My long brunette hair tumbles in loose curls over my left shoulder, clean and shiny and freshly styled. I somehow have makeup on that looks like it was applied by a professional, and I lean closer to the mirror and marvel at the smoky eye, peachy blush, and perfect nude lip color.
Holy shit. They just strobed me into looking like I belong on some who’s who fashion blog.
A wolf-whistle erupts from Perth behind me as I stare into the mirror, blinking, not believing my own eyes. I turn and marvel for a moment at my ass. Did they give me a magical BBL too? Because it has never looked better.
“Is this a trick mirror?” I ask as I run my hands down my stomach, unable to believe that what I’m seeing is really me.
“Psh, don’t insult my hemlines. Those spells took years of work,” Astrid retorts. “You look gorgeous.”
“You do,” Ruger’s honeyed voice agrees. “But you were before too,” he adds with a shrug, like he’s happy to take me all dolled up, but stripped down and natural is just as good.
I meet his gaze in the mirror, and we watch each other for a moment. The more we stare, the more I see etched in the planes of his face, in his warm gaze, in his easy smile. He’d take me in any way I offered. He’d savor, and admire, and relish me, and it’d be so easy for me to do it right back. It could be seamless…
Or, it could go like every relationship I’ve ever had and crash and burn, leaving me to dig my way out of the rubble.
Dropping my gaze, I inhale a fortifying breath. I swallow hard and glance down at myself, smoothing the fabric around my hips as I try to process just how intense and crazy all of this is. That’s when I notice that I also have panties on.
A magical thong.
“Um…so, is all this clothing in the back and you just spell it in place, or…？” I’m not quite sure how to ask if I’m wearing previously worn underwear. Please say no, please say no, I chant mentally.
“The rolls of fabric are in the back, but no, we whip up everything right here.” Astrid taps her crystal, and it emits a tiny purple spark like it’s eager to do some more showing off.
Thank fuck. I swallow a sigh of relief. So not ready to dive into a conversation about used panties and shifter hygiene.
Do I need to find a groomer in addition to a hair stylist?
I look at Astrid. “Don’t get me wrong, this is gorgeous, but I don’t think I need anything this nice,” I tell her, hoping it comes off more polite and less what the fuck.”
This is not exactly grocery-store attire. I’m not considering a change in career from vet tech to dominatrix, nor do I have the sudden urge to skin dalmatians and make a coat out of them.
“Who cares?” Perth argues. “You’re a knockout; you should definitely keep it.”
The compliment has a very, very mollifying effect on my uncertainty.
“You heard her, ladies, she wants practical. She’s new to the eerie world, bitten but not fully claimed; surely you can come up with something more pragmatic for her circumstances,” Karen encourages, but something in her tone has wary suspicion pecking up my spine.
“You make a good point,” Astrid chirps, and that makes me even more nervous.
And then Trista smiles, actually smiles, and I know I’m screwed.
I don’t even get a chance to protest before the witches wave their crystals in a sharp slashing motion, as if swinging swords, and a ripple of heat washes over me.
I stare into the mirror, utterly gobsmacked as my eyes trace over the very skimpy lines of a bright magenta lingerie set. The pushup bra has my breasts lifted to the high heavens and is covered in embroidered flowers. I’ve got a barely-there thong on and a garter belt that’s clipped to sheer thigh-high stockings that are the same color as the set.
Oh my god, did they give me a magical Brazilian, because there is nary a stray hair anywhere?
Several things then happen all at once. Karen starts clapping like this is exactly what she was talking about when she mentioned my needing more practical options. And then a savage roar fills the shop, and Ruger leaps for me.
19
PERTH
Screams fill the room as Ruger loses it and vaults for Noah. The witches are frozen in shock, mouths gaping, as he explodes forward out of nowhere. Our poor mate looks petrified.
“Shit! Stop!” I mentally yell, but he ignores me.
I shoot up from the sofa. Launching myself at him, with desperate adrenaline racing through me, I pump my arms and reach—reach—reach—
I barely hook my hand onto the back of his shirt before he can grab our mate. Yanking hard, I pull him sideways, off balance so that he can’t get to her. My fingers claw up his torso until I can wrap an arm around his throat and use his momentum to spin him away. Breathing hard, my lungs working in short, furious puffs, I quickly move to place my body between him and our mate, and then I rush him.
My shoulder slams into his solar plexus and pain radiates down my spine as I shove him into the wall. He cracks the plaster when he hits, but I don’t feel sorry for the damage at all; it’s the least the witches deserve for pulling a stunt like this. To say I’m livid with them is a fucking understatement.
“Let go!” he growls, the pupil of his eye overtaking the color until there’s only a glowing ring of spring green left. The black veins in his neck bulge thicker with outrage.
“Calm the fuck down!” I thunder, not a damn bit calm myself. If I didn’t deal with shifters losing their shit on the daily, I might be tempted to shift and fight him right now. Or take his place and charge at Noah myself. As it is, I can feel the furor of the wolf stampeding through my veins, and I have to breathe deeply to keep myself centered. To keep myself human.
“Mine!” Ruger’s howled word echoes inside my skull, and I hear the first of his bones crack.
Shit. He’s starting to shift. “Fight it, Ruger. Fight it. She isn’t ready.”
Fuck, It’s never a good idea to get between a wolf and his mate, but I know Noah won’t understand this extreme reaction to her trying on lingerie. All his instincts are driving him to keep her from being vulnerable and exposed, and one way to fix that is to rut her and then initiate a pair bite to solidify the claim. Right now, his wolf is telling him that’s what needs to happen, and I can’t let it. I grip tighter as he pushes against me, and I switch to mindspeak.
“She won’t get that you want to protect her. You’ll scare her.”
She’s not ready for any mate claim shit yet. She’s a naif and barely coming to terms with our world. That fact forces me to get in Ruger’s face and try to talk his crazed wolf down.
Luckily, the word scare seems to slow him down a little and lets me know I’m getting through to him. If we were playing poker, his slow blink would be his tell. I exploit my advantage, talking steadily inside his head while my fingers start to ache from the death grip they’re maintaining. “We don’t want Noah scared. Then she’ll run. We want our mate happy.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Trista has the good sense to magic a pink robe over Noah. Thank fuck.
Ruger snarls threateningly in my face, but I don’t hear any more bones cracking, which means he’s winning over his wolf, for now.
I deliberately take a deep calming breath, hoping he’ll do the same.