Her exiled Gamma

Her hair

*Kiona*

I can’t sleep. I shouldn't have asked Castor for the favor. He had capitulated far too easily which means he will tease me unmercifully for making the request of him, whether or not he sees it through. If he does have success at gathering the information I seek, he will make me pay a price for it. But it will be worth it to gain what I want.

Why hadn't my grandmother simply left me the cottage outright ? Why had she put a stupid stipulation on it ? Was it because I had enjoyed spending time playing with the children in the village ? Had my grandmother been worried that I would move to the quaint dwelling and marry the blacksmith's son or the baker's ? Why is my family so obsessed with their place in the High packs ? Has it brought any of them happiness ?

If my uncle or cousin don’t see to my welfare, am I not perfectly capable of seeing to it myself ? I could hire out as a nanny, governess, or companion. I am not averse to work, considering that it might give me the freedom I long for. Why among the packs is marriage so highly valued ? Shouldn't a she-wolf be wanted for more than bedding, breeding, and beauty ?

The gentle rap on the door has all my thoughts scattering. It is nearly two. A little late for Isadora to join me for some twittering about the season or society. Too early for Castor to have returned from his night of certain decadence. Has someone received word from my parents ?

Has something happened to them ?

Tossing back the covers, I scramble out of bed, race to the door, and open it. My heart nearly skids to a stop. It is Castor. While his tie is undone, he doesn’t look nearly as disheveled as he had last night. Neither does he smell as ghastly. As a matter of fact, his fragrance is quite pleasant. I detect a bit of scotch in the air, but he isn't reeking with it. I can’t recall ever seeing him quite so relaxed. The tiniest of smiles reach up to make his eyes sparkle.

“I have what you requested”. He says his words are clear and concise. Not a slur to be found.

He actually sounds happy and triumphant. I don’t want to acknowledge how appealing a

happy, triumphant Castor Softpaw is.

“You spoke with the Alpha ?” I ask.

He leans a shoulder against the door jamb. “I did”.

“What did he say ?” I enquire.

A corner of his mouth hitches up a little higher. “What are you willing to trade in order to learn of his preferences ?”

Why couldn't he have disappointed me on this matter ? Why couldn't I have been wrong that he would require something of me ? “Why can't you merely tell me ?”

“Because I was rather inconvenienced”. He lowers his head slightly and arches a dark brow. “As I believe I mentioned I would be”.

I sigh heavily. “What do you want ?”

Reaching behind me, he takes hold of my plaited hair and drapes it over my shoulder, the one nearest to him. “Your hair unraveled, like Rapunzel”.

Blinking, I stare at him. “So you can tease me about how hideous it is ?”

"Why would you think it hideous ?" He asks.

“Because the color is an unusual red, not a pretty shade. And I possess an abundance of unruly curls”. I say.

“The color is why I have always liked it. Because it is so bright, not drab or boring. Why I have always wondered how it might look spread out ...”. Abruptly he stops speaking and gives his head a small shake. “ ...Loose”.

I am dumbfounded. "You like something about me ?”

“It's only a small thing. Don't let it go to your head”. He huffs.

His disgruntlement makes me feel a little more settled. I lift the tip of my plait and reach for the ribbon that holds the woven strands secure.

“I'll do that”. He says softly.

I watch in fascination as his deft fingers pull on the end of the ribbon until the bow my lady's maid had created earlier disappears. Slowly, so very slowly, he loosens the satin until he can slide it free. Into the small pocket of his waistcoat it goes.

“Carry on”. His voice is low, soft, almost sensual.

I wonder why he didn't complete the task, and wonder why I wished he had. He is studying me with such intensity as I begin unraveling the strands that it becomes difficult to draw in breath.

"Not so quickly". He murmurs.

“I'd never realized you were a man of patience”. I mumble.

His gaze lifts to mine and stays for a heartbeat before drifting back to my hands. “Only when it comes to certain things”.

“Women ?” I asks.

The grin he gives me is devilish. “Most assuredly”.

I slow my fingers even more, for my enjoyment as much as his. I like the way his eyes darken, his nostrils flare and his lips part ever so slightly. It is doubtful I would have noticed if I hadn't been scrutinizing him so closely. At balls, I will hold conversations with men, dance with them, but not a single one has ever looked at me as though at any moment he might leap on me and devour me.

It is an odd thing that Castor Softpaw is looking at me thus. He is probably further in his cups than I realized, so far in fact that he has forgotten who stands before him.

And that we have always been at odds.

When I unravel the last bit of weave, I shake my head to scatter the tresses and give them absolute freedom. I hear his breath hitch, and my own respond in kind. I am not at all comfortable with the warmth and strange tingles traveling through me in a chaotic manner. I need to be done with this. “So what does the Alpha want in a wife ?”

“Quiet”. He mumbles.

Balling up my fist, I smack him hard enough on the shoulder that he reels back two steps.

“What the devil ?” He isn't studying my hair now but is glaring at me as I am him in equal measure.

“I did what you asked, and you tell me to shush ? You would go back on your word ?” I huff.

Rubbing his shoulder, he scowls. “The Alpha wants quiet in a wife. I daresay you're going to have a time of it fulfilling that requirement”.

Oh. Well. I feel rather foolish. Brushing his hand aside, I begin stroking his shoulder to ease the hurt I have inflicted. I hadn't expected him to be so firm, so toned.

Obviously, I have misjudged how he spends his days. It seems they encompass very little idleness. “My apologies for misunderstanding, although a complete sentence issued on your part might have prevented the confusion. What else does he require ?”

