Alpha Alexander

Chapter Twenty-Three

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my body numb with shock.

One week. One fucking hell of a week.

I gripped the edge of the marble counter, leaning closer to the mirror until my nose nearly touched its smooth face. My forehead clunked against the mirror as I leaned against it and shut my eyes. "One thing at a time, Phoebe. One insane, paranormal thing at a time." I took in a breath, held it for five seconds, then released it.

My body hummed with energy—residue from Alpha Alexander's touch. I felt warm and weightless, but my feet were planted firmly on the tiled floor. It was the oddest sensation and I suddenly had the urge to shower and scrub it off my body. I stepped away from the mirror and lifted the hem of my sundress over my head. Once the garment was nothing but a pile on the floor, I glanced back into the mirror. My eyes roamed over my body uninterestedly before doing a double take.

My arms. What happened to my arms?

I stared at the scarless reflection staring back at me for a full minute before looking down and checking my arms. The skin was smooth and speckled with light hair and a few birth marks. My jaw dropped, a soft surprised sound coming from my mouth. Frenzied, I unravelled the bandages from my hands, only to reveal unmarred palms. The scar from when I had destroyed all the mementos of my awful friends in my room several days before had also disappeared.

I stared once more at the mirror and hesitantly turned around. My back was unblemished, with absolutely no trace of the cuts that the pack doctor had rubbed salve onto just hours before. I let out an astonished chuckle and checked the rest of my body. My face no longer had a scratch and my skin was an even tone of ivory, without a hint of purple. The small chicken pox scar on the outer corner of my right eye that I'd had since I was five was also magically erased.

"The mating bond," I whispered to myself, realization dawning on me.

"The possibility of transferring certain abilities—such as healing at a faster rate than the average human—depends on the dominance of the werewolf." That's what the textbook had said. Alpha Alexander is a dominant male, but the Alphas downstairs . . . they made him king, the most dominant werewolf of them all. The energy that surrounded me hummed, as though affirming what I was thinking.

I sighed in disbelief. "This is insane."

I quickly stripped out of my underwear and stepped into the shower. I washed my body, still checking where the wounds had been, as though I was expecting them to reappear at any moment. I wrapped my body in a towel and glanced back in the mirror—minus the wet hair, I almost looked like my old self, the one who wasn't involved with werewolves; the one who went out on Saturday nights without worrying about rogues attacking her.

The one who wasn't afraid of anything.

I took a deep breath and came to a decision—something that would not make me feel so goddamn helpless all the time. It was just a matter of convincing Alpha Alexander. I sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening for assistance.

I pulled on a simple black romper that was considerably more revealing than the sundress and quickly blow-dried my hair. I put on minimal makeup and slipped on a pair of sandals. Staring at my reflection now versus an hour ago, I felt satisfied—complete, even. I looked like me, Phoebe Carmichael, Alpha Female of Luna Nova, mate to the Alpha Rex of North America.

Oh my god, that's so weird.

I shook off the thought and focused on calming my nerves. I forced myself to slowly walk out of the room and down the stairs, blatantly avoiding the living room, where Alpha Alexander and his . . . subjects still stood around, discussing business. Only moments after Gerald concluded the ceremony, I had excused myself, taking my cue from Alpha Alexander when he had said, "We have much to discuss."