Only Pretty Betas: A Shifter Paranormal Romance Series (Rebel Werewolves Book 2)

by Rosemary A Johns

  “Don’t you like to play at superheroes? Why won’t you use your powers to rid this city of its filth?” Then she giggled, and boy, if I thought that I’d heard creepy things in this house before, it had nothing on Batman giggling.

  “You’re more of a masked vigilante,” Moon called down as he swung in the chains.

  “A playboy with issues…?” Emperor suggested.

  Amadeus winked. “I’d have gone with deluded detective, but look at the muscles on him…”

  Zetta spun furiously away from them, shrinking down into a tousled haired teenager in robes who adjusted his glasses. Harry Potter slunk towards me with the sexiness of a lap dancer.

  I pointed at Zetta, whilst I backed away. “Now I know you’re screwing with me.”

  “Hermione, language,” Zetta chided, curling her tongue wickedly. Self-consciously, I patted at my frizzy hair, trying to make it lie straight in the way that it never would. “Come on, you love mages. You have that suckable Draco substitute all lined up for your bed. Whatever will Ron think? Or is screwing a bad Slytherin why you’ve chosen Aquilo? The thrill of the taboo?”

  “Trust me, Aquilo isn’t bad, and enough of the Slytherin bashing. Plus, you’re the one wearing the skin of the humans’ belief in the good mage.”

  Zetta covered her face with her hands and burst into sobs. “How could I’ve been so wrong, prejudiced, fill in your own boring blank?” She peeked up through her — crocodile — tears, and I crossed my arms. “It’s almost like witches haven’t been waging war with mages for centuries or being attacked by wolves.”

  I snorted. “When were you attacked by a wolf?”

  Harry’s robes bled into a scarlet hood, whilst a wicker basket now swung over a slender arm. I gaped at the asshole LLRH, as she slyly studied me back.

  Yep, Zetta was going there…

  “Let’s get serious for a moment.” LRRH swished her dress from side-to-side. “Red’s my color, right?”

  I turned my back on her, testing the chains that were holding my wolves again. “You had your chance. My wolves and me are breaking out.”

  “Don’t hate on the Hood. You know why…?” A gust of honeysuckle scented air tumbled me across a stack of paddles that clattered beneath me. Zetta who was back wearing mom’s skin glared down at me. “Because one day, the Hood will hate you back.”

  Except, this wasn’t the mom of my childhood memories who’d fussed about the paint on my hands, taken me to play with Aquilo and Lux, or hugged me during thunderstorms. This was the terrifying warrior who I remembered from the mural in the House of Blood, who’d decimated the shifters in battle.

  I hadn’t wanted to know that this version of mom had been real. Yet hadn’t I asked for the truth?

  “Why are you fighting us?” I whispered.

  Zetta’s lips curled, whilst her eyes raged. “Why aren’t you avenging me?”

  My throat was too tight to swallow. I ducked my head, unable to meet her gaze.

  Why in the witching-heavens couldn’t she understand that I was desperate to avenge my parents? But I’d also learned since Claiming my Charms that there were other things, which were even more important.

  When Zetta’s hand hovered close to my cheek, for the first time, I craved its touch like she truly was mom, even though I knew that she wasn’t.

  Then she crooned into my ear, “Wolfie, wolfie, why do you run? Wolfie, wolfie, why do you hide? Wolfie, wolfie, why do you cry? Because of the crimson the girl holds inside…”

  My stomach clenched, and I clutched my hand over my mouth.

  That was mom’s nursery rhyme.

  Mom had touched my cheek, just like Zetta had tried to, and lulled me to sleep with that song every night. The rhyme had made me feel safe because I’d thought that mom had invented it just for me to keep away the wolves.

  As the true horrifying meaning of the song crawled through me, I wished that I could believe nursery rhymes were nonsense and not based on truth.

  Only, they were, right?

  It was kind of weird to know that even as a kid, I was being trained to hunt and hurt wolves. Did the wolves sing the same thing to their kids, only their version was to teach them to fear Wolf Charmers?

