by R. J. Blain
Contents
Copyright
Tangles
Witch
Striking a Deal
In Hot Water
Breaking Point
Index
Titles by RJ Blain
Winter Wolf
Dedication
Tales of the Winter Wolf, Vol. 4
by RJ Blain
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher or author
excluding the use of brief quotations in a book review.
© 2015 RJ Blain
ISBN: 978-1-928148-07-4
For more information or to contact the author, please visit rjblain.com
Special thanks to Brooke Johnson (http://brooke-johnson.com)
Tangles
Between her father’s plans to subject her to a trip to Yellowknife and the matted ruins of her hair, Nicolina’s life has become a tangled mess. When help comes from an unexpected source, she’s forced to look at herself and her worst enemy in a different light.
Tangles takes place immediately after the events of The Games Wolves Play.
There was no way in hell I was getting on a plane.
“Absolutely not,” I stated, toweling my hair while my father stalked me through the house. Resisting the urge to turn around and snarl at him, I headed downstairs. Despite having taken four showers in as many hours, I was convinced I still had twigs and other nasties lurking in my tangles.
If I had my way, I was never stepping foot in another forest ever again. I wasn’t going to fly anywhere, either. If my father thought he was going to get me on a flight to the middle of the Canadian wilderness, he was insane.
“It’ll be a privately owned plane flown by one of the best pilots I know,” my father replied.
At the bottom of the stairs, I turned around, secured my hold on the end of my towel, and whipped it at my father, cracking it against his shins. “There’s no fucking way, Father. I’ll stay home, thank you.”
“No, you’re not staying home.” With a flick of his wrist, my father yanked the towel out of my hands, making a grab for me. I made it to the kitchen before he caught me and pulled me against him. Too tired to fight him, I sighed and stood still while he took a turn drying my uncooperative hair.
“I think you got the junk out this time,” he said, pulling a comb out of his back pocket. “Sit or we’ll be at this until next year.”
I sank down onto one of the dining room chairs, slumping across the table. “I’m not getting on a plane. If you want to take Richard home, you can. I’m not doing it. I won’t. Everything keeps on crashing.”
Yet again my throat tightened with the need to burst into tears, and I swallowed to hold them at bay. I wanted to take out all of my frustration on someone, but I couldn’t bring myself to say a word. If I opened my mouth and started yelling, I’d cry.
I couldn’t get the tangles out of my hair, I was tired, and I ached. To make matters worse, I was hungry, but whenever I tried to eat, all I did was throw up.
“Traditionally, you get into the plane. Riding on it would be uncomfortable, plus you’d fall off. It’d be a short flight,” he countered. He seized a fistful of my hair and started on the ends, attacking the knots an entire bottle of conditioner hadn’t removed. “Maybe I should take you to a stylist.”
“They’ll cut it because that’s their solution to tangles,” I snarled. “I’m not cutting my hair. Forget it.”
“I’ll end up ripping out half of it anyway,” my father warned.
“Get away from my hair,” I snapped. My father ceased tugging, but he didn’t relinquish the comb.
The front door opened, and I twisted around to see my mother and Frank herding in a dull-eyed Richard. Frank had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.
Yellowknife’s Alpha looked even worse than he had when we’d arrived home five hours ago. Instead of his healthy tan, he’d turned a sickly gray-green, and I wasn’t even sure he’d make it to the couch without falling over.
“The trio returns,” my father said, crossing his arms over his chest. “One of you is radiant, one of you looks grumpy, and one of you looks like a walking corpse. Was going out truly necessary? You’ve been gone for four hours.”
“Yes,” Richard growled. I thought he was going to collapse on the couch, but he made his way into the dining room instead, setting an unlabeled bottle on the table in front of me. “Unhand the comb, Desmond.”
My father’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say a word. Richard snatched the comb and snarled, “Move.”
Sitting up, I stared at Richard, who looked ready to bite someone. My mouth dropped open when my father obeyed.
“There are three rules about women you really need to learn, Desmond.” Richard took hold of my shoulders and turned me to face the table. I stiffened, sitting perfectly still.
Richard snapped his fingers at one of the stools near the counter. For a long moment, my mother, father, and Frank stared at it, stared at Richard, and then at me. Frank’s frown worried me almost as much as his reluctance to pull the stool over for Richard.
“Rule one,” Richard announced, perching on the stool behind me. With a touch far gentler than my father’s, he took hold of my hair. “When you fuck up, you say you’re sorry.”
“You must spend all of your time apologizing,” my father grumbled.
“Rule two,” Yellowknife’s Alpha continued, ignoring my father. He took the bottle and unscrewed the cap, tossing it aside. It bounced across the table before falling to the floor. I didn’t know what the hell I was smelling, but it was strong and minty. “When they tell you to do something, it’s usually for a reason. Therefore, at least take the time to listen before you do something stupid. Revisit rule one.”
“How in the world are you still single?” my mother demanded, hopping up onto the counter. “Where were you when I was dating?”
“Wendy!” my father protested.
Claiming one of the stools, Frank sat beside my mother. “What’s rule three?”
