Page 13 of Untamed

I pass the form back to her, and she reads it over while leaning in her chair. I take the time to study her room more. There are a lot of textbooks about human personalities and interpersonal relationships. She has one book that stands out calledThe Study of Love. Maybe I need to check that one out. I could use some pointers.

I want to smack myself as soon as I think it. The warring part of my personality is arguing that we shouldn’t have to work to be someone else for ourfatedmate. This is all bullshit.

Ms. Ebon stands. “Come with me, dear.” She walks from her office, and I follow. Other shifters traverse the halls now. Everyone peers at me curiously but shies away from Ms. Ebon. It’s her stark appearance, I think. She’s very prim and proper. She doesn’t look like someone who ever lets her hair down to have fun.

When we’re at the end of the hall, she swings a door open, clutching my file to her chest. I walk in and freeze. She nudges me further, the big door thudding closed behind us. We’re in a salon. A legit salon with a wall full of mirrors, a barber shop chair, and beauty magazines. The place smells like hairspray.

“Come sit,” Ms. Ebon demands, gripping the back of the salon chair.

I stare at my frantic blue eyes in the mirror surrounded by a plain face. I always envied the girls who wore makeup. I was never big on it because I assumed it would make me stand out, like I was trying to conform, but also because makeup wasn’t in my parents’ budget. My auburn hair ends in waves past my shoulders. Since I actually styled it today, it looks pretty awesome.

My feet are lead weights as I slowly trudge toward the chair. I step up on the little, silver footrest and sit back. Ms. Ebon looms above me. She studies my face, and I just know I’m about to get a rude awakening.

If I filled out that paper, so did Jonah.

Maybe he prefers blondes? Someone thinner? Bigger? All I know is that I really shouldn’t fucking care, and if my advisor is about to spout some bullshit on making me look like Jonah’s ideal girl, I will not be responsible for what happens.

“This is my own little studio that I use on my advisees. You already filled out the questionnaire, so you’ve probably guessed that Jonah filled out the same one. You’d be correct.”

My stomach twists. I shouldn’t have eaten all that food this morning.

“Would you like to see what Jonah wrote about you?”

My eyes narrow. I stare straight into my reflected eyes as if I could see inside my own soul. Everything in me is screamingFuck no. Instead of swearing freely, I smile at my advisor through the mirror. “No, thank you.”

She takes out the paper and shoves it into my hands anyway. “Too bad.”

I don’t want to look.Please don’t look. But curiosity gets the better of me. I glance down. Sure enough, it’s the exact same form I filled out minutes ago, neat handwriting penned across the page. I read the answer to the first question.

Do you find your mate attractive?

His answer:Yes. Kinsey is beautiful. She just never lets anyone see it.

I choke on air. Is that air? Because I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to be this hard to breathe when I’ve been doing it all my life.

“We’re here because I want to leave anything further up to you. For the record, if he had written that he didn’t find you attractive, I never would’ve shown you the paperwork.”

“Yeah, well, how many of them actually say they don’t?”

She grimaces. “A fair few do but appearances aren’t everything. Love can be borne from many things. Eventually, you start to find things to love about your partner that you never saw before. Maybe the pig nose you said they had becomes the thing you love about them most. Personality quirks. Conversation. I bring my students in here because I believe that confidence does a lot for the soul.” Ms. Ebon studies her own appearance, and a slow smile creeps across her lips. “This part of the process isn’t for your mate. It’s for you. I have a hairstylist, a makeup artist, a designer on call. Would you like a change? Or would you like to stay the way you are?”

I press my lips together, and our gazes meet in the mirror. “Is this a trick question?”

“Absolutely not.”

I give her a short nod and then study myself. “I love my hair,” I tell her, pulling my auburn strands over one shoulder. Then, I look at the plain features of my face, and my gaze drifts toward the beauty magazines where girls are all wearing makeup and look completely put together. “I’ve never had makeup. It might be fun to try that. I don’t have any money, though,” I tell her.

Ms. Ebon settles her hands on my shoulders. Surprisingly, her touch soothes me. “It’s absolutely free. Our pack cares a lot about our wolves. I’m getting the feeling you may not have experienced that before, but I hope that you will here. We’re strict, but it’s for a reason. Give me one second, and I’ll get my makeup artist in here.”

She turns her back and sends off a text. Within minutes, a supermodel walks into the room. She has dark, wavy hair that falls to her shoulders. She smiles, her lips painted in a pink that looks absolutely fantastic against her darker complexion. “Look at you,” she says. Immediately, she gathers my hair back, running her fingers through it. “What a beautiful mane. Let me guess, you’re a red wolf?”

I nod. “Red like fire.”

“I bet you’re gorgeous. I’m black, obviously. We would be like flame and smoke standing next to each other.”

Ms. Ebon butts in. “Grace, this is Kinsey Walker. She’s interested in your makeup expertise. Why don’t you go ahead and explain to her what you want, Kinsey?”

I blush, but all Grace does is wait for me to speak. The back of my neck heats, and my fingers curl around the arms of the chair. It feels weird to have people looking at me and not telling me what a disgrace I am. It’s kind of nice.

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