Tangled

69 Ava: Sister Miriam (I)

Mom’s fingers deftly twist and turn my hair, pinning it into some sort of elaborate style. Her touch is clinical, devoid of any maternal warmth, as she secures each lock into place with sharp tugs.

She’s been doing this for hours, trying to figure out the best style for the mating ceremony. The only comfort I have is in knowing she’ll never have the chance to dress me as planned.

“Honestly, Ava, couldn’t you have made more of an effort with your appearance?” she chides, as

disapproving as always. “Your hair is little better than a

rat’s nest.”

This is something she’s said at least three other times in the hour she’s been here. I bite back the retort that hovers on my tongue, knowing better than to provoke

her ire.

A musical jingle causes her to pause, and she checks something on her phone for a second, before returning to her project. “It’s a good thing your worth isn’t tied to your looks,” she continues, her words

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69 Ava: Sister Miriam (1)

cutting deeper than any physical blow. “You should be

grateful that Alpha Renard has deigned to mate with you, despite your deficiencies.”

There’s a little chip in the paint of the wall above the mirror, and my eyes are drawn toward it. It’s

something to focus on as I tune out her nagging and cruel remarks. For a woman who’s capable of so much love toward her older children, it’s amazing how much

vitriol she can throw at another.

I wasn’t positive I were her child by

The title of Luna is not for the likes

my composure, to keep the bitter

manic in her quest

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Sister Miriam

will bear his children. That

mechanical, like a puppet on strings. My mind, however, is already

freedom to return to the Aspen pack, I’ll contact Lisa. We’ll run far away from the suffocating confines of this

monologue. An older woman with an elegant bearing and a bright, unsettling gleam in

wolf, but she isn’t human, either. Her eyes are a dark, glittering red and her hair is black without the faintest sheen

“Sister Miriam,” she greets the stranger. “What an honor to have you grace us

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Ava: Sistor Miriam

thin. “The honor is mine, Grace. Alpha Renard requested my expertise in a delicate matter.” Her

prickles of unease over my skin. It’s hard to hold her gaze.

had hackles, they’d be standing.

dangerous even to wolves. I can feel

what she is.

says, her cultured voice a little tense. She’s affected, too. “Alpha

to meet Sister Miriam’s probing stare. I don’t know what she can do that a pregnancy test can’t this early on, and I’m not sure I

most skilled in detecting the earliest signs of breeding. The alpha can

my side, meeting my

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Sister Miriam

white. It looks unnatural on her face, as though no other muscles move with her mirth.

for concern, child,” she says. Her voice is sweet in a way that should be soothing, and yet paired with her

she turns to look at me. I shiver at the touch, something inside me protesting the close contact. It’s like my skin burns. where she touches, but when I try to jerk away, she grips my chin hard, inspecting me with calculating

eyes.

murmurs, letting go to trail her hand down my neck, across my collarbone, down my chest and finally coming to rest on my abdomen. “Tell me, have. you experienced

Tenderness?”

“No.”

hand presses firmly against my stomach, and I flinch. Though her hands are cold, an unwelcome heat eats at my skin. It