by R. J. Blain
I flushed. “I got mad and threw the phone at his mother,” I admitted in a whisper. “She smashed it on the ground.”
Frank snorted. “From what I know of them, I’m surprised they didn’t kill you then and there.”
I kept blushing, and unwilling to tell them why they hadn’t killed me, I shrugged.
“They bruised your face,” my father snarled.
I reached up to my cheek. The dirt had hidden the bruise until I had showered, but it spread from near my temple, along my jaw, and across my cheek. “It was his father. Richard… Richard turned on them not long after I woke up on the floor.” I stared at the table as my mother started removing the curlers from my hair.
“I’m so sorry, Nicolina,” my mother whispered.
Shaking my head, I reached out and rolled one of the curlers between my hands. “I was about to go for my knife and stab one of them. That’s when Richard snapped.” I drew a deep breath. “I was a coward. I played dead. I was terrified. He was just so… so violent.”
Snorting, my mother rubbed my shoulders. “You did better than me, baby. All I’d do is scream. I have a very short list of people I never want to meet when they’re angry, and Richard’s near the top of it. Him angry and wild? I’d rather be in a different country. I don’t know if I’d manage a scream before fainting from fright.”
I swallowed. “Do I have to go to Yellowknife, Daddy? Why can’t I stay here with Lisa?”
My father snorted. “I’m not letting either one of you out of my sight. Forget it, Nicolina. You’re coming to Yellowknife, even if I have to tie you up and toss you in the trunk.”
“Dad!”
“I almost lost you. Bad things happen when I let either one of you out of my sight. You’re coming,” my father snapped. He drew a deep breath and let it out in a slow sigh. “I was certain we’d be planning funerals.”
Frank leaned back, reached up, and gave my father a slap on his shoulder. “We’re not, and that’s how it is. I’ll take dumb luck any day. I thought there might be a chance we’d recover Richard, but you, Nicolina? As soon as you texted about the severing, we couldn’t come up with a single way to get you out alive. Even after finding out where you were, there was just no way we could reach you in time.”
My mother hugged me from behind. “All that matters is that both of you are okay.”
“I just don’t get it,” my father complained, gesturing at Richard. “He was mad enough to turn on his flesh and blood, but he left you alone. I just don’t get it. When the Inquisition notified us his phone was smashed and they had the coordinates, we headed out. They didn’t find what was left of his Porsche until after we had already located the cabin.”
Clenching my teeth, I lifted my chin. I didn’t like what had happened, but I couldn’t avoid it, and I had too many questions. Why Richard hadn’t killed me topped the list, but they wouldn’t know the Alpha’s reasons. They could, however, fill me in on the other things I had missed. “How… how long was I with Richard?”
“A while,” my mother said, pulling a few more curlers from my hair. “The cabin was a mess, and the clever rat covered his trail when he left with you. We didn’t pick up his tracks for at least ten hours. He had dragged you pretty far away before denning. All in all, not quite two days after they severed him.”
I stared at Richard, who was so still it worried me. While I remembered him dragging me for a while, I had either fainted or blacked out at some point before waking up under the old tree. “That long?”
Frank grimaced. “Yeah. We were all surprised when you crawled up over his back like that. We could smell you, but we had figured he’d taken you to, well…”
We all stared at Richard. My father’s cheek twitched, and he sighed.
“You thought he was going to eat me,” I stated, shuddering at the thought.
My father laughed, but instead of his usual robust chuckle, it was a sad sound. Sighing again, he slumped over the couch, reaching down to flick Richard’s hair. “We talked about it for a while and figured he had dragged you off for that reason alone. That’s one thing we’ve learned over the years. Wilds don’t view humans as anything other than a prey species, no different from rabbits or mice.”
“I think we’ve talked about this enough. Nicolina, you’re all done. Go have a look in the mirror,” my mother said, dumping the rest of the curlers onto the table.