  Zetta’s eyes sparkled cruelly. “Your aunt’s not talented enough to cut the grade as a Charmer, so let her forgive your disgrace and live with your unworthiness if she likes. But I speak with one voice for the Wolf Charmers who’ve lived in the House of Silver. And they’re pissed.”

  Okami unwound from my neck, diving at Zetta and biting at thin air like he could tear her in two.

  “Mom wouldn’t kill me,” I insisted, wishing that my lip wasn’t trembling.

  Maybe if I repeated it, I’d even convince myself.

  “My favorite: a round of Mum Wouldn’t.” When Zetta pointed at the cage it was spotlighted like on a stage.

  I gasped, dropping to my knees next to the bars.

  The Ambassador was leashed, muzzled, and naked inside. His pale skin was purpled with welts and seared burns. I struggled to undo the door with shaking hands, whilst I was flooded with hot and cold at the same time.

  “I’m done, Zetta. Your spook ass is dead.” I rattled the bars, but the Ambassador didn’t raise his head.

  “He’s not here; it’s a Wolf Charmer memory.” Amadeus’ voice was low and dangerous. The shock broke through my distress. “And she’ll be dead on my fangs first.”

  “Why?” Zetta pressed her hand to her check in mock horror. “That was round one of Mum Wouldn’t.” When the Ambassador’s image faded, I wished that I could’ve comforted him, even though it’d happened over a decade before. I shuddered at the thought of living in this house and not knowing the truth of what was happening. “How about upping the stakes? Great-Grandmother Wouldn’t…? Because that’s such a fun game to play in mixed witch and wolf company. Shall we see if we can all remain kissing friends afterward?”

  “Nay, don’t.” Moon’s panic startled me; I glanced over my shoulder at him. His curls fell into his eyes, as he shook his head. “You can’t mean to show her like this. Crimson, it won’t make you feel any better to know the truth in this way. You’re not the same as your ancestors, just like we’re not.”

  “Too late,” Zetta singsonged.

  Then the walls of the cellar fell away, and my great-grandmother’s memory exploded.

  I spun around, unable even to speak.

  The memory felt just as real as the Ambassador had done. But this time, I’d been dropped in the middle of a battleground or hell.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I stepped alone into the middle of a war. Only, there was no rattle of gunfire, boom of explosions, or thunder of tanks. Instead, there was an eerie red that swallowed the world like it’d been transformed to Mars, which consumed even the sky. My own red cocooned itself around me, as if it could protect me from the crimson shadows in this past memory that washed over the ancient woods and the banks of the Thames.

  Huh, that was what it was like to know that you’d only been a kid playing with your powers because these shadows that stormed with fury were my crimson shadows at their most terrifying.

  They were the crimson tide and boy, were they not being controlled.

  I paled, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes like that would end the horror of the scene, but when I pulled my hands away again, nothing had changed: my great-grandmother was still alone on the hill beside the Thames, decimating the werewolves.

  Shadows blustered in waves from my great-grandmother, whose arms were raised above her head. She wore a red-and-black ball gown disturbingly like the one that Zetta had encouraged me to wear on my first trip into the Kingdom of the Wilds. She was a cold beauty, surrounded by a red whirlpool, which swept up the wolves — Alphas, Betas, and Omegas.

  I held my breath, clutching my arms around myself, as a sudden cold raised the hairs on the back of my neck. My own red wound around me in a cocoon like it could protect me from my ancestor.

 
What in the witching heavens would she do with the wolves now that she had them caught in her shadows?

  My great-grandmother’s eyes glinted cold silver, as she made the wolves spin through the air, like I’d once forced my cousin’s mouse to dance.

  Okay, now I got why my uncle had been so mad.

  Animals and wolves weren’t there for me to play with and this was where that thinking led: a Wolf Charmer dashing wolf after pretty wolf into the river and holding them under the water.

  I cried out, whilst I stumbled to my knees.

  I’d wanted to know the truth about my legendary great-grandmother. Now I knew. It turned out that what made her legendary in the witch world, and feared in the wolf, was genocide.

  And I’d felt guilty about being the type of witch who’d Claim a werewolf and stuff him in a wardrobe.

  “Isn’t she magnificent?” Zetta crowed, blowing in my ear and making me jump. When she crouched next to me, watching the massacre with a dreamy expression, I glared at her. “The Crimson Hero of the Wolf War.”

