Chapter 11: Explaining Things is Hard

Poppy woke up with a start. For a moment, she couldn’t remember what happened.

Then it all came crashing back: Malcom, getting caught in the floor, falling into the bakery…

Mrs. Crist was going to be furious.

But as she looked around, Poppy realized that was the least of her worries. She was in a large bed. The room was spacious but very masculine. Gray bedding, gray walls with dark wood trim. It looked exactly like the last room she’d woken up in.

The real problem was sitting in a chair next to the bed.

Malcom Murray was watching her with his dark brown eyes flashing gold.

“Good morning, Poppy.” His voice was like smooth chocolate, but there was also steel in it.

He was mad.

Oh god. He was so mad. It was in every line of his mouth and the flash of his eyes, the set of his shoulders

“Where… where am I?” Poppy struggled to sit up. She was sore, but it didn’t seem anything was broken in her fall.

That was a bit of a miracle.

She looked around her a bit, feeling strangely at peace even as her heart raced. The room screamed elegance. A large chair sat next to a table in a bay window. Poppy was relieved to see her black back pack, torn and dusty, sitting on the chair. There was a large mahogany dresser and mirror. Each wall without the window had a door.

“My house.” Malcom watched her every move, “Well, I should say one of my homes.”

“I would like to go home please.” Poppy tried to scoot out of the bed.

“Stay.” He barked at her and she froze.

She didn’t want to, but there was something in his voice that made her obey, even against her will.

“What is going on?” She couldn’t hide her panic. Tears gathered in her eyes, “Why can’t I move?”

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, “It’s my alpha command. Your connection to me means you want to obey. It’s not usually this strong; I think because I made you and you are so new to all this.”

“Please, please let me go.” Poppy whimpered.

“I’m sorry love, I can’t do that.” Malcom moved and came over to her, gently he took her hand in his and the spell that kept her locked seemed to melt away.

“Why?” She wasn’t sure if she wanted to pull away or cuddle into him. This was all so confusing.

“First, you are my mate.” Malcom stroked the back of her hand, “But that is not the whole reason. Second, someone is trying kill you. I can’t let you go simply because then you would be an easy target. Finally, because you are one of us now. You need to be around other shifters to learn about your new self.”

“Shift… shifters?” Poppy sniffled and found herself leaning into him. His arm wrapped around her as he pulled her into his broad chest. God it felt good; he smelled good. Pine and the crisp cleanliness of a cold mountain day. He was so big; it felt like he could protect her from every evil thing in the world. She didn’t want to like it, but she did.

“Yes, we can change between a human form and a wolf form.” His voice was soft now, “I am sorry. In an ideal situation, we would have had this talk and I would have asked your permission. But, I had to change you. You would have bleed out at the party if I hadn’t. Even then, it was a touch and go process; the change can be hard for some bodies to handle. Not everyone survives. I think because you were my mate you were able to accept my DNA.”

“Mate?” She didn’t want to look at him, she wanted to live in this safe cocoon for a little while longer before having to deal with all the reality around her. She wanted the safety of his arms, but wasn’t sure how she felt about him.

“Yes, little mouse, you’re my mate.” She heard the smile in his voice, “We were meant to be. Fate, whatever you want to call it. You can feel it’s pull can’t you? The connection you feel to me; how it feels right to be here, with me? We are destined for each other. Can’t you feel it?”

She didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. She felt safe with him. Despite her fear of all the unknown, of rejection, of being hurt. Being in his arms felt… right. Poppy gave a jerky nod of her head in ascent. That’s when she felt it. Shorter strands of hair swished against her face. A lot of shorter strands. She knew she had breakage, but not that much.

“What’s…” she reached back to feel her braid. It was a strange weight, some pulling on one side of her head, but the rest, the rest was only still attached because it was in a braid.

Malcom grimaced as he watched her.

“I’m sorry, lass.” he sighed, “When you fell, a few of the old nails in the subfloor caught on your hair. They had some sharp edges…”

She choked on a sob as she caught his meaning. The nails in the floor had acted like a saw, slicing through bits of her hair. Her tugging it to get loose probably hadn’t helped the situation.

