger and bitterness over the whole situation overwhelming me.
Alex nodded, measuring me thoughtfully. “Of course she is.”
“I’m … sorry,” I panted in apology, not meaning to displace anger, particularly when he was at present the only person available and willing to tell me the truth about my parentage. And he looked sorry to be the bearer of such news.
He shook his head. “You’re okay,” he assured, his eyes reflecting an unbearable desolation that made my heart ache. I was reminded that he’d endured the loss of his own parents at a young age.
I looked away again, not wanting to care about him. Not wanting to see his hidden pain. And definitely not wanting to believe the little voice in my head that argued it was too late; I already saw his pain, even if I didn’t want to.
“So … Kamella was Raul’s mother too, then?”
“Yes.”
Why had no one ever told me? They’d all been lying to me my whole life. Even Raul. Especially Raul.
And my mom … not even on her deathbed had she bothered to tell me—when she knew Raul was missing and I might never find him.
And Mateus! I couldn’t even bring myself to think about him and the awful disdain he’d consistently shown me. He’d always hated me; that was certain. Now it made a little more sense.
In the small space of the hallway, I could feel Alex’s need to comfort me becoming more urgent as the seconds ticked by, as sure as I could feel his hands upon me, rubbing the tension from my shoulders.
And I wanted it too. Badly. Even as I despised him for being the selfish, arrogant dickhead that he was, I still wanted him to try to be all the things I knew he could never be for me. Even knowing it was twisted; knowing he was destined to fail. Miserably. Every single time he tried. I still wanted it.
I was sick.
But I fought against my blossoming sickness for him, as much as it hurt. I denied him his need to hold and comfort me, as great as my need to receive that comfort was, and I asked instead if we could go outside and eat.
*****
He led me through another door at the end of the hallway, and we emerged outside, only we were still partially enclosed inside a wall of hedges. It was dark outside, not yet four in the morning, if the last clock I’d seen inside the kitchen had been accurate.
There were more big guards standing at attention as we came outside. I tried my best to ignore them and not let them scare me. I didn’t even take Alex’s hand when he offered it. It hurt a little. I could only hope it’d hurt him more.
“It’s so green,” I remarked when we arrived through a maze of tall hedges to climb a long set of stairs that led to a gorgeous, open stone terrace behind the main house overlooking a sizeable expanse of the property. “And more tranquil than I expected the city of São Paulo to be,” I processed aloud, taking in what appeared to be a small forest in the distance along the rear perimeter of the estate. A disturbing thought struck me. “Are we even in São Paulo?”
The traumatizing van ride from the airport had seemed to last an eternity, while still somehow passing in the blink of an eye. I realized now it might’ve been two hours or ten minutes. I had no idea where I was.
“We’re in Morumbi,” Alex supplied, coming to stand beside me where I gaped like a yokel. “A district within the city. Parts of it are very much urban, but where we are”—he pursed his lips in contemplation—“I suppose you might compare it to perhaps a suburb immediately outside of your nation’s capital? Though maybe that’s still a stretch.”
I forced my head to nod, as if I was following.
“There’s vastly more green space than what you’d find in other parts of the city, and we’ve more or less established our own gated little village here.”
I bobbed my head again at his understatement. The main house appeared to be five or six stories above ground, and I was somewhat acquainted with the massive underground lair it contained as well. I noted there appeared to be multiple other homes and structures within Alex’s little village.
While I’d always been poor by Santa Cruz standards in the quaint, beautiful little neighborhood where I’d grown up, I’d encountered my fair share of obnoxious Silicon Valley rich. Yet of all the wealthy folk I’d ever known, Alex took the cake. He was clearly, filthy stinking loaded.
And once again, as I looked out over the immense property, I realized I was fucked as far as my chances of escaping.
Feeling lost and depressed, I didn’t object when Alex took my hand and guided me over to a little table that had been set for us. Our drinks were already waiting, and I wasted no time in guzzling half of my fresh glass of red wine spritzer while two men brought out our food.
