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.

were her child by birth, I would definitely

“Don’t let it go to your head. The title of Luna is not for the likes of you. You’ll be a mate in

to keep the bitter resentment from showing on my face.

looking into the mirror so I’m forced to meet her gaze. She’s almost manic in her quest for my acquaintance. “This

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Ava: Sister Miriam

Renard, and you will bear his children.

My mind, however, is already spinning, formulating a plan to escape this waking nightmare.

I’ll contact Lisa. We’ll run far away from the suffocating confines of this stupid

bright, unsettling gleam in her eyes enters the room. She exudes an

either. Her eyes are a dark, glittering red and her hair is black without the faintest sheen

mother straightens, a look of respect crossing her features. “Sister Miriam,” she greets the

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Ava: Sistor Miriam (1)

and thin. “The honor is mine, Grace. Alpha Renard requested

my skin. It’s hard to hold her

had hackles,

dangerous even to wolves. I can feel it, even if I

she

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

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

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

meeting my eyes again in the

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Ava: Sister

looks unnatural on her face, as though no other

a way that should be soothing, and yet paired with her face, it’s terrifying.

the close contact. It’s like my skin burns. where she touches, but when I try to jerk away, she

eyes.

my chest and finally coming to rest on my abdomen. “Tell me, have. you experienced any unusual fatigue? Nausea?

Tenderness?”

“No.”

and I flinch. Though her hands are cold, an unwelcome heat eats at my skin. It