As the silence stretches out, I dart a quick glance up to see him staring at my hand as though he has never seen one. I can’t recall ever touching him with such a purpose before this moment. A grazing of our fingers when he took the key hardly counts, even as it had caused my lungs to seize up momentarily. Self-conscious regarding the intimacy I am displaying, I give him a little pat as I might a dog I want to send on its way.

“There, that's better, isn't it ?" I ask.

Nodding, he scans the hallway as though searching for an escape from what is becoming an increasingly awkward encounter.

"You didn't answer. What else does he require ?” I demand an answer.

His attention is once more focused on me, but he seems troubled now, his brow deeply furrowed. “Only silence”.

I give a brusque nod of reassurance. “I can manage that quite easily".

He barks out a laugh that seems to circle the hallway before striking the center of my chest like a well-aimed arrow. "The devil you say".

My irritation with this man knows no bounds, even when he is helping me. I plant my hands on my hips. “I am fully capable of holding my tongue when necessary”.

“Why would you want to marry a man who has no interest in even hearing your captivating discourse ?” He asks.

I can’t discern if he is teasing or being sarcastic. Surely, he has never found anything I have to say spellbinding. “Because it might be the only way to gain what I truly desire".

“Which is what ? A husband ? An Alpha ? The title of Luna ?”

If he hadn’t sounded so disgusted, I might have closed the door in his face. Instead, I feel an awful need not to have him judge me poorly in this one regard.

“A cottage”. I say.

*Castor*

I don’t like it when she surprises me, and it seems of late she is doing it with increasing regularity. A few minutes earlier, her unexpectedly rubbing my shoulder had nearly robbed me of all good judgment, and I had begun contemplating the merits of caressing her in return. What a mistake that would have been. “A cottage ?”

She nods. “By the sea. Windswept Cottage belonged to my grandmother. My fondest

memories were made there, but she stipulated that it be placed in a trust for me only if I marry an Alpha by my twenty-fifth birthday. Next year, in August, I shall see a quarter of a century. Brinsley might be my last chance to meet that deadline in a timely fashion”.

I know something about wanting a property with a desperation that defies all logic.

“Brinsley mentioned something about not wanting to be disturbed when he is concentrating. Bloody hell, he didn't provide a lot of insight, did he ?” I mumble.

“Hardly worth the unraveling of my hair. I should make you brush it and re-plait it”. She tells me.

To comb my fingers through the glorious strands, to know if they feel as silky as they

look, to divide them into thirds… It is hair, for the Goddess’ sake. Every woman I have ever been with had hair. I have hair. Why is it that I ache to know the texture of hers ? “I would probably just knot it all up”.

She smiles, a soft, sweet smile as though we have never had a harsh word, as though I am not a spare. "Yes, you probably would. You also make an awful spy. But you did inquire and have given me a bit more information than I had possessed, so thank you for that. Especially as it was so deuced inconvenient for you”.

But I had walked away with two hundred pounds. I owe her for that. “I'll keep an ear out and let you know if I discover anything else".

“I'd appreciate that, good sir”. She says with a teasing bow.

“Miss Kiona, you have been friends with my sister for a dozen years now. You are her dearest confidante. Perhaps we could dispense with the formalities”. I suggest.

“You know precisely how long Isadora and I have been friends ?” I ask.

I remember the first moment I had seen her. Her dress had been blue, her bonnet white. It had rested against her back, its ribbons tied around her neck keeping it tethered to her as she had skipped over fields of clover, laughing … before her governess chastised her for behaving like a hoyden. Perhaps that is another reason that I work to keep her at a distance.

Because I had been so drawn in by the siren of her laugh. Or maybe I know that if I am to catch another glimpse of the hoyden, I will be lost.

“Not precisely”. I step back. “'Tis late. I should abed. My apologies for disturbing your slumber when I had so little to contribute".

"I wasn’t asleep". She admits.

“Neither were you last night when I returned”. Ah, there is the blush I enjoy bringing forth, creeping up her neck and into her cheeks ! I wonder if the pinkish tinge runs the length of her.

“I have no idea what you're talking about''. She says sharply.

I laugh. “What a liar you are, Kiona. I told you I would remember. So perhaps you owed me the unfurling of your hair, after all”.

Her indignant expression has me chuckling all the way into my bedchamber, into my bed.

I sober up only after I begin stroking the ribbon that had held her hair in place. Damned stupid of me to be jealous of a bit of cloth for being so intimately involved with her.

Although I had caught myself in time, I had nearly mistakenly confessed that I wanted her tresses freed so I could imagine the bright copper mane spread out over my pristine white pillow. Or over my bare chest. Her hair is long enough that it would reach down to my groin. I groan as that rebellious part of my anatomy reacts as though the soft strands are in fact brushing over it, teasing it, at this very minute.

I don’t know why I had tormented myself by asking that particular favor of her. I should have asked for something simpler, something that would have brought me joy for more than three minutes ... even if the memory of those three minutes might never fade.

‘Smile whenever you first glimpse sight of me’. ‘Laugh when I tell a joke, even if you don't think it's funny’. ‘Look at me as though I'm not an irritation’. ‘Welcome my company’. ‘Never again confine your hair with pins or ribbons’.

So many things I could have asked for, but following my usual habit, I had chosen the most immediate and strongest of gratifications to which she wouldn't object. So now I am left aching without hope of acquiring more.