by Dee Garcia
She never listens, though, and I’m not covering her ass this time.
Shifting back into my own skin, I tie one of mama’s handwoven blankets around my waist—Pa always leaves them slung over the porch railing for me—and head straight for the shower. Nothing long or drawn out, just enough to wash the night off before I tear up the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve got some bacon and sausage sizzling, a few scrambled eggs on the backburner with ham and cheese. There’s sourdough toasting on the griddle, a ripe avocado waiting to be sliced. I almost whip up a waffle, too, knowing my sister might come out following the scent, but I’m too hungry to wait.
She can make her own damn waffles. I mean, she wants to be treated like a big girl, right?
Mouth watering, my stomach rumbles in protest just as I’m sliding the eggs onto a plate. You’d think I never eat with the spread I’m about to feast on. I do, trust me, but the constant shift fucks with my appetite. Doesn’t matter how many times I head out with the pack, I’m always ravenous after.
Shuffling around the kitchen, I grab everything I need and take a seat at the varnished wood countertop, and not ten seconds later, I hear footsteps creeping down the hallway.
Looks like I’m going to have that waffle after all.
Smiling around a forkful of eggs, I wait for my sister to round the corner. But it’s not her, and while I knew she might be here, it still shocks me to see her.
Her, Aiyana, the woman my father recently started seeing. Don’t get me wrong, I like her, I’m just not used to seeing Pa with anyone. He’s been alone for years, since Ma passed.
This is good for him, though. She’s good for him. He deserves happiness after all he’s been through.
Aiyana’s as surprised to me, too, bronze cheeks reddening when she finds me mid-chew in the kitchen. “Oh, hi, Tavi. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
Shooting her a small wave, I wipe up my mouth and reach for my drink. “I should’ve been in bed by now, honestly.”
No, really—I should be. It’s almost two in the morning.
My dad ambles out thereafter, taking in the mess I’ve made with a smirk. “I’m not cleaning up after you this time, just so you know.”
“I’ve got it, old man, don’t worry,” I jibe.
His face falls in disapproval. He absolutely detests when I call him that, despite knowing it comes from a good place. Probably because he looks older than he is. Mama’s death took a severe toll on him, leaving him grayed long before it was his time. He was quite thin for a while, too, more than he ever should’ve been, but I’ve bulked him up again in the last two years or so. Now, he rocks the silver mane with pride, keeping it tied in a neat bun most of the time.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you?” he questions Aiyana, tucking her dark hair behind her ear.
“I’m positive,” she laughs softly. “It’s less than a mile. I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m sure some of the boys are still roaming around.”
“They should be,” I chime in, only to remember this wasn’t my conversation to chime in on in the first place. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“You’re fine, dear.” She waves me off. “Only cements my point to your father here.” Her palm thumps against his chest. “See? They’re out there. I’ll be fine.”
My dad sighs, cupping her face with a gentle hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
Lifting onto the tips of her toes, she places a tender kiss to the very corner of his mouth. “If we’re allowed another day, you can bet on it. Sleep well, my love.”
She’s gone after that, slipping her satchel over her head as she makes her way out the door.
“I could’ve walked her, you know,” I tell my dad as he clicks the locks in place.
Shrugging, he strides over to join me at the counter, sliding into the seta beside me. “She doesn’t like to be fussed over.”
“I can see that.”
“How was Niko’s celebration?” he asks.
“Nothing grand.” I hitch a shoulder, shoveling another forkful of eggs and sausage into my mouth. “We went down to the beach, had a few laughs.” Please don’t ask me about Tigerlily.
He doesn’t, thankfully, but follows up with, “Did Kimi tag along?”
I nearly cringe at the mention of her name. “No.”
“Tavi…” he warns, in that stern tone no less.
“She didn’t want to go, Pa,” I explain, rising from my seat with plate in hand. “What did you want me to do? Force the girl along?”
“No, but did you even invite her?”
“Not personally, no. Niko did, though, and she flat out told him no. So we left.”
A frustrated huff leaves him as I scrape the leftover bits into the waste bin. “I need you to be more sociable with her, son. Friendlier. Make an effort, please. She’s going to need someone by her side when the time comes.”
Takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. “Are you certain she’s even headed on that path?”
“Yes, Aiyana’s confirmed it; her senses, scent especially, are sharpening, has random dizzy spells and sudden outbursts that seem to be intensifying. Nails and hair growing at a rapid pace.”
“You sure she’s not pregnant?” I quip.
“Tavi!” His palms slam onto the counter as he shoots onto his feet, stool braying against the wood floors.
“I’m just saying. Yeah, sure, it sounds similar to what I went through, but they match symptoms of pregnancy, too.”
“She’s not pregnant,” he grits.
“Okay, fine, she’s not pregnant. My bad.” I lift my hands in surrender, spinning on my heel to face him. “So what is it that you want me to do then?”
“Help her, prepare her. Their family hasn’t seen a shifter in many moons. Aiyana doesn’t even know where to begin.”
