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Chapter Eleven

Light knocking came from the front door. Laura listened as Jacklyn stirred, then made her way to answer.

She could hear them outside, along with the heavy bags they carried.

Laura resigned to getting up. She glanced down the hall before making her way down it.

“It seems they’re here to doll you up,” Jacklyn spoke without looking in her direction, leveling a glare at the two blonde figures elegantly seated in the living room.

Laura recognized them both.

They were younger when she left, about four years younger than herself, and she had no real interaction with them when she lived here, but she noted they’d made sure to steer clear of her: the Duvant twins.

“Alpha’s orders,” one sneered. They eyed back, expectantly, like Laura and Jacklyn were wasting their time.

“We don’t have all day,” the other snarked.

Laura almost told her what she could do with her day, but faced Jacklyn instead...

“Go get some rest, I’ll be fine by myself,” she reassured the Delta, watching her stifle a yawn.

“Okay. Just yell if you need me.” She watched as the older woman trudged back to her room, the door softly closing behind her.

Laura faced the twins then, moving to their position.

“Let’s get this over with,” she said. None of the parties involved looked particularly excited to be in the others’ company.

She was shooed to the shower as they set up. Laura pruned before removing herself from the jet stream.

She padded in a bathrobe, back to the living room, eyebrows raising at the ridiculous construct as she plopped into the waiting chair.

The twins moved in a frenzy around her.

It didn’t take them long, what with the tugging of her hair and hisses at any small movements. Why were her roots being attacked when the style they selected was a middle-part body wave? And the second twin... Laura didn’t have a makeup habit–her working conditions tended to be in disfavor of the hobby, so she didn’t know if it was normal for her lips to feel ten, sticky, layers thick.

The sound of a zipper drew Laura’s attention to a dress bag. A long black number, of thin material, was hoisted.

It was pretty.

She didn’t want it.

It was the embodiment of non-functional–if she couldn’t run in it, it was pointless.

One of the girls quirked an eyebrow.

Ugh.

She snatched the piece, roughly stepping into the garment as horrified eyes looked on.

Laura made quick work of zipping it, the worker bees swarming to touch up her hair and makeup when another knock sounded.

“Coming!” the one finished with her hair made for the door.

“No the hell you’re not, sweetie.” Jacklyn moved faster, brushing the girl out of her way.

“It better not be another pair of you,” she grumbled, twisting the knob.

Her head lowered.

“No, just us,” a rich baritone replied.

Laura twisted to see Alpha Grayson shrink the room as he entered. A hateful creature followed behind him.

“Alpha.” Three greetings echoed, with Laura belatedly joining as he waited, keeping the others in greeting, heads bowed.

“What a humble home,” the creature beside the Alpha chirped.

“Hm,” was the only response it received from Jacklyn.

“Thank you, ladies. You’ve done a marvelous job.” The twins thanked the Alpha for his praises as they took their leave.

“You’re finally looking better for wear,” he commented. Laura’s face twitched. She didn’t bother with a response.

“Sophia, darling, you should remember Laura now.” He turned, addressing the hell he spawned.

“Ah, I remember.” Her face stretched, an imitation of her father’s practiced smile.

If there was ever a time Laura considered the consequences of murder, it was over this bitch.

If Alpha Grayson was the thorn in her side, Sophia Grayson was the one shoving it deeper.

She stared–at and around Laura.

“Good. You’ll have much to catch up on during the flight.” Alpha Grayson clapped his hands. “The court representatives are ready to leave.”

Laura turned to Jacklyn, finding herself in a bear hug as the woman squeezed.

“I slipped something to Michael and Macy..to make it easier for you to leave,” she whispered. Another time, Laura would’ve laughed. She thanked her instead. It would’ve been harder if Michael decided to act on his rage.

The Alpha-daughter pair turned to leave, looking every bit the image of perfection.

One almost couldn’t imagine their true nature.


Laura bashed her head against the window.

Repeatedly.

Now, if only she could do it outside of her mind.

They weaved through light traffic in a nondescript sedan, in the company of their convoys. The hum of the road was a base vibration to Sophia as she happily yakked, trying to engage the one she believed held a higher rank. Everyone’s ears were bleeding.

They called themselves a convoy, yet only registered a total of one vehicle. Laura growled low, but if anyone heard they didn’t react.

Dressed in all white–the opposite of Laura, her blonde hair was pinned intricately, wispy strands framing her delicate features. She also carried significantly more face weight–in the form of makeup–than Laura.

No more than thirty minutes into their drive, the driver of their convoy twisted his head, revealing cotton stuffing protruding from his ears.

She almost asked if he had more.

Ten excruciating minutes passed before they turned onto a private road, gravel eating the underside of the car. Sophia finally shut up when a private airstrip came into view.

Two jets occupied the sole hangar: one glorified, one not.

“I bet a mutt like you have never laid eyes on a private jet before, huh? Of course not,” Sophia answered the question she directed at Laura.

She rolled her eyes. It would truly be a waste of breath to inform the brat of her occupation since she’d already sucked most of the available air on their trip over.

Car doors closed as the front passengers moved to open the rear doors. Laura stepped out to the sound of propellers, the simpler plane exiting the hangar.

Shit. Be careful,” Sophia instructed, as her luggage pieces were carried toward the waiting jet.

Laura didn’t have any luggage–outside of a handful of outfits Macy parted with for her. She gripped the borrowed duffle bag, heading for the plane.

She breathed, looking around.

Once she stepped on, she’d be on her way to Georgia, and further from her destination–anywhere away from shifters.

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