Poppy had to know how bad it was. From the look on Malcom’s face and what she felt tugging on her head, it was pretty bad. She jumped off the bed and raced across the room to the mirror above the dresser. Shakily, she reached behind her and pulled out the elastic that held her braid in place. She slowly used her fingers to comb through the braid, gasping as the braid started to unravel, and some of her hair started to fall to the floor.

Her face turned white. With shaky hands she finished untangling the braid. When she was done, almost half her hair had been broken off at different parts and lay around her feet. It was ragged and shorn at odd points.

“I’m so sorry, love.” Malcom’s reflection in the mirror looked stricken as he watched her work through her ravaged hair. Poppy stifled a sob.

“My hair…”

“It’ll grow back, lass.” He came behind her and tried to smooth the strands away from her face. It looked awful. Some still hung down to her hips, other bits brushed her shoulders, but a good chunk of it was missing from the back and she couldn’t see clearly in the mirror, but she could feel. Raising a shaky hand, she touched the back of her head. Most of the back was cut close to the nape of her neck. “We’re going to have to cut it.” Malcom ran his hand gently over her ravaged locks.

“No.” Poppy started to cry, “No, not my hair!”

“I’m sorry, love.” Malcom placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head, “It’s far too gone to be salvaged. Best to get it over with.”

“Please…” She was crying too hard to get the words out. Poppy didn’t know how to express what her hair meant to her or what cutting it meant.

Malcom didn’t listen to her cries. Instead he guided her through one of the doors into a lavish bathroom. Poppy was crying in earnest now and could barely see anything through her tears. He pulled out a small stool in front of a vanity area. Gently he pushed her into a seated position before rummaging in the drawers. Soon he had a comb which he placed on the counter next to her, then he left the bathroom for a moment, only to come back with a pair of sharp scissors. Poppy looked aghast at his reflection, trying to calm her sobs. He stoically laid a towel around her shoulders and pulled what was left of her hair over it.

“Please no.” She shook her head, but the shorter strands of her ravaged hair hit her in the face and she started crying again.

“We’ll get it fixed up better later.” Malcom promised as he combed through the bits of hair at the nape of her neck, “But for now, we can at least make it even.”

Poppy opened her mouth to protest again, but he shushed her. “Little mouse, ye will sit still and let daddy fix this for ye.” His voice was stern, “I promise it will be alright in the end. But right now, ye need to listen to me. Let’s be honest, little mouse. If ye hadn’t run, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Poppy sighed in resignation and did her best to calm her sobs. It was harsh, but he was somewhat right; if she hadn’t tried to run from him, she wouldn’t have fallen and her hair wouldn’t be so mangled. She took deep, calming breaths as she tried to come to terms with the truth of the matter.

“Alright.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She knew deep down he was right; her hair was too damaged to be salvaged and it needed to be cut. “Let’s cut it. But…only as much as is needed. Please.”

“Good girl.” He praised as he slowly dragged the comb through her hair, smoothing down her curls a little and determining where he needed to cut. Gently, he pushed her head down so she was looking at her lap.

He ran the comb through the back of her hair one more time before stopping at the nape of her neck and she felt the tip of the scissors as they lay against her neck, far too close to the base of her skull for her comfort. She cringed as she heard the snick of the scissors cutting, felt the blades move against her skin, felt the hair slide down her neck as it fell. She squeezed her eyes closed as he carefully cut the back of her hair until he was satisfied it was even.

Then he lifted her chin up and combed the hair on the sides of her head, making sure to part her hair evenly in the middle. Poppy opened her eyes. One side of her hair hung in varying lengths between her chin and shoulder; the other side hung mostly down to her hips.

Once again, Malcom combed through her hair to smooth it down as best he could before stopping the comb when it was even with the back and began to slowly snip at her ravaged strands. She stifled a sob as she saw how short he was cutting. The comb was just below her ear. Malcom was slow and meticulous as he snipped small bits and moved along her jaw line. Satisfied that one side was even, he moved to the other side, working gently and methodically, snipping away at her long strands until she sat with a fairly neat, blunt bob that hit just above her chin, the tips brushed against the corner of her lips when she moved her head. All the combing had made her curls frizz, however, so she looked a little wild.