  I shook my head, balling mom’s cape over my mouth with my fist and turning my head to avoid seeing any more death or my bitch of a hero ancestor.

  Zetta snickered. “You didn’t think that the wolves respected you because of your quirky ideas and can-do attitude?” She examined my flushed neck, before snickering. “Oh, you did. Now that’s what I call truly tragic. This…?” She waved her hand at my great-grandmother drowning my Charms’ relatives like the Pied Piper had the rats of Hamlin. “Well, it’s the witches’ triumph in the final battle. Your Wolf Charmer line won them the war. Without the crimson shadows, who knows how long it would’ve dragged on. You wouldn’t have wanted more witches to have died, surely?”

  I shuddered. Why had I been haunted by nightmares of drowning, when the wolves were the ones to have suffered it?

  Or had my shadows always held the guilt deep inside me…?

  It wasn’t me…not me…not me…

  I curled into a ball, as if I could escape even my shadows, which trembled, distressed at my rejection. They pressed closer around me, stroking.

  I didn’t want to be touched, even though I knew that none of this was my fault or even my shadows’ because they were mine and not the raging predators that had darkened this entire land to red. I could sense the hatred oozing from my great-grandmother’s shadows: they were vindictive, bullying, and merciless.

  Or as I called them: Dick Shadows.

  My crimson, on the other hand, loved my Charms. They soothed, caressed, and brought them pleasure. Even though they vibrated with the need to control, they equally sang to protect.

  I shoved myself to my feet, straightening my shoulders. Enough with the memory trip horror show. I wasn’t this beautiful but terrifying ancestor. I was Crimson: a witch who’d been raised in America amongst the non-magical, who could mix a killer cocktail, run an epic art gallery, and love a pack of rebels.

  But I couldn’t murder wolves.

  Weirdly, I didn’t feel like I was missing out.

  “Witches one. Wolves zero. I’ve got the score.” I glared at Zetta. “Shut off this movie.”

  Zetta twirled a curl around her finger. “Aww, it’s cute that you think you can still give me orders. We haven’t got to the best bit yet.”

  I blinked, and instantly the scene flickered like it was on fast-forward. I choked at the bitter taste in my mouth because I recognized the memory, only I’d been part of its ceremonial re-enactment to shame the wolves.

  The surviving Omegas knelt on the banks of the river. Their blond heads were bowed, and they trembled, whilst my great-grandmother walked up and down their ranks with her mouth pressed in a hard line. I’d done the same thing in the Omega Training Center, when I’d picked Moon. The other Omegas had been quivering in fright then as well.

  I hadn’t understood their terror at the time, but holy hell did I now.

  At the prettiest Omegas, my great-grandmother would stop, yanking the shifters’ chins up with her red, so that they couldn’t flinch away. When she’d make her choice, the Omega would whine in terror, before they’d be dragged behind her.

  How many Omegas was she choosing…?

  “You should’ve seen the size of her harem, which she kept down in these tunnels and cellar!” Zetta smirked. “Every day another candy to sample.”

  I dry heaved. Then I sliced my hand through Zetta in a karate chop. She squawked in protest.

  “My wolves aren’t my harem, they’re my pack,” I hissed.

  Zetta shrugged. “You say tomato, I say…” She leaned closer. “…Too late. Every Charmer recreates the sacrifice that the wolves agreed to, so that the war would end. Just like you did.”

  Why did she have to be right? But then, my Charms had gone through with it as well. Hadn’t we all played our roles?

  I shivered with the sense that I was missing something because my Charms didn’t appear to be the types to meekly follow orders, no matter how tough the situation.

  Would I’ve been just like my great-grandmother, mom, or Zetta with their casual cruelty, if I’d been raised in the House of Silver? Hecate’s kiss, I hoped that I could’ve had the same courage as Aquilo to rebel against the prejudice.

  Why hadn’t I understood before just how kind Aquilo must be beneath his cold mask to have resisted hating the wolves? In fact, he treated them with respect and risked his life for them. I wished that he was by my side and not stuck with his snobbish family.