We ate in relative silence, the large guard wolves sitting at attention along the terrace making me decidedly edgy. I managed to eat another rib-eye and a decent amount of salad, giving Alex evasive, one-word responses when he asked how my food was and how I was feeling.
After about ten minutes of strained interaction, Alex took a hint and silently dismissed half of the guard dogs on the patio. The remaining wolves also drew back so that they were stationed farther away from us on the terrace.
“Better?” he probed.
I nodded. He smiled thinly and took a sip of his wine. “You planning on ignoring me indefinitely?”
I shrugged.
“Are you upset about your parents? Or still upset with me for the way I spoke to Franco?”
I gave another half-shrug, followed by a definitive nod.
“Milena,” Alex sighed, “Franco has known me since the day he was born. He grew up in this house. His daughters were born in this house. I’ve put them through the best schools, and Franco knows I’ll take care of them as well as their future children after he’s gone.”
While it was indeed interesting information, I wasn’t sure what it had to do with him treating Franco like something on the bottom of his shoe. Was he trying to justify that Franco was some weird shut-in chef who’d grown up around asshole wolves who had more or less intimidated him his entire life and therefore he was used to it? Like that made it okay? Was I supposed to accept it as normal?
The topic of Alex’s bad manners was more or less a futile one, though, so I chose to instead inquire after the number of humans he had in his employ. Wherever they were, I wanted to find a way to run into them more frequently on his property.
To my dismay, Alex was vague in terms of the numbers, but revealed that there weren’t many humans he kept as personal servants overall. More disturbing still, he indicated they were bound to lifelong Reinoso servitude, and inferred that the association extended to subsequent generations, as most of the humans living on the estate now were third- and fourth-generation employees—though he’d referred to them as his “human pack members” rather than employees.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, he dropped the bomb that Hector, my newly discovered grandfather, had been an important manservant of the house during his lifetime. Outstanding.
As if I hadn’t been feeling sufficiently powerless already in my present circumstance being at Alex’s total mercy, I now knew that I’d in fact descended from a long line of his personal human doormats. On the bright side, I found it easier to understand and to forgive my mother and Raul for having lied to me my whole life.
I was on my second DRC spritzer, as Alex had called it—which was technically my third for the night—and on a mission for information, when finally I felt tipsy-bold enough to broach the subject of my recent blood transfusion.
“Was … err … is werewolf blood safe for humans?”
“Not always. It depends on a few variables.”
Not always? Oh, Jesus! “Such as?” I prodded, trying not to freak out.
“Such as the quality of the donor blood, the quantity given, the genetic make-up of the recipient, and the relationship between the wolf and the human the blood is given to.” His lips curved. “Your body absorbed mine rather readily without any ill effects.”
He appeared pleased about that. I reached for my wine glass. “How much?” I sipped nervously, gulping down more than I’d intended.
“About two pints.”
I choked and coughed, barely managing not to spew wine spritzer all over him.
“Two pints?” I croaked, sounding like a lifelong smoker.
He nodded, looking amused and intrigued by my reaction. Foolishly, I imbibed more wine, downing the remains of my glass.
“That seems like a lot,” I commented a bit louder than necessary, and almost a whole minute later, feeling braver and uncommonly chatty—perhaps fortified at last by the combined effect of all the shitty news and wine I’d managed to consume. “I’m not gonna turn into a werewolf, am I?”
He shook his head. “Good,” I exhaled a sigh of relief. “That’s good. Because I don’t … I don’t think I’d like it—or be any good at it. No offense, I mean.”
“Of course.” Alex’s eyes glinted with amusement as he inclined his head. “None taken.”
“Will there be other side effects? Other than the carnivorous cravings and heightened sense of smell and hearing?”
“Mm … why don’t we wait and see?” he dithered. “Any side effects will be temporary. There’s no use worrying over effects that may or may not happen.”
I pulled a face. That didn’t sound good at all. Alex leaned closer, his warm hand finding my jean-clad knee underneath the table to give it a reassuring pat.
“I have a new female doctor coming tomorrow to give you a complete physical, Milena. She’ll make sure everything is fine.” He withdrew his hand and resumed eating while I digested what he’d said.