Poppy looked at her reflection in horror as Malcom combed through her short strands again, sniping a bit here or there as he made sure the cut was even.

“There,” he said, giving her an encouraging smile as he set the comb and scissors down, removing the towel from her shoulders and shaking it out before brushing the hair clippings from her neck. He frowned at the back for a moment, “It’s still not quite perfect, though. Ah, well, I guess we can be all done, for now anyway. I think it looks fairly good.”

Poppy didn’t know what to say. Her hair was gone. The one thing she prized the most.

She burst into tears.

“I’m sorry, little mouse, but it had to be done.” Malcom sighed as he started rummaging around the bathroom. Eventually he found a small broom and dust pan and started sweeping her hair from around her feet. Poppy turned from her reflection, wanting to hide from herself and cried.

He worked in silence, moving out to the bedroom to clean her shorn hair from the floor and bed out there as well, where it had fallen when she first realized the travesty.

Her sobs eventually turned to silent shuddering breaths. Gathering her courage, she turned back and looked at her reflection once more, trying to look at it from a positive point of view; she had been due for a trim, anyway. Objectively, it wasn’t a bad haircut; she just hated having short hair. It felt weird swirling around her face and she tried to brush it back out of the way, but most of it would not stay behind her ears. This was going to take some getting used to. But there was nothing to be done, and Malcom was right. She would have had to cut it off eventually; it was best to just bite the bullet and get it over with. Though she really, really didn’t like it.

“You do look adorable.” Malcom came to stand behind her, gently combing his fingers through her now slightly frizzy, shorn curls again. “A sweet little haircut for a sweet little girl. You are a good girl, aren’t you my little mouse?”

He leaned over her and nuzzled into her neck. Poppy felt her skin pebble as he placed soft kisses behind her ear, gently pushing her hair out of the way. It felt so good; she leaned her head to give him better access. He nipped and licked his way down the column of her throat, his beard scrapping her sensitive skin in a way that felt oh so good and sent tingles all the way down her body. Suddenly, her sadness over her hair gave way to a new feeling: want, need.

“Ye are my good girl, aren’t ye Poppy?” He breathed against her neck, “Ye want to be a good girl for yer daddy?”

She let out a soft moan in agreement, not wanting him to stop. A distant part of her brain questioned his choice of words; they seemed… dirty, maybe a bit kinky. But the feral part of her loved the feeling of his mouth on her neck, his hands on her shoulders, of being called his good girl. God, she did want to be his good girl if this was the reward she got. Heat pooled between her thighs and she squirmed, trying to ease the sensations building in her. She hoped being his good girl got her some sort of release, and soon. She had never felt this turned on before.

“Does your little pussy need some attention, lass?” She could feel his smile on her neck. Wordlessly she nodded her head, her hair swirling around her face with the force. So much attention, she needed all the attention.

“Words, mate, give me your words.” He tilted her chin and made her look at him.

“Yes.” She whimpered, lost to her longing. “Yes, please! Please. It hurts. I need… I need… Please.” She was going to die if he didn’t do something about it soon. But she didn’t quite have the words, her mind was so frazzled with want.

His eyes swirled with more gold now. A feral grin split his stern mouth. As he moved his kisses back up her neck and under her jaw to the corner of her mouth.

“Good lass. Asking so sweetly for what you want.” He brushed a kiss on her forehead and straightened up, leaving her reeling and feeling bereft of his presence and still aching. “Now, I know this has been a long day, but you need to get cleaned up.”

For a moment, she looked around confused. Hadn’t he said he would take care of her?

“You said…” she blushed as she tried to find the words, her pussy aching from the built up tension.

“That I would take care of you?” Malcom gave her a predatory smirk as she nodded and blushed, “All in good time, little girl. But first, you need to clean up from your little adventure.”

Poppy looked down at her worn and dirty clothes. The hoodie had been removed, but her t-shirt and leggings were still on. She frowned at her legs. The leggings had large holes in them that hadn’t been there before, but her knees looked fine. She distinctly remembered feeling like they had been torn up.

“Why…?” She didn’t know how to formulate her question. She wasn’t even sure what she was going to ask.

“Why don’t you have any cuts, or why are you still in your dirty clothes?” He gently tugged her to her feet.

“Both?”