When both Frank and my father pulled out their phones, I glared at them. “I’m not here for your entertainment. Stop that.” They snapped shots, ignoring my protests. I stood, huffed, and headed into the bathroom, pausing at the doorway. “You’ve seen my hair before.”
My mother chuckled. “Not like this we haven’t.”
Puzzled, I closed the door and checked the full-length mirror. While they’d fall out within hours, large curls tumbled down my back. Unlike my attempts, which ended in disaster more often than not, I couldn’t tell that my hair didn’t curl in such a way on its own.
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
Even after taking several showers, my hair had looked dull and worn. Whatever Richard had done had restored its shine. When I touched it, it was silky and soft. I left the bathroom to stare at my mother with wide eyes. “What the hell did he do to my hair?”
“He’s a hair witch, I’m certain of it,” Frank said, chuckling. “He should stop his real work and open a salon. He’d make a fortune. He was serious about rule three, Nicolina.”
I grabbed one of the empty bottles, sniffing at it. “What is this stuff? It smells awful.”
“Works though, doesn’t it? Poor Richard, he was getting so frustrated,” my mother said, taking the bottle out of my hands. “He was using my phone, searching for stores that might carry it. We didn’t find any. Frank’s driving, just shaking his head and laughing. Richard finally called someone in Yellowknife about it. Then he made calls around here until he found someone who could either make it or sell him the supplies.”
“Make it?” I asked, wondering why Richard had gone to such lengths just to get tangles out of my hair. “He had to have it made?”
Tossing the empty bottles into the recycling bin, my mother swept into the living room to perch on the arm of the couch near Richard’s feet. “Don’t go shopping with Richard when he’s tired. I thought he was going to bite the poor salesman when he didn’t want to make the stuff.”
I lifted my hand to my hair, worry over what he had put in my hair warring with relief I hadn’t needed to chop it off. “I have no intentions of going shopping with Richard, tired or otherwise, thank you very much. What did he put in my hair?”
Frank snapped another picture of me with his phone. “The same stuff he uses on every girl who shows up at his door crying because their mom or dad wants to cut their hair instead of combing the tangles out. Usually they have two shame-faced parents in tow. The teens are the worst, because they end up running off without telling anyone. Hell, my own daughter has pulled that stunt. Kelly was so embarrassed her hair was a mess she couldn’t face her mother and me. Richard still laughs at me sometimes over it. Anyway, the lodge is almost two hours out of Yellowknife. Cops call us at the lodge first to see if a missing kid showed up.”
“You have to be yanking my chain,” I accused, putting my hands on my hips.
“I’m telling the truth, I swear. It’s ridiculous. I think we’ve seen it all, from stuck brushes to young girls who hated having their hair washed and brushed who learned the hard way what happens when their hair is neglected for too long. I’m convinced the local elementary schools have his number on the boards for frantic parents needing help. I’ve seen Richard get up in the middle of the night in January, grab a sled, and go out because some little girl called the lodge in tears. Even local salons will call him for help. He’s a hair witch.”
I had a hard time believing Richard, who had hit me with a glitter bomb, left a dead snake on my pillow, and put his stinky shoes and socks in my closet was capable of being that nice. “What did
he put in my hair?” I growled.
“Homemade horse conditioner,” my mother answered, grinning at me. “According to Richard, if that stuff doesn’t work, nothing will. He also used some other products, but they were from the salon.”
“Horse conditioner,” I echoed, lifting one of my curls to stare at it. “Horse conditioner did this to my hair?” I was torn between outrage and amazement. “Horse conditioner. You’re serious.”
“It’s Richard’s recipe, too, that’s what’s really surprising. They use things on horses he would never put on a child’s head, so he and one of the local vets experimented. They spread their recipe around. It’s pretty popular because it’s safe for horses and for people. He had to call his vet friend for the recipe. That’s why we had trouble getting someone to make it in town. They didn’t believe it was safe for people,” my mother said, smiling at Richard. “He never ceases to amaze me.”
“Stop flirting with Richard,” my father grumbled.
“I’ll flirt with Richard if I want to,” my mother sniffled. “He deserves it.”