Sounds all too familiar. Same thing happened when I started showing signs. That’s the “problem” with the shifter gene. It doesn’t carry through to every generation. In fact, just because a relative possesses it doesn’t mean you’ll obtain it as well. The gene only carries to those it deems worthy.
I’m the first in my bloodline—and the island—for almost a century, and if Kimi does actually possess the gene, she’ll be the first woman in Rosewood’s history.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” I muse, shaking my head.
“What does that mean?”
“A female in my pack, Pa, that’s what.”
Our eyes meet as he takes my remark into consideration. “They exist, you know. Kimi isn’t the only one.”
“I know, but we’ve never had one here.”
“Exactly why I need your help. Why she needs your help. Her birthday is fast approaching.”
It’s not that I don’t want to help her. Kimi’s just...difficult. My dad’s the Chief, though, and while I may be the pack’s Alpha, I try to honor his requests to the best of my ability.
“Do you love her?” I question.
My father’s head ticks back a fraction. “Who?”
“Who else, dad? Aiyana…”
Another point he considers momentarily, dark brows furrowing the harder he ponders it. “I’m not quite there yet, but I do care for her deeply.”
I can’t help but smile at his admission, slapping my palms against the varnished wood. Mama would be proud of him for coming so far. “That’s all I needed to know. Tell Aiyana I’ll help her daughter, but a single shred of resistance and I’m out. We have enough resistance building under our own roof for me to expel more energy on another hormonal female who doesn’t want to listen.”
Dad chuckles as I’m turning for the sink to begin sorting my mess. “I’ll let her know, my son.”
♫ Bad Dream - Ruelle ♫
The chilling shrill of a scream jolts me awake.
I’m gasping, breathing in heaps of air, my mind racing a mile per minute. But it’s not until I note the erratic tempo of my breaths that I realize that horrorized sound came fro
m me.
A quick scan of my surroundings—one now bathed in powder blues and pale pinks from dawn—reminds me of where I am, of how I even got here.
Peter.
The portal.
Tinksley.
Hook.
Each piece of the puzzle adds to the tears now burning like acid behind my eyes. The last thing I fully remember is…
Another gasp.
Armand.
I reach up to feel the spot where he dug his fangs in deep, where he nearly drained me of my blood until I passed out, but the tips of my fingers just barely graze it. There’s shackles locked around my wrists, thick chains attached to them, keeping me bound to the stoned wall at my back. They clank and clatter as I try moving about, and that’s when I’m hit with another bout of recognition.
Of self-awareness really.
I’m not just chained to this wall. No. I’m naked, too. My panties remain in place, but the dress I’d let slip away whilst trying to work my charms on Armand is gone, nowhere to be found. My shoes, too.
I shiver, my nipples puckering anew, and not in a pleasurable fashion, either. First instinct is to get onto my feet. Too bad I can’t, right? Because another set of shackles restrain my legs. Panic sweeps me from head to toe, claiming every molecule of my being and all sense of rationale.
I have to get out of here.
I have to get out of here!
I yank on my restraints, desperate, hopeful that, somehow, I’ll break free. But these damned chains don’t budge.
“Why me?” I whisper into the darkness, unable to hold back my emotions any longer.
The most prominent? Fear.
Second most to that? This undeniable sense of anger.
These monsters have immobilized me in every which way possible, have left me down here to rot for sins I didn’t commit. Peter already paid the price and yet, here I am, paying off the interest.
And for what? He’s dead. Isn’t that payment enough?
The thought elicits a strangled sob, opening the floodgates of sheer terror and despair.
I just want to go home.
Tears stream down my cheek as my entire body begins rocking back and forth, over and over again, harder and faster with every grain of sand slipping through the hourglass that is my life. It’s a feeble attempt at breaking free from my restraints, obviously, I know better than to think it’ll work, but I have to do something.
“Help! Somebody help me, please!” I screech, pulling on my bindings like a madwoman.
I’m exhausted within minutes and yet still, I keep at it, yanking and yelling in a suddenly manic state. My throat hurts from the force of my screams, stomach roiling around the distress that’s buried itself deep within my core.
“Help, please!”
“Will you stop that?” a voice resounds from the stairwell, freezing me on the spot. “God, it’s worse than her never-ending questions.”
Tinksley.
I know it without a doubt.
Sure enough, a series of still moments later and she hops off the last step with the Captain right on her tail. A silver platter sits in her palm, the rising sun’s reflection glinting off it’s perfectly shiny surface.
One look at me and her head rears back. “What in the actual fuck happened down here? Why are you naked?” she questions in disgust, setting the platter at my feet.
The scent of fresh eggs and ham waft from its confines, wringing my stomach tighter.
“Armand,” I answer, turning away from the food, arms coming as far around myself as my restraints will allow.
Not that I need to cover up. Hook’s kept himself looming within the threshold of the stairwell.
“Of course he did.” She rolls her eyes, snapping her head toward him. “Can you grab something for her to put on?”
A simple nod and he’s off, leaving me with her. I don’t know how to feel about that other than uneasy. She seems to ping pong between emotions in no time flat.
“Did you at least get to come?” Her query comes with a snicker, tropical irises alight with curiosity.