Richard dumped the bottle’s contents on top of my head. Cold, slimy fluid seeped through my hair to my scalp. I gasped, shuddering as it trickled down my neck.
“Don’t ever, ever think of cutting a girl’s hair because it’s tangled,” he declared. Tossing the comb onto the table, Richard dug his fingers into my hair. “I’m pretty sure I heard the word ‘stylist’ when we were coming up the walkway. You almost made a grave error, Desmond. I just saved your life.”
“You’re overstepping, Puppy,” my father growled.
“Wendy?” Richard whispered. He sounded tired and worn.
My mother smiled, slithered off the counter, and stepped to my father. “Charles.”
With widening eyes, my father turned to my mother. “What is it?”
“Sit down. You’re tired and cranky. You’re not taking Nicolina to a stylist because you can’t get the knots out.”
“That’s the only way we’re getting that fixed,” my father protested.
Richard kept massaging my scalp, and I slumped in my chair. It felt far better than it should have, especially considering the matted mess my head had become.
“I’m going to need the second bottle, Frank,” Richard said.
Reaching into the duffle bag, Frank pulled out another unmarked bottle. My mother took the bottle and unscrewed the cap. “What do you want me to do, Richard?”
“Dump it on.” In a softer voice, he said, “I apologize for ruining your hair, Nicolina.”
My mother obeyed.
More of it dribbled down my neck, and I s
huddered. “That feels so gross.”
“Sorry.” Richard held my hair up and wiped the junk off my throat. I shivered at the way his fingers slid over my skin, gentle and feather soft.
“I will forgive you if you tell my father I am not getting on some dumb plane to go to Yellowknife,” I replied.
No matter how much I didn’t like him most of the time, none of what had happened had been Richard’s fault. If my father was correct, Richard didn’t remember what he had done. I shuddered at the memory of the enraged silver wolf tearing apart his parents’ bodies. After my father’s warnings, after I had already come to terms with the fact I was likely going to die, I didn’t understand why Richard hadn’t turned on me as well.
I was too tired to deal with what had happened, so I forced my attention back to what Richard was doing to my head. It felt good—better than when I went to the salon to have my hair trimmed.
“There’s no fucking way he’s getting me on a flight,” Richard snarled. “Forget it, Desmond. I’m not flying.”
Frank’s brows rose. “But you like flying, Richard.”
“I do when I’m the pilot.” Richard sighed. “Jack’s banned me from my Cessna because he’s taking Alex, Tully, and Sasha home.”
“Good. Your Cessna’s a piece of shit,” my father complained before sighing and kissing my cheek. “Fine, I’ll drive us. No planes. You’re both being whiny puppies about this. You’re turning an eight hour flight into a thirty hour nightmare.”
Leaning over, Richard picked up the comb. “I’ll have to pull a little. Got the third bottle handy, Frank?”
“Damn. I thought you were being excessive,” Richard’s Second replied. “Yeah, it’s here.”
“I got it,” my mother said, digging through the duffel. “What about the other bottles?”
“May as well pull them out.” Like my father had done, Richard took hold of my hair, started at the ends, and went to work. True to his warning, he did pull on my hair, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as I was expecting.
Instead of pulling bottles out of the duffle, my mother dumped it onto the table. I gawked at the collection of shampoos, conditioners, creams, and lotions that tumbled out.
“What the hell! Did you buy out an entire salon?” I demanded.
“Not quite, but close,” Frank said. “The best part? No one salon carried everything Richard wanted. We spent hours hunting these stupid things down.”
Richard snorted. “Stop complaining, Frank. Wendy, dump it here and here, please.”
My mother obeyed, pouring more of the minty goop into my hair. “Do you think this will actually work?”
Richard snorted. “Of course it’ll work. If it doesn’t, we’re all going to need a priest to give us our last rites. She’ll kill us if Desmond pulls out the scissors.”
I wrinkled my nose. “What is that stuff anyway? It smells terrible.”
Richard paused in his combing. “You don’t want to know.”
“Should I be worried, Mom?” Afraid to move my head, I glanced at my mother out of the corner of my eye.
“No, you don’t need to worry. I wouldn’t let him ruin your hair. I have to admit I never would have thought of it myself.” My mother sat beside me, reaching over to give my knee a pat. “Don’t worry.”
“I don’t suppose you have styling clips, do you?” Richard asked.
“Styling clips?” my father asked.
“You know, those long clamps they use to hold hair out of the way in salons? Those things.”
My mother laughed. “Yes, we have some. Charles, do you mind going upstairs? Lisa knows where they are.”
Grumbling curses, my father stalked his way out of the kitchen.
“He’s just upset Richard’s outclassed him again,” my mother informed me. “Still, I’m impressed with you, Richard. Where did you learn how to untangle such a mess?”
“There are an unreasonable number of people who insist on having entire litters of children. They think it’s fun to bring them to my house after they’ve rolled around in the mud and made a mess of their hair. Rule three is invoked far too often. They seem to think I have the solution to every single one of their life problems,” Richard complained.
Frank laughed. “Don’t let Richard fool you, Nicolina. He loves it.”
