Page 92 of Wanted

CHAPTER 25

Emery

“You’ll look fantastic,” Reese, Chance’s sister-in-law, says.

At least, that’s what she would be called in the human world. Among the pack, she’s the wife of the alpha and therefore referred to as the Alpha Queen.

Yet, when I first met her hours ago, she insisted I call her Reese.

I knew for the past few weeks that on the day of the supermoon, the alpha was scheduled to return with his wife for the ceremony. It’s tradition that he’s here to welcome the new wolves and escort them during their first run.

I expected to be intimidated by his presence since everyone in the pack refers to him with such respect. And while Chael’s tall, muscled figure and sharp, wisdom-filled gaze would normally be intimidating, I’ve spent the past few weeks in the bed of the most enchanting man I’ve ever met.

Meeting his alpha, although great, wasn’t nearly as intimidating.

Reese, for her part, is as warm and welcoming as everyone says she is. It didn’t take any time at all for me to warm up to heras we spent breakfast talking and comparing notes on how we both found ourselves in this mysterious yet wonderful world of wolf shifters.

Not only that, but Reese is a seer. Something she only found out once she came to live with the pack.

“I knew Chance would find you,” she told me. “He insisted he didn’t have a mate, but you look exactly like the woman I saw in my vision.”

I have to admit, it was a little weird to hear this woman had a vision of me asking for help long before I’d ever even met Chance. But it’s just one of many in a long list of strange interactions I’ve had over the past month or so.

“Though, your hair’s different,” she said as we finished lunch.

That’s when I blurted out that I dyed and straightened my hair for years.

That’s how Reese, Ms. Elsie, and myself ended up inside Reese and Chael’s bathroom, in front of the mirror.

“But, honestly, I’m tired of it,” I told her. “I’ve always wondered what my natural hair looked like. Without all the maintenance and upkeep my mother insisted I continue doing.”

Now, however, I’m getting cold feet.

“Are you sure?” I ask again, staring at myself in the mirror. A pair of hair scissors rests in the palm of my right hand.

My hair is soaked after having just washed it with some of the specialty stripping shampoo made by one of the pack members.

Half my hair is thick and curly at the roots, while the lower half hangs limply from years of straightening treatments. The gray streak that runs from the right front side of my hair all the way back is now on full display, thanks to the shampoo that stripped the dye away.

After my confession to Reese, she convinced me that maybe it’s time to cut it and go with the natural style I’ve wondered about for years.

“You said you wanted to know what you’d look like with your hair one hundred percent natural,” Reese says, smiling in the mirror as she stands behind me.

“I can already tell it’ll look phenomenal, right, Ms. Elsie?”

“Oh, yes, of course. It’ll look amazing.”

I swallow down the fear in my throat. I’ve never had hair shorter than shoulder length. There hasn’t been a time since I was ten years old in which my hair wasn’t straightened.

After I had moved to New York, regular straightening appointments became standard.

We have to do something about her roots.I remember my mother saying to the stylist while she flicked her hand in my direction with a look of semi-disgust on her face. As if the idea of puffy, non-straight hair made her somewhat ill.

I spin and look at Reese’s hair. Disgust is the last thing I feel as I look at her beautifully styled hair. It lusters with moisture and holds on to the curls she’s managed to put in it with twists, with ease.

“Okay,” I say after taking a deep breath.

Before I can second guess my decision, I raise the scissors and cut a chunk of the straightened, clearly damaged hair. Again, I cut another piece on the other side, knowing there’s no going back now.