Chapter 75: Sheep in Sheep’s Clothing?

This is bad. This is really, really bad.

Blair stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, her breathing growing erratic. She frantically combed her fingers through her messy dark hair, pushing the strands back to expose her scalp.

Her roots were showing!

She leaned in closer to the glass, her hands gripping the edges of the vanity. She stared at her own eyes. The brown color was just a fraction of a shade darker than the lenses she normally wore. And the constant, irritating itchiness that usually plagued her eyes was gone.

These were new contacts. The doctor at the hospital had learned her secret.

Blair chewed nervously on the jagged edge of her thumbnail, a wave of nausea washing over her. She closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath. Did Daemus know? she panicked. Did his mother know? Neither of them had said a single word about it, and Clarice had been nothing but warm and welcoming to her.

Do they think I’m a beastwoman? Blair wondered wildly.

A gentle knock rapped against the bathroom door. "Blair, honey?" Clarice’s voice drifted through the door. "Is everything okay in there? Are you having problems with the dress?"

"N-No!" Blair stuttered out quickly, dropping her hand from her mouth. She scrambled to pick up the white wool dress she had dropped on the floor. "I will be out in a second!"

She tried to rationalize her way out of a panic attack. If the doctor just assumed she was a disguised beastwoman, then she was probably safe. She was never going to see that doctor ever again anyway. He had even been kind enough to put new contacts in to hide her eyes.

Blair pulled her top over her head, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at the healing wounds on her back. Balancing carefully, she put her weight on her good leg and gingerly stepped into the dress.

She pulled the fabric up. It clung tightly to her body. It was definitely at least a size too small, hugging her waist and dramatically pushing her chest up. Blair reached behind her back, her fingers fumbling with the small metal zipper, but she couldn’t pull it up past the middle of her spine.

Defeated, Blair opened the bathroom door and hobbled back into the bedroom.

Clarice stood up from the stool. "Wow," the older beastwoman breathed out, a bright smile lighting up her face.

"It’s... a bit tight," Blair mumbled, her cheeks flushing a deep pink as she tugged self-consciously at the off-the-shoulder sleeves.

"Beauty takes a little discomfort," Clarice smiled, walking around behind her to grab the zipper.

Blair was feeling a lot of discomfort. She wasn’t used to wearing anything that hugged her curves this aggressively.

"Take a deep breath," Clarice instructed.

Blair inhaled and Clarice smoothly pulled the zipper all the way to the top.

"Is it hurting your wounds?" Clarice asked, gently smoothing out the soft white puffs lining the cuffs of the sleeves.

"Not really," Blair answered honestly. The sheep’s wool was surprisingly soft against her skin.

Clarice circled around to the front, looking her up and down with an approving nod. "You were certainly blessed with a beastwoman’s figure," Clarice praised. "I can now see how you have managed to catch the attention of even the Crown Prince."

Blair’s face flushed an even brighter, brilliant shade of crimson. She shot a nervous glance toward the creepy photos plastering Luna’s walls.

"I’m pretty sure he hates me," Blair mumbled awkwardly, intentionally avoiding the menacing gaze of the purple eyes in the posters.

Clarice chuckled softly, guiding Blair over to the vanity stool. She gently pushed Blair down by the shoulders and began running a brush through her dark hair.

Blair stiffened. She held her breath, staring at Clarice’s reflection in the mirror and waiting for the inevitable comment about the silver roots.

"I had no idea humans could start graying this young," Clarice noted, parting the hair with the brush.

Blair blinked. "What?"

"The silver streaks in the roots of your hair," Clarice clarified softly. "I’ve only ever seen elderly humans with it."

A quiet sigh of relief escaped Blair’s lips. Graying. Clarice just thought it was premature gray hair.

"Oh, yes," Blair jumped on the excuse immediately. She quickly gave a biological explanation of how extreme stress could deplete melanin in hair follicles for young people. "It’s not easy for me at the academy," she confessed softly.

Clarice gave her a sympathetic smile, setting the brush down and picking up a makeup palette. "I can imagine how difficult it must be, being a genius human with a body like that in a school full of egotistical, horny beasts."

Blair’s face went red again as Clarice lightly applied some blush and mascara. Once the elegant, messy bun was pinned to the top of Blair’s head, Clarice got for her a pair of plush, fluffy white sandals.

"Walking should be much more comfortable in these," Clarice noted, setting them by Blair’s feet.

She was right. The moment Blair slipped her feet into the sandals and stood up, the thick cushioning took a massive amount of pressure off her sprained ankle. She didn’t feel nearly as much pain when she put her weight down.

Blair stood beside Clarice in front of the full-length mirror, taking in her own reflection. She looked very different.

"Will your daughter be fine with me wearing her things?" Blair asked nervously, smoothing her hands down the front of the wool dress.

"Do not worry about it," Clarice smiled brightly, adjusting a loose strand of Blair’s hair. "You are family now, and family must share."

Blair turned her head to look at the older woman. "I really don’t want to sound rude, because I am very grateful... but why are you so nice to me?"

Clarice’s smile softened into something really warm. "Because you are one of my son’s mates. It is my duty to care for you."

Blair furrowed her brows in confusion. "Daemus has more than one mates?"

Clarice nodded, her smile never wavering. "Yes. You are his breeder mate. And he has a true mate, Kyana."

Blair stared at her. Kyana? She had never heard that name before. She had never heard of wolves having more than one mate. Are these people just making things up as they go along? she wondered wildly.

"You will meet Kyana soon," Clarice continued cheerfully, turning away to tidy up the vanity. "Kyana and her parents will be joining us for dinner tonight."

Blair gulped. A dinner with wolves?

She looked back at her reflection in the mirror, taking in the soft, puffy white wool of the dress Clarice had specifically chosen for her. It struck her suddenly. She was an actual sheep in sheep’s clothing, walking blindly into a den of wolves. Was that an intentional metaphor?

"I actually have a favor to ask you, Blair," Clarice sighed, her cheerful demeanor dropping into the worried tone of a stressed mother. "Daemus is being difficult. He is refusing his true mate. I need your help to convince him."

Blair’s mind spun. Clarice had specifically said true mate, not fated mate. What was the difference? If fated mates were destined by the Moon Goddess and couldn’t be refused, did that mean a true mate was just chosen based on compatibility? Did Daemus not have a fated mate? She had read that a wolf could only have one fated mate in their entire lifetime. So if his fated mate died...

Overcome with guilt for deceiving such a nice, welcoming woman with a fake mate contract, Blair nodded her head.

"I will try to help," Blair promised quietly. She honestly wasn’t sure what she could actually do, since she couldn’t just tell Daemus what to do with his life, but it was the least she could do to repay Clarice’s kindness.

Clarice smiled brightly, clapping her hands together. "Okay, wonderful! Just follow my lead."

Before they left the bedroom, Clarice suddenly paused, as if remembering something important. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a tiny, glass perfume bottle.

She stepped close to Blair and sprayed a cold mist onto the side of Blair’s neck.

Blair furrowed her brows, sniffing the air. She couldn’t smell anything at all.

"Moisturizer," Clarice explained simply, slipping the bottle back into her pocket and offering Blair her arm.

"Okay," Blair mumbled, taking Clarice’s arm to help support her limp.

As they walked out together, Blair’s mind churned with confusion. Why would someone want to moisturize their neck?