He laughed a little. “Well, you have shifter genes now, which means you heal far more quickly than humans. As for your clothes… I thought you would prefer if I didn’t strip you without your permission. Waking up in a strange bed naked seemed like too much of a shock.”

Mutely, Poppy nodded, realizing that he was right. Having already lived through that once before, she was grateful he had offered her that dignity still.

Without speaking, Malcom gently led her to the large bath tub in one corner of the room; he pushed her down to sit on the side as he fiddled with the faucets. In a moment, steam rose in the air as hot water began to pour into the bathtub.

He dropped some lightly scented bath salts in the water and then turned toward her and held out his hand.

Without speaking she took it and he helped her up and ran a finger down the side of her face.

“Let me take care of you, bathe you?” It was part question part plea part command.

Poppy wavered. She’d never really been with any one, not seriously. There was the occasional boyfriend but she had never felt comfortable with them, not enough to get naked anyway. More just awkward fumbling over clothing that left her feeling a little dirty and used. She had tried to experiment on her own, which was slightly more satisfying, but this was a whole new level.

And here was this man, practically a stranger, asking her if he could undress her. Wash her… the longing that had been building with his kisses came back with a force. She knew that if she said yes, he would destroy her, in the best way possible.

She felt a burning in her lower belly at the thought. It wasn’t a bad feeling. It was a heat that moved down between her thighs. That’s when Poppy realized she wanted this. She needed this.

Mutely, she nodded, not trusting her voice. Feeling herself blush at the thoughts swirling in her head.

“Words, love.” He smiled at her, “I need to hear ye say it.”

“I… I want you to…” Poppy swallowed hard as her voice wavered and cracked slightly. She wanted him to do a lot more than bathe her and the thought both thrilled and scared her. “Please bathe me.” She whispered finally.

With a groan, Malcom gripped the bottom of her shirt and slowly raised it over her head. He stared at her for a moment and she realized she was wearing a ratty old bra that had once been white but now was more a dingy gray. She moved to cover herself when he grabbed her arms.

“No.” His voice was gravely and heavy with need, “No, don’t ever hide yerself from me. Let me see my mate.”

She let her arms drop back to her sides as he reverently ran a finger along her collar bone and down her shoulder. Gently, he slipped the strap of her bra down and then did the same on the other side before lifting her breasts out of the cups of her bra.

Her nipples pebbled in the air. He brushed a finger over one nipple and it started to harden. A jolt of desire shot down to her pussy at his touch.

She let out a soft moan. Malcom’s eyes moved up from her breasts to her face and he gave her a wolfish grin.

“Do you like that, little mouse?” He whispered and flicked her nipple again, sending another jolt down to her cunt.

She nodded before remembering that he wanted her to speak.

“Yes.” Her whispered response was harsh with need.

“Good.” He unclasped her bra and let it fall to the floor as her breasts swung free.

Much to her chagrin, he ignored her tits, heavy now with need, to run his fingers down her waist to the band of her leggings. Poppy had hoped that he would spend some more time touching her. It had felt good, especially when he touched her nipples; the light tugging had made it feel like there was a direct line connecting her clit to her breasts. And she wanted more.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he dragged her pants down her legs, helping her step out of them. Standing only in her white panties, legs partially spread, Poppy felt herself panting. She wanted more, oh so much more.

Malcom’s nostrils flared a bit and then he smiled again.

“Ye like this, don’t you, mate? Ye like it when I undress you?”

“Yes.” Poppy’s voice cracked but was stronger this time.

To her surprise, he dropped to his knees, bringing his nose level with her mound. He dragged in a deep inhale.

“Are ye wet for daddy, little girl?” He nuzzled her over her panties.

Poppy felt herself start to gush and open her legs as he moved his mouth over her seam.

“Yes.” She forced herself to speak, though thinking and words were hard when there was so much going on down there. The sensations were overwhelming in the best way possible.

Malcom leaned back and gave her a little smack on her pussy. Not enough to hurt, but enough to surprise her.

“Yes daddy.” He corrected, “Try again, lass. Are ye wet for me?”

“Yes… yes daddy.”

“Good girl.” He purred as he dragged her panties down her legs. “Now, be my good lass and step into the tub.”