Laughing, Frank shook his head and patted my father’s arm. “It’s okay, Desmond. He’s out cold. I promise I won’t tell. I can’t say the same for your daughter, however.”
I clenched my teeth, watching Richard sleep. Even unconscious, he looked worn out, like he’d been stretched thin. Stress lines marked his brow. My mother was right, but how could I thank him?
Words didn’t seem like enough to thank him for my life. He disliked me as much as I disliked him, and he had spared me anyway. Confused and annoyed, I wrinkled my nose. “I won’t say anything, but so help me, if he hides behind me again because you’re sexually assaulting him, I’m taking all three of your pelts and making a quilt. Disgusting,” I snarled, stomping towards the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”
“Hey, baby?” my father called when I was halfway up.
I halted, twisting around to face him. “What? Stop calling me that. I’m not a baby.”
He took another picture of me. “Sleep well. We leave for Yellowknife in the morning.”
I screamed my frustration and stormed upstairs.
Witch
When an Inquisition witch shows up to take Richard into custody, Nicolina once again proves he has a lot to learn about Desmond’s daughter.
Witch occurs the morning following Tangles.
The coffee maker had a death wish.
It had more buttons than my deceased Porsche, and thanks to exhaustion, I couldn’t remember which one made the damned thing do what I wanted. I considered returning to the couch and flopping until Desmond or his mate came and rescued me from the evils of the uncooperative machine.
Giving up, I ran my hands through my hair, grimacing as my fingers snagged in a knot. While I needed a shower, washing my hair out in the kitchen sink would suffice until I was coherent enough to bathe without drowning.
Maybe the water would wake me up enough I could coerce the machine into giving me coffee.
I was on my third rinse when a small hand touched me between my shoulders before sliding up my neck. I couldn’t tell who it was; the shampoo ruined my sense of smell. Wendy laughed, and at the sound of her voice, I relaxed. She took the extended faucet out of my hand.
“I see your hair witchery does not extend to your own,” she said, running her fingers through my hair. “Too tired to go upstairs?”
I grunted an affirmative, closing my eyes as she massaged my scalp.
“I spy all the necessary things to make coffee, but the pot is empty,” Desmond observed. I heard him slide the basket out. “You even got the grinds in the filter. Damn, you must be tired, Richard. It’s not that complicated. The one to make it brew is even flashing.”
“Lies,” I mumbled.
Wendy grabbed one of the dish towels, draping it over my shoulders. “Go sit, Richard. I’ll get you a real towel and comb out your hair.”
I made it to the dining room table and sat without collapsing into an exhausted heap, which I considered a victory. “How long was I out?”
“Long enough. What’s the last thing you remember?” Desmond asked, leaning against the counter separating the kitchen and the dining room.
“I was combing the knots out of Nicolina’s hair.” Groaning at the thought of having passed out without undoing the damage I had done to my mate’s hair, I slumped over the table. “I fell asleep while combing out her hair, didn’t I?”
I had already given my mate too many bad memories and couldn’t even handle combing her hair without screwing it up. Once I was in Yellowknife, I’d find a hole to bury myself in and hide until I died of old age.
Wendy laughed as she swept back into the dining room with a towel. “I’m pleased to report you lasted through the entire detangling process.” Dropping the towel over my head, she dried my hair enough I wasn’t dripping all over everything. “You even managed to curl her hair before you gave up. However, you did fail to make it to the couch before you collapsed. Frank caught you so you wouldn’t break your neck again.”
“I don’t remember that at all,” I admitted. “I curled her hair?”
“Charles, phone,” Wendy demanded. Pulling a comb out of her pocket, she ran it through my hair. “Oh, this is going to be easier than I thought. I was worried you’d be like Nicolina, and knowing you, you’d probably just shave your head.”
Unable to deny the accusation, I grunted and kept still for her.
