Alpha Alexander

Chapter Twenty-Two

He stared at me for a full minute, silent as a graveyard. My eyes searched for some indication of how significant the question was to him. His face was still, betraying no emotion, and his body was rigid. His forearms brushed against my bended knees on either side of me, his hot skin almost burning mine.

I sighed in defeat, "I'm sorry. Just . . . forget I asked—"

"She's dead," he said flatly.

His words only confirmed what I had suspected. I swallowed, choosing my words carefully. "You . . . you knew her?"

He nodded slowly, but didn't elaborate.

"What happened to her?"

If he hadn't been so close to me, I wouldn't have noticed his arms tense a fraction. His eyes became unfocused, as though he was looking deep into the past. "Leo killed her."

Something tightened in my chest; a dull pain ached throughout my body, as though old scars were being reopened. His pain. My hands rested on his shoulders, rubbing soft circles into his t-shirt. I leaned forward until our foreheads rested against one another. 

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, my hands sliding along his shoulders to his face.

His eyes closed and he stepped away. 

"It was a long time ago, Phoebe." He took my dishes and placed them in the sink before taking my hand gently. "You need to sleep."

I slid off the counter, but tugged him back when he tried to lead me out of the kitchen. His eyes found mine and I saw an emotion I had never seen before—wariness, almost fear, as though he was afraid of what I might say next. 

Once again, I chose my words carefully. "Why did she want me to ask you about her?" I asked softly. 

I knew why she wanted me to ask him—she had said Alpha Alexander was capable of terrible things, something I could believe to be true, but refused to admit out loud. I still needed to hear him say it, though. I needed to hear him tell me it wasn't true or that she was hysterical.

He didn't look away as he replied, "She knew it would hurt me."

I wanted to ask who Natalie was—who she really was to him, but looking at him with a still expression and saddened eyes, I couldn't force the words out. Instead, I took his hand and pressed it to my cheek. "I am here for you, you know. I may not know you as well as I probably should, but . . . I care about you, Alpha Alexander. If you ever feel the need . . . I'm a good listener. This subject is a touchy one, I understand that, so I won't interrogate you anymore about it, but when the time comes and you need someone to talk to, I'm here."

His expression softened only a fraction and his eyes seemed to brighten as I spoke. He cradled my face between his palms. "I know, Phoebe. When the time comes, you will know everything."

"But not tonight," I finished for him.

"No," he concurred, pulling me toward the staircase. "Not tonight."

They came in the morning, in numbers of twos and threes. The majority were men, but several had a woman tucked in close under an arm; their eyes watched those around them carefully. I made my own connections and concluded that these women were the mates to the males who held them so tightly. Only one woman stood without a male companion to hold her tightly against him. She walked three steps in front of a male twice her size and her toothy grin to another male made a shiver run down my spine instinctively. She was pure predator—with the grace of a ballerina and the body of a well-trained athlete. Truth be told, she frightened me more than the intimidating men standing around the wide backyard.