  At last, Zetta blew at the blood-washed scene of terrified Omegas, and the silver walls of the Discipline Cellar molded back in its place. I turned around and then recoiled from the majestic statue of my great-grandmother with shadows coiling around her, which now stood in the corner of the cellar.

  Then I looked up at my Charms who were still hanging from the ceiling by their wrists. They were ashen. Emperor was panting — his chest rising and falling far too fast — whilst his eyes were glassy. I didn’t think that he even saw me anymore because the terrors of his childhood had been triggered.

  For me, this had been an interactive history lesson, but for my Charms who’d been tiny kids during the Wolf War, this had been their life.

  How much of the war had they witnessed?

  Had they even been kneeling beside their conquered parents: the defeated royalty?

  I strode to Emperor to stroke his side, but he flinched away from me, struggling to breathe.

  “Give him some space, Crimson.” Moon’s gaze was steely, even though his words were soft. “He was there that day. He saw…”

  I nodded, jerkily. Of course the traumatized wolf needed space from the Wolf Charmer who had the same powers as the witches who’d wiped out his people. I’d known that it’d happened…kind of…but seeing it like this was a whole other thing.

  I felt the horror winding through my shadows, and I knew that I could never allow a Second Wolf War to happen.

  But how could I stop it?

  I got now why my princes had been prepared to sacrifice themselves as Tributes, as well as why the wolves offered their Omegas still to the witches to appease them.

  Yet I had to end the cycle. These wolves weren’t the original fighters in the wars. Why should they pay for them?

  “My aunt didn’t want me back for all those schmaltzy reasons that she fed me, right?” I swung to Zetta, who’d wound her arms around the statue’s middle, resting her head on my great-grandmother’s chest like they were best buddies.

  That’s because Zetta contained her essence…

  Zetta rolled her eyes. “Sorry, do you want me to talk about feelings here because I don’t do that. Stella always had a sickening amount of emotion in her. So, maybe she thinks that she meant her tooth rotting confessions.”

  I snorted. “And what do you think?”

  When Zetta prowled towards me, her eyes flashed as cold as my great-grandmother’s. “I know that a Second Wolf War is coming, and Stella believes that you can win it for us again.”

>   My guts churned. Jesus, if my suspicions were right… “And you don’t,” I said, flatly.

  Zetta’s eyes narrowed. “I believe in options.”

  “Like stealing Mischief’s magic and those powerful Gateways in his head to use as some kind of magical bomb?” I guessed.

  “Ding! Ding! At last she gets it.” Zetta winked at me, whilst the walls exploded with applause. “The glittery god’s magic in Stella’s creations battle against the medicated beautiful beasts. Now that’s a gladiator contest that I’d go and see. There’s more than one way to skin a wolf.”

  My chest tightened with guilt.

  How could I’ve left Mischief alone here with Zetta? All the time that he’d been getting worse, it’d been because of being trapped in the house with Zetta, who was draining him of his magic.

  Hey, Mage Care was harder even than Wolf Care. For a mage, even a witch’s house was toxic.

  My mouth was tight, as my red snapped at Zetta like it could tear her apart. “Your spook ass was never created for my special protection, right? Stella placed you here to spy on me.”

  “Wait, don’t forget I also manipulate you.” Zetta screwed her face up, bawling her fists like a baby. “Boo hoo, the mean old wolves killed my mommy. Boo hoo, whatever should I do?”

  “I’m not crying now,” I hissed.

  “The line of Wolf Charmers don’t cry,” my great-grandmother’s voice wound from the statue, as savage and smoky as the shadows that coiled around her. I leaned protectively closer to my Charms, slipping my own crimson around them. “We charm the wolves and control the crimson tide. Are you not honored, girl?” The statues’ eyes flashed silver. “Wolfie, wolfie, why do you run? Wolfie, wolfie, why do you hide? Wolfie, wolfie, why do you cry? Because of the crimson the girl holds inside.”

  My gaze darted between my shaking wolves and the statue of my great-grandmother who was staring down at me in splendor.

  Was this the part where I swore some kind of Charmer allegiance with a weird ritual and some seriously messed-up wolf flaying?

  I didn’t think so.