“Oh, my God! Kai’s dead?”
Alex’s brows pulled in confusion. “Ah … no.” Then some sort of understanding dawned, and he threw his head back and shouted with laughter. “Would you like for me to kill Kai?”
“No!” I screeched. “No, I just thought … because … the female doctor … and what you said earlier about being livid with him … and Jacinda … oh, never mind …”
I wanted to smack myself in the forehead. Instead, I raised my empty wine glass to my lips, and then quickly lowered it back down to the table when I realized, feeling at once foolish and gauche. Well, I was descended from “the help” after all. Unfortunately, in my rattled state, I managed to set it down a little too firmly, shattering the glass base against the stone tabletop.
Alex busted out laughing again, blithely muttering something or other about never liking that particular glass anyway as I jabbered apologies, mortified that I’d smashed his elegant stemware like the uncultured peasant I was.
He immediately but gently silenced me, snatching my wrists up when I attempted to clean the mess, and carefully removing what was left of the broken glass still clutched between my fingers.
The same two men who’d brought our food came back and cleared away the evidence faster than I was able to control my humiliated flushing, despite Alex’s repeated assurance that it was okay and nothing to get upset over.
Christ, this sit-down meal with Alex was already proving to be more awkward than the most embarrassing moments of my junior prom at the Cocoanut Grove Banquet Hall!
“Maybe some tea?” Alex suggested.
Tea did sound good. An eye signal from Alex prompted one of the huge wolves sitting on the patio with us to jump to his four legs and bound off in the direction of the house.
“As I was saying,” Alex resumed, his deep voice smooth and composed, “you’ll see a doctor tomorrow, and we can go over all of your concerns with her, all right?”
I forced a hum of agreement.
“We’ll still consult with Kai, of course. But I procured a female doctor for you because I thought you’d be more comfortable with a woman.”
Oh? “Well, that was”—I struggled for an appropriate adjective—“nice. Th-thank … you,” I stammered, apparently incapable of normal speech. I couldn’t help but be wary of Alex whenever he pretended to be sweet and considerate. I had a
sneaky suspicion there was more behind this doctor decision than my comfort.
His smile was lazy as his eyes caressed my features. “You are welcome.”
I shifted in my seat. Something about his relaxed, friendly demeanor made me wish I hadn’t drunk so much wine.
I was thankful for the interruption when a man arrived with a tray bearing what appeared to be a fancy, formal tea service and a selection of at least a dozen herbal teas in little jars, none of which I recognized as anything I’d tried before as he politely told me the name of each.
Nope, I’d never heard of any of them. What’s more, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to repeat the names of any of them even if I could decide on one. I should’ve known better than to think I’d find some regular ’ole Earl Grey or Chamomile in Alex’s fancy stash. The man had a day spa in his bathroom!
I felt my cheeks color with renewed embarrassment when the server looked at me expectantly, awaiting my selection. I was about to tell him I’d changed my mind about wanting tea altogether, when Alex asked if I’d allow him to choose one for me.
I nodded, staring at a fixed point on the tablecloth rather than look at either of them, as I cursed myself internally both for drinking so much wine and for allowing myself to become flustered so damn easily all the time.
I just wanted to escape. To be alone somewhere with my iPad, flipping through photos of my mom. Why the fuck should I care what any of them thought of my table manners or my lack of fancy-pants wine or tea knowledge anyhow? To do so would be asinine considering they were all a bunch of criminals and I was their unwilling detainee.
It didn’t matter that my grandfather, father, and brother had been servants in his house. I refused to accept or be any part of that heritage. I would find a way out of this whole hellish scenario, or die trying.
The server spooned the tea selected by Alex into a mesh infuser and left, leaving it to steep. I felt the heat of Alex’s hand land on my leg underneath the table a moment later.
“Milena?”
Though I couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly, there was a distinct quality to his voice and to how he’d said my name that caught my attention, alerting me to a difference in him even before I raised my eyes to find his feral golden ones.
