Borrowed Beauty

Chapter Six: Cyclone

OLIVIA

The best part about NOT going clubbing with my sister? Waking up refreshed, energetic and clear-headed.

Renee knocked on my door before breakfast looking like Roadkill Racoon. Her hair was flattened against one side of her head, her eyes were bloodshot and deeply ringed with smeared makeup, and she had a very interesting floral pattern of hickies on her neck and shoulders.

“Looks like you had a good time,” I observed cheerfully.

“Shut up,” she growled, pushing past me and stomping into my room. She gingerly eased her body down on the side of my bed. “Just give me the stuff.”

The “stuff” was my amazing hang-over remedy, which consisted of painkillers, antacids, and a strong dose of caffeine. Funny enough, I’ve never personally had a hangover in my life. I don’t particularly enjoy the taste of alcohol, and other than the occasional glass of wine with dinner, I don’t drink. But I’d held Renee’s hair after one-too-many all-nighters. I mixed up the bitter and chalky concoction from the ingredients that I kept in my toiletry bag. I tried not to smirk as she took the plastic cup in my hand and tossed it back like a shot of tequila, minus the lime. Her eyes watered upon swallowing it, and she gagged a couple of times but did not throw it up. We both knew that in an hour or so, she’d feel a lot better.

She handed me back the plastic cup without a word.

“Should I tell the Alpha not to expect you for breakfast?” I asked smugly. She only grunted and gave me a dirty look before she pushed herself off the bed and headed back out the door.

I hummed to myself as I finished getting dressed. I had big plans for my day that involved a hearty breakfast and exploring that little lake in the way it deserved to be explored, from a wolf’s perspective. Oh, and I also had a brand new steamy novel that was just waiting for me to put the first crease in its spine. I was in such a good mood that I was even willing to forgive and forget Alpha Josiah’s nasty assumptions about my purpose here in his pack house. When I was lying in bed last night I realized that it was only natural that he would come to that conclusion.

Trailing down the stairs, I sniffed appreciatively as the odors of bacon and pancakes wafted from the kitchen. I took the same seat that I had occupied the day before and noted that only one twin, Brock, had managed to drag himself to the table, and he looked pretty rough. His hair was sticking up in clumps and tufts, his beard was looking scruffy.

I braced myself to meet the Alpha’s scowl, but when I looked up to say, “Good morning,” he was wearing an entirely different but equally discomfiting expression. If he’d been handsome when he was grumpy and frowning, he was absolutely devastating when he smiled. Those midnight blue eyes were so magnetic that I felt like I was being physically pulled toward him.

I always thought I was immune to the whole alpha aura thing, being the alpha’s daughter and all. Apparently not. When he said “Good morning, Olivia,” in that deep, sexy voice, I practically swooned like some Victorian heroine. I had the urge to fan myself, but fumbled with my fork instead.

“Good morning dear, did you sleep well?” Vero asked beside me, thankfully breaking the spell that Josiah had woven over me.

“Yes, I slept great!” I answered, “the room is really comfortable, thank you.”

Neither the Alpha nor Vero seemed particularly surprised by the absence of Aaron and my sister from the breakfast table. The few questions that were directed at Brock were answered in grunts as he worked on choking down some heavily sugared coffee and dry toast.

“Have you heard anything more about that woman that over-dosed in the club?” Vero asked. The question made me look up and scan their faces curiously. Were they talking about that actress, Avalon Starr? I noticed something unreadable flicker over Brock’s face and disappear.

“She is still in a coma,” Josiah answered, his brow creasing slightly. “They have moved her to our private wing.”

“Private wing?” It wasn’t my business, and I should have kept my mouth shut, but the question slipped out.

“Yes dear, the pack owns the hospital, and we have a private wing that we reserve for our own cases.” Vero clarified.

“Oh.” I suppose that made sense. Many large packs had their own hospitals on site. Back home we had a small four-bed clinic. But owning an entire human hospital would accomplish the same objective.

“She has no health insurance,” Josiah went on to explain. “And her parents have refused to take responsibility for her treatment, so I decided that the pack should pay for her care.” His eyes cut to Brock with a hard and accusatory glare. “Since the unfortunate incident happened inside one of our own establishments.”

Brock did not respond, he just took another gulp of his coffee.

“That is very generous of you,” I mumbled, just to fill the awkward silence.

At that moment we all heard the sound of the front door slamming open, and then feet stomping across the hardwood floors at great speed. Everyone at the table stiffened.

“Oh s**t,” Brock muttered.

At the same time, Vero groaned, “Oh no.”

The alpha covered his eyes with one hand as though he didn’t want to see what was coming.

A little boy of perhaps four or five barreled into the room and crashed straight into Vero’s chair. He had a mop of strawberry-blond hair that fell over his forehead and into his eyes. His skin was milky-white and almost translucent. His wide smile displayed a missing tooth on the bottom. “Hiiii!” He said too loudly, “I’m here!”

A woman rushed in behind him looking distressed and disheveled. “Sorry! Sorry Alpha!” She stammered, not quite meeting their eyes. She caught the boy before he ran off again. “They’ve kicked him out of the preschool again.”

Vero sighed and looked down at the boy sternly. “What did you do this time, Thomas?”

