Alpha X

The It Girl

With slow, deliberate movements, Áine applied cream to her body and massaged it into her skin. Then she dried and brushed her hair before plaiting it. The rhythm of pulling the strands into a fishtail from the center of her forehead to her nape helped. She could leave it open, but it irritated the sensitive scar tissue.

Áine slid the wide lycra band on her head and tucked it behind her ears.

She groped through the hangers of her walk-in wardrobe for the familiar loose pants and a fitted vest. Everything was, she hoped, in black. No other color mattered to her. She did not trust Nessa and Mum to shop for her. She depended on Helen, who'd discovered Arachne. They usually dressed males, but had accepted both of them as clients.

'Why wouldn't they? Free publicity. Heck, they better pay you to wear their shit. They sent some complimentary stuff,' Lyssa urged.

She patted the items. There was a cashmere throw with sleeves. A leather overcoat. She selected the felted Vicuna wool coat. Designed especially for her, the brand sent them over for her to 'try something new'.

'You single-handedly brought hoods back into fashion. What a world we live in,' Lyssa grumbled.

Áine took it out of the cloth bag and threw it on. Lifting the collar up, she pulled the cowl over her head. Then she buttoned it up and tied the belt. Though she preferred looser fits, she liked the fitted cut and weight of the heavy cloth. Like an armor, it fell to her calves. As is, there was a nip in the air today. She wore the gloves, as people stared at them. Strangers—

'You are paranoid. If anyone stares, it's out of admiration. Haven't you heard? You, baby doll, are a siren. The tabloids love you.'

As if that was a compliment.

On the coat stand, she found the right walking stick, one with the metal raven head, and checked the clasp. Within it hid a silver-edged blade. She opened it and pulled it out of the teak shaft. The Roman Dolon was perfect for stabbing the brain through the eye or slashing the throat.

A shifter might or might not survive a well-timed stab.

'Be warned, my Were, lest you become what you detest,' Lyssa growled.

She wondered what that would be.

'A remorseless killer. You're no Wilford.'

As far as insults went, that was weak. There was no other Wilford, he was the Einstein and Stephen Hawk of the Shifter World. Also, a very handsome and distinguished Were, he'd set his beady eyes on their mum. Except their mother pretended he didn't exist.

"Would it make any difference if I was a remorseful killer? Killing is killing," she replied.

'If he had a heart, I'd suggest inviting him to hear you play the lament. That'd work better than a silver bullet, but he is as heartless as they come. Or you could sic me on him... but he's designed the laws to save himself. Even if I succeed, his loyalists will toss us... Guess where? Through Hell's Gates into Hellridge. Isn't that coming a full circle? We'll end up in the one place we best avoid.'

Spending their lifetime in the hellholes called the Abyss, the Peak, and the Mine was not a life goal. "Won't work. Pampered elite princesses like me aren't cut out for a life in prison. I'd prefer to attend parties, wear designer clothes, and look pretty."

'Guurrlll! Reality check time. Parties screech to an abrupt halt when you make an entrance. You dress like a plague doctor. Or the harbinger of doom. All you're missing is a scythe or a bird mask,' Lyssa brayed her mirth.

"Imagine how they'll react if they saw me."

The truth shut her Lycan for good.

Áine marched into the living room. "I'm going out," she announced.