When my father returned with a basket of combs, clips, and styling products, Lisa followed in his wake. My sister stared at the table, speechless for a long moment. “Wow. That’s crazy. Just cut it off, Nicolina. We could match.”
I reached for my twin, curling my fingers into claws. “You’re going to pay for that.”
“What? Shorter hair is nice. It’s convenient. It doesn’t tangle as much, and it’s super easy to wash.”
My eyes burned at the thought of cutting my hair, which I had been growing out for years. “Asshole.”
“If you make your sister cry, you’re going to regret it for months,” Desmond promised, his tone turning cold. “You’ve already gotten your way so you can stay with Sanders so you can care for Cindy. Don’t push your luck.”
My sister gulped. “Sorry.”
“Clip,” Richard ordered, holding out his hand. In her haste to grab a clip, my sister spilled the basket onto the table. “Oh, you have curlers.”
“Well, yeah. Nicolina uses them sometimes,” my sister explained. “Mom and I don’t like too much curl.”
“Gimme,” the Alpha demanded.
Uncertain of what Richard was doing or why, I braced myself for the worst, wondering how curlers could help untangle my matted hair.
Sometime after the third rinsing of my hair in the kitchen sink, I fell prey to the soothing way Richard ran his fingers through my hair. I lost count of the number of times my head nodded as I fell asleep only to jerk awake muttering a curse.
“You’re going to fall out of your chair if you keep that up,” my sister warned me.
“With you, your mother, and your father hovering like gnats, I doubt she’s going to fall,” Richard said. “Got a hairdryer?”
“I’ll go get it and the extension cord,” my father said.
“Almost done, Nicolina.”
I grunted, considering whether or not I could just sleep at the table.
“Feel like finishing, Wendy?” Richard asked, rising from the stool with a groan.
“Of course. Dry it and take everything out when done?” My mother took Richard’s place.
“Exactly.”
Frank hovered near Richard as he stumbled towards the couch. He almost made it. Frank cursed and caught Richard as he fell, easing him down to the floor. “I’m impressed he made it that far.”
I sucked in a breath, my eyes widening. “Did he just faint?”
“That’s typically what it’s called when someone decides consciousness is optional,” Richard’s Second replied, grinning at me. With a grunt, he hauled Richard up onto the couch. “It’s about time. I don’t know how he lasted as long as he did.”
“Stupidity,” my father replied, thumping his way down the stairs. “Couldn’t finish what he started, could he?”
“You’re so mean, Dad,” my sister complained, throwing one of the curlers at him.
He dodged it. “I am. You get to go clean up the upstairs bathroom. It’s a mess.”
“Dad!”
My father pointed at the staircase. “Someone has to do it and all you’ve done is watch Richard work.”
Lisa sighed, wrinkled her nose, and headed upstairs. “You owe me for this, Nicolina.”
“Four words: you got a cat,” I retorted.
“Bah!”
My mother laughed, pointing at Richard. “He gets a pass for good behavior and performing miracles.” Taking the dryer from my father, she went to work on my hair. “He got every last tangle out without needing to use the scissors once. If that wasn’t magic, I don’t know what is.”
“When it comes to untangling hair, it’s true. Richard’s a miracle worker. If Nicolina doesn’t look like a god
dess after all that work, I’ll be astonished. He doesn’t understand the meaning of moderation. He would have been done over an hour ago if he hadn’t noticed the curlers.” Frank laughed, sliding his way beneath Richard’s head. Once situated, he started massaging his Alpha’s throat. “His neck doesn’t feel nearly as bad as earlier.”
While my mother worked at drying my hair, my father leaned against the back of the couch, staring at Richard. “How about his pack bonds?”
“Still weak. He’s got little to no control over it, and he’s feeding us exhaustion with a healthy dose of self-loathing, anxiety, and depression on the side. I’m taking turns with Tully to buffer the rest of the pack. Fortunately, he’s too tired to project very much, so it’s not too bad.”
“Tully’s his Third?” my father asked.
“No way. Our Third is Simon. He’s strong, but he’s inexperienced. Tully’s just the next strongest wolf who isn’t dead tired and sleeping off Richard’s takeover.” Frank stretched out his legs and groaned. “Most of the pack is still holed up where they towed the Porsche. They’ll catch commercial flights from there instead of making the drive here.”
“Where is the Porsche?” I asked. When I hadn’t been sleeping in the car, I’d been too tired to care where we were.
“It’s about five hours from here. It’s headed to a junk yard since there’s absolutely nothing that can be salvaged from it, unfortunately,” my father replied.
“You’re damned lucky, Nicolina,” Frank said, shaking his head. “He always worried about what would happen if it flipped. I’m still amazed you walked away from the crash.”
“Richard didn’t,” I whispered.
“I figured as much. I can’t imagine him letting his parents anywhere near you if he were in any condition to do anything about it,” Richard’s Second replied, running his fingers through his Alpha’s hair, which was in dire need of a wash; it was as bad as mine had been. “He hated Alex’s visits with them. I’m pretty sure he felt guilted into it. Family is just too important to most Fenerec. I’m shocked his parents went to such lengths to get him. If it weren’t for the fact his phone triggered the emergency GPS beacon, I don’t know if we would have been able to track you two down.”