A part of me is scandalized she’s asked me this, but then again, I’m sitting here on the dirty floor, practically naked from head to toe. What else is to be expected?
Unless they keep all captives in this state.
I shake my head, knees curling up to my chest. “He didn’t fuck me.”
“Ah, I see. Copped a feel while he fed off you, huh?”
I nod, though what happened is so fuzzy, I don’t elaborate any further. If Armand hasn’t shared with her what took place, then, clearly, she doesn’t need to know.
“That’s pretty standard around here,” she continues. “The Puppets live for that shit.”
“The Puppets?”
“Mhmm. Mortals, just like you. Traded their freedom and lifesource for riches and hedonism. Most of them enjoy a rough fucking during feedings.”
None of what she says makes a dribble of sense to me. I’m pondering it through, trying to piece together what she’s just divulged when Hook re-emerges with my nightie and my shoes. “Violet had them.” He sets the shoes down and tosses the powder blue garment at me, as if I can just put it on. “Says Armand asked her to clean up when he finished.”
“Surely that’s not what he meant.” Tinksley turns back toward me. “In any case, count your blessings, Wendylocks. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Why?”
They share a brief look before she drops to her haunches at my feet, shoving the platter aside. “Because Armand’s body count is higher than everyone under this roof put together. He doesn’t feed as often as he should, meaning when he does, he sucks you dry. You must have a magical cunt to still be breathing after the fact.”
“He didn’t. Fuck me,” I grit, jerking forward in my bindings.
What part of that didn’t she understand the first time?
Tinksley scoffs a laugh and pats the top of my head, rising to full height. “Easy there, girl. No need to get worked up. Take it as a compliment.”
“You’re implying I spread my legs for him like a common whore. How is that a compliment?”
“Aren’t you a whore, though?” She crosses her arms.
My head nearly snaps off my neck. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t be so coy now, little Wendy. We’ve done some digging. Evidently, you’ve been around the block a few times.”
“That doesn’t make me a whore.” My cheeks heat with rising indignation. “I’m comfortable with my sexuality and I know what I want.”
“Mmm, yes, a couple dozen dicks comfortable. What’s one more, right?”
I don’t even know what to say to that. Them looking into my history, no matter how invasive, doesn’t surprise me. They knew who I was when they barreled through my window, after all. It’s just...hearing it like this, what I’ve done, while naked and chained to a wall makes me feel lower than I’ve ever felt about it.
About myself.
I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: Societies standards and beliefs are total bullshit. A woman should be able to play on her desires just as much as men should. But right here, in this moment, I’m filled with shame.
Disgust.
Remorse, even.
“That’s besides the point,” she continues at my silence. “I’m sure you’ll tell me they were all a distraction from Peter anyway.”
“They were at first,” I rush to agree, as if that’ll somehow justify my past.
Why I feel the need for such reparation from her, a cold-blooded killer, is beyond me, but here I am, holding her stare like a vise.
Tinksley’s sleek brow arches curiously. “Interesting. So what happened? After a few good cocks you forgot about him?”
I nearly cringe, but manage to simply shake my head instead. “I never forgot about him.”
Hook chokes on a laugh at my reply, reminding me that he’s in the room. Tinksley then stifles a giggle as well, prompting me to clutch my nightie tighter against myse
lf.
“How romantic.” She flattens a hand to her chest, batting her eyelashes in a dreamy fashion. “I’m sure he didn’t forget about you, either. Probably envisioned you while he was busy deflowering me.”
I gulp at the growl rumbling in her tone, at the fire blazing in her eyes. The sheer sense of betrayal and revulsion I see there repaints what Peter did to her in my mind.
He was her brother and he...he fucked her.
My stomach churns once more, blitzing a hot stream of bile up my throat like a rocket. I nearly gag around it, forcing myself to swallow it down.
How could my Peter do something like that?
“Again, that’s besides the point. What I really want to know is, are you as oblivious as you claim?” Her question shakes me out of my own head.
“Oblivious about?”
“What else, Wendy? Peter, duh.”
“What about him?”
“You said you didn’t know, about what happened to him, about who I was.”
“I didn’t. I hadn’t a clue until you showed up.” It’s the God's honest truth, too. I didn’t know anything. Seeing Tinksley and Hook standing before my bed, two darkened figures in the night, was one of the most unsettling moments of my life.
I’d been that scared before, but it had been a long time.
“You really expect me to believe that?” Her face contorts in disbelief.
Mine does, too. I can’t control it to save my life. “Um, yes? Because I didn’t.”
“And yet, you welcomed him with open arms. Did you not ask questions?”
“I did. I asked until I turned blue in the face and I’ve told you how he answered.” I’m not sure what else she wants me to say, honestly, but I can sense that, unless my answers start consisting of what she wants to hear, she’s not going to be sated.
She’s not going to let up, and she likely won’t be temperate for much longer.
What am I supposed to do, though? Lie?
“How could you even believe that? After all those years, almost an entire decade, it didn’t seem odd to you that he still looked exactly the same?” Her hands fall to her sides, fingers twitching in a subdued curl.