“I pushed Summer Reynolds off the slide,” the boy answered matter-of-factly.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I wanted to slide,” he said unapologetically.

“The girl broke her arm,” the young woman said in exasperation. “Her family has made a complaint to the school.”

Josiah sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

The boy turned, wriggled out of the woman’s arms, and tore out of the dining room at full speed, followed by the flustered woman. Her sharp voice carried back, “Thomas, no! We don’t jump on the couches! Are you listening to me? Don’t touch that! Let’s get out the toybox, okay?”

Vero sighed and shot me an apologetic look. “Thomas is my cousin’s child,” she explained, “but we are looking after him for a while. He’s a little…difficult. Miss Pimms is his fourth nanny.” I gathered that Miss Pimms was the harried-looking woman who was trailing after the kid.

“Thomas! NO!” There was a muffled crash as something was knocked over in the living room.

I didn’t like the tone of voice that the nanny was using with the boy. It was sharp and harsh and disapproving. I could tell she was tired and exasperated, but more than that it seemed like she flat-out disliked him. If I could tell that in just a few minutes, the kid was certainly aware of it too.

“Excuse me,” I mumbled, abandoning the remains of my breakfast. I went to the living room and witnessed the absolute chaos. Cushions had been pulled off the couch, a lamp had been tipped over, a children’s book had been ripped up and strewn across the floor, and the little cyclone that was Thomas showed no signs of slowing down.

I noticed that the nanny had pulled out a box of toys from a hidden spot in the corner. However Thomas was much more interested in balancing on the arm of the couch than he was in exploring the toys.

I walked calmly past him and sat on the floor next to the toy chest, and started digging through the contents. As I expected, Thomas popped up beside me.

“Who are you?” He demanded.

“I’m Olivia,” I said, pulling out a carton of snap-together building pieces.

“Oh-liv-ee-uh,” he tried to sound out my name. “What are you doing?”

I dumped all the building parts and pieces out onto the floor in front of me. “I’m going to build something fun.”

His pale blue eyes lip up and he squatted beside me. I noticed that underneath his blue jeans, he was still wearing diapers, and that there were deep dark shadows under his large eyes. “Let’s build an airplane!” he said enthusiastically. “My mom went on an airplane!”

“Good idea,” I watched him randomly connect pieces and peppered him with questions. “Is that the wing? Where do the people sit? What about the pilot?”

“There!” he said triumphantly, holding up a jumbled creation that looked nothing like an airplane.

“Awesome. Now you know what you need to do?”

“What?”

“You need to fly it.”

“Oh yeah,” he tipped back his arm, and I knew he was about to throw it, but I stopped his hand.

“Here’s what you do,” I lowered my voice like it was a secret. “You have to run with it, fly it all the way to the front door and back as fast as you can. But you can’t step on anything, or bump into any furniture.”

“I can’t?”

“Nope. The couch is a mountain,” I said, “If you touch it, your plane will crash. Let's see if you make it all the way to the door and back again without crashing.”

“Yeah!” He picked up his airplane and took off running. He had a clumsy way of moving that could only be described as a bull-in-a-china-shop. Despite his best efforts, he “crashed” the plane several times. I went around picking up couch cushions and righting the lamp, while also giving him new flight patterns. “Great job! Here’s a hard one! This time fly under the table without bumping your head, around that chair, over to the window, and back!”

He made it back to the toy chest without incident and fell roughly to his knees. “Okay, done flying,” he said, and crashed the plane, literally, into the pile of parts, making pieces fly everywhere. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. His cheeks were nice and rosy, and his lips were curved in a smile. “Olivia, you are nice.”

I smiled back at him and ruffled his hair. “You are pretty cool too.”

He leaned against me, just for a second, then he was off again. “I”m thirsty!” He took off running toward the kitchen, his feet stomping like a little elephant as he ran. The nanny, who had been enjoying a brief reprieve while we played, surged to her feet and went running after him.

“Thomas, No! Wait for me! Let me help you! Don’t climb on the counters!”

I sighed and started picking up the building toys.

“You are really good with him.” Josiah’s deep sexy voice startled me. I hadn’t even realized he was in the room, let alone right beside me.

I shrugged away his praise and put the box of parts back in the trunk of toys. “I like kids,” I said. I could have mentioned my degree in early childhood education, but that felt like bragging.

“I’ve never seen him engage with someone for that long,” the alpha said thoughtfully.

I dusted off my knees and was about to stand up when I found a large, calloused hand extended in front of my face. I hesitated a moment before I took the offered assistance and let him pull me to my feet. I have big hands for a woman, but his massive paw fully engulfed mine. Heat seemed to radiate from the place where our skin touched, running straight up my arm and into my body. Even after I was on my feet, he didn’t let me go but continued to hold my hand and stare at me intensely.

“Uh, it’s easy,” I said, remembering that we had been talking about the kid before he touched me. I slipped my hand away from him. “You just have to find a way into his world.” My hand still felt warm and tingly, and I had to resist the urge to rub it on my thigh. “Thanks for breakfast,” I mumbled, ducking my head so that I could hide the flush that I knew was creeping into my face. “I’m going to go for that run now.” I left Josiah standing in the living room and made a beeline for the front door.