Chapter Four

Conny and Rita were staring at me strangely. Apparently, this was something I was supposed to know already. Except that I didn’t. Then it all clicked.

“A wolf? L-like a werewolf? My betrothed is a werewolf?” I whispered, mostly out of shock. Then I felt the laughter bubbling at the base of my throat, and when it surfaced, I was helpless to stop it. Loud and long, I laughed like a lunatic.

“I’m…engaged…to…a…werewolf…”, I heaved between laughs.

Oh my goodness. This was just too precious. There was no freaking way. This had to be a dream. There was no way this was real life. Eva would laugh her ass off when I told her about this dream. I should probably power down on the number of fantasy movies I watched.

“Yea, yer highness. What is wrong?” At some point, Rita had left my hair to come and stand with Conny at the base of the bath. There was a mixture of annoyance and concern on her face. She was probably concerned that I’d lost my mind with the way I was laughing. I couldn’t blame her. I felt crazy too. Everything in this weird dream was crazy.

Wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, I sighed, slid lower into the bath, and closed my eyes. “Please carry on, ladies, “ I said. I popped one eye open when I didn't feel those competent hands in my hair. Rita and Conny stood a few feet away, staring at me in shock.

I bugged my eyes out at them. “What?”

Rita eyed me warily. “Yer Highness, are ye sure yer feeling alright?”

“Yep. Totally fine. And you know what would make me feel even better? If you poured more of that sweet-smelling shampoo on my hair,” I said, smiling invitingly.

“'Er Highness speaks strange too,” Conny stage-whispered to Rita.

“Yea, I noticed the same too,” Rita answered distractedly, still staring at me in that unnerving way of hers.

“Ye know about Varul, don't ye, Yer Highness?” Rita asked skeptically.

I frowned. “I—”

“'Is the scariest werewolf in these parts, I'll tell ye that,” Conny cut in before I could answer that I hadn't even the tiniest smidgen who this Varul person was.

Rita threw a death glare her way, but Conny didn't seem to notice. She kept on speaking, each sentence scarier than the last.

“Killed his own poor parents when he was eighteen seasons old. Clawed their eyes and tongues out, they say. Rumors say he did it for the throne, I say he did it to stir the deep pools of his black, black soul. Yea, there's a folk song about it too—what does it say again, Rita—? Oh.” Conny paused when she finally noticed the look on Rita's face.

“What? I thought the lass 'ad forgotten,” Conny said sheepishly and retreated a minuscule step.

Rita shook her head at Conny and turned to me with a pasted smile. “There are exaggerated stories about the Alpha, and Conny's is one of them,” she tried diplomatically, but I was still stuck on something Conny had said.

“He did what to their eyes and tongues?” I could feel a possible hyperventilation forming at the base of my throat.

Rita came forward and let out a placating hand. “There, there, Ye Highness, no use getting yerself worked up over nothing. If anything, I'm sure the Alpha would be kind to ye…,” she murmured and glanced away quickly as though she couldn't quite believe her own words.

“Quick, Conny, let's get 'Er Highness prepared in time for the wedding. We don't want to get the wrath of queen,” she said hastily.

“Whoa, whoa, wait,” I said swerving my head just before Conny could touch my hair. I wasn't sure I was so excited about this dream anymore.

Huh. Come to think of it: Was this even a dream? Only one way to find out.

“Pinch me,” I said.

Rita blinked while Conny's mouth swung open.

“What?” Rita asked in shock.

“Pinch me. I need to be sure that I'm not in some kind of weird, messed-up dream. Go on,” I urged when neither of them would move.

“We can't do that, Yer Highness,” Conny said, then added in a dramatically frightened whisper, “You could have us hanged for it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Forget it. I'll do it myself.” And I did. Hard. But nothing happened. I tried again and again and again, but I didn't magically wake up on my own bed in my slightly messy apartment. There was only one explanation for this: I’d been trapped in some sort of alternate universe with weird Irish maids and werewolves that apparently had fun un-aliving their own parents. Just the same sort of stuff you'd snort at in sci-fi movies.

Shit. Only my life.

Just then, the door opened and I gasped when I saw who walked in. I had sudden flashbacks of summer picnics and trips to the mall filled with laughter.

Then the flashbacks took a downturn and showed me that last moment at the hospital, eight years old, clutching my dad's hand desperately as we watched the nurses raise the sheets over her frail, thin body. A tear rolled down my cheek. There she stood healthy, full of life and very much alive.

Biting back a sob, I choked out the word I hadn't uttered in thirteen years. “Mom?”