Page 76 of Reluctant Rebel

Jinx’s smile lit up her whole face. “No. It’s not weird. It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

Mikhail grinned, stupidly happy when Jinx turned her head, giving him access to her thick, wet locks. He hesitated for a moment, savouring the trust she was showing him. With a gentleness that surprised even himself, he reached out andtouched her hair, feeling the weight and texture of the strands. “These stripes are magnificent,” he told her.

“Thanks. I was born with them.”

“I assumed,” he said, carefully separating the different sections with his fingers, not wanting to pull or hurt her. “Not all shifters share physical traits with their inner animals. In fact, it’s far more common that they don’t.”

Jinx nodded her head slightly. “I know. No one else in my family has hair like this. Same with the different coloured eyes. It’s why my parents named me Jinx. Because they thought I was born cursed, and everything turned to shit for them after they had me.”

Mikhail stilled. “What?”

“It’s fine,” Jinx assured him with a shrug. “They were uneducated arseholes.”

He was silent for a moment as he carefully untangled knots, his fingers moving deftly. He was well acquainted with unruly hair. The men in his family were cursed with thick, fast-growing locks. The quiet gave him time to ensure his voice was steady when he spoke next. “They were wrong. You are a gift.”

Jinx’s shoulders slumped. “So Sabre told me from the very first day I met her. I didn’t believe her then.”

Mikhail brushed her hair in long, even strokes. “And now?”

Jinx sighed, closing her eyes and tilting her head back a little. “I guess I do most of the time, but then something happens to remind me of my shitty past, like getting that filthy collar, and I forget again.”

He frowned. “What do you mean? What collar?” When she didn’t reply, he moved around on his knees and found her deathly pale. “Jinx, what is it?”

“It’s nothing. I didn’t mean to say that.” She slammed her hands against her thighs angrily. “Why do I keep blabbing when I’m around you?”

Mikhail felt unease ripple through him, shattering the idyllic day. “It’s clearly not nothing. You look like you’re about to pass out.” She remained stubbornly silent, but he wasn’t having it this time. He picked her up, placing her in his lap and forcing her to look at his face. “Jinx, tell me what you meant.”

Jinx's eyes darted away, fixing on a point in the distance. Her shoulders tensed, but she didn’t attempt to move. “Just a cruel prank. Someone's idea of a sick joke,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

“Whatwas a cruel prank?” Mikhail demanded, his inner demon stirring.

“Last night at the party, there was a box with no card.” She licked her lips before whispering, “It had a collar in it.”

He didn’t grasp the significance. “A collar?”

“Yes,” Jinx said, louder this time. “Identical to the one I wore when I was a sex slave.”

His whole body jerked. He couldn’t help it. Hearing the stark, painful truth of those words felt like a physical blow. He slowly removed his arms from around her, giving her leave to put space between them. Being held was probably the last thing she wanted. Once she moved from his lap, he asked, “Who would do that?”

“I don’t know. Someone who knows about my past, obviously,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, a defensive gesture that spoke volumes.

“Has anything like this happened before?” he pressed, his voice tight with anger.

Jinx picked at a loose thread on her towel, refusing to look at him. “No. Not since Sabre slaughtered my Master and most of the patrons at his brothel when she saved me.”

Mikhail flinched. “Don’t call him that.”

Jinx finally looked up. Her eyes were dry, but her gaze was distant. “What? My Master? That’s what he was.”

“No. He wasn’t,” Mikhail said, his voice firm though laced with sorrow. “He was a sexual predator who deserved killing more than anyone else in Purgatory. He was not your Master. No one has the power to be that because your heart—your soul—cannot be captured.Youare yourownmaster. Always were. Always will be.”

“Do you really mean that?” she whispered shakily.

“I do,” Mikhail vowed, his eyes locking with hers.

“It still hurts so much,” she said, sounding like she was making a sinful confession. “Even though I shove it down. Even though I refuse to think about it, it still hurts so fucking bad.”

He nodded slowly, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. He wondered if she’d ever really dealt with the soul-deep trauma inflicted upon her when she was an innocent girl. Or if she lived day in and day out for years in denial. It seemed easier that way, he knew. But it didn’t work.

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