Desmond slid onto the chair beside me, setting his phone in front of me. The photo showed Nicolina halfway up the stairs, twisting around to face the camera. Her hair gleamed in the light. Large curls cascaded down her back and over her shoulders. Desmond had caught her at her most annoyed, her eyes bright and her scowl fixed firmly in place.
That she was wearing pajamas only made her more radiant, reflecting the straightforward honesty my wolf treasured.
“I don’t remember that at all.” I stared at the picture, appalled I couldn’t dredge up the memory.
“That’s because you were doing a good imitation of a corpse on the couch by then,” Desmond explained, swiping his fingers to a new photo. I was seated behind Nicolina on a stool, metal clips held between my teeth as I battled with her matted hair.
Dead men looked more lively than I did in the picture, and I wasn’t sure if my ashen color was from the lighting or not. “That’s a horrible photo,” I grumbled.
“You were right. I was going to take her to a stylist, they would have cut her hair, and she would have cried. Thank you, Richard,” he whispered, pocketing his phone.
I flinched. “I’ve given her enough reasons to cry. She didn’t need another. It was my fault, so it was my responsibility to fix it.”
Reaching over, Desmond flicked my ear. “Bullshit, Richard. You’re not to blame. Do you remember what happened?”
A shiver ran through me. Wendy tossed the comb onto the table, wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and pulled me against her. “Richard, I don’t know how you did it, but you saved our little girl. We can never repay you for that. She’ll have nightmares, she’ll have some bad memories, but because of you, she’s alive to have them. Start talking. You can begin with what those fuckers were doing and why.”
Closing my eyes, I tilted my head back and leaned against Wendy’s shoulder. “It’s a long story.”
“We have time,” Desmond assured me. Something buzzed in the kitchen. I cracked open an eye. He got up, returning with a steaming cup of coffee, which he slid to me. “Before you begin, I have one question, though.”
“What is it?” I asked warily, pulling away from Wendy to sip my coffee.
“How submissive were you as a puppy, Richard?”
With a low groan, I bowed my head. “Fuck.”
“Gently, Charles,” Wendy warned, rubbing my shoulders. “Sorry, Richard. We were both wondering about it. You were born submissive, weren’t you?”
“I don’t like talking about it.”
Desmond sighed. “So
I’ve gathered. Alex hinted at some things, and we pieced together some of the situation from Frank and others in your pack, but it seems like you’ve been bottling up everything and pretending there’s no problem when there is. Richard, how submissive are you?”
While I couldn’t remember a lot, the memory of Wendy forcing me to submit and change was intact. The secret was already out. Unable to find a single reason to keep up the ruse, I sighed and said, “Fine. I was too submissive for their liking. They wanted a True-born to be their Second. They got me instead,” I snarled, flexing my hand. Forcing out each word felt like a wound bleeding out, leaving me drained and empty. Clenching my teeth, I shook my head. The motion hurt, and with a wince, I rubbed the back of my neck.
“What happened?” Wendy batted my hand away so she could massage my tense muscles. I relaxed into her touch. “I’ve known you for years, and you never once seemed submissive at all until this happened. I never would have guessed.”
“I’m not allowed to be submissive. I can’t afford to be.” Rubbing my forehead, I shook my head. “And there you have it. Living proof that a submissive can be dominant if pushed.”
“That’s why you’re so adamant about not testing your submissive wolves. You were forced, so you refuse to force those in your pack,” Desmond stated. “I was wondering after Frank told me how many submissive wolves are in your pack. The type of people who become submissive Fenerec typically aren’t the type of people who want to become a Fenerec in the first place. Alphas frighten them, and you just can’t force someone to accept their wolf without them wanting it—or they have dire need. But since you were born submissive, they aren’t afraid of you, are they? You scare the snot out of dominant wolves, but not submissive ones. Hell, you probably scare the snot out of dominant wolves because their wolves instinctively know you’re submissive. That explains a lot. So Fenerec-born children are interested in becoming like their parents, and their Fenerec parents are willing. It makes a lot of sense. Why would your parents try to force you into dominance? That’s what I don’t understand.”