Chapter 23
Snowed In with a Bigfoot, a Yeti, & a Werewolf
by Honey Cummings
LeAnne crossed her arms fuming. Tenzin's eyes were on Wilma who marveled over the ease of rage and how fearless the woman before her was against the Ice King. When her gaze shifted to her, Wilma stiffened and hugged the clothes tight. The way she scanned her taking stock of the sweats until she locked in on her bare feet. Wilma curled her toes, praying she could hide them in the excess pant leg fabric somehow. LeAnne's eyes grew as extreme as her rage as she turned back to Tenzin, poking him in the chest.
“What the fuck did you do!” she demanded, swinging an arm back to Wilma. “Where the hell are her shoes?”
Tenzin furrowed his brow. “I didn't steal them from her, LeAnne.” He snorted. “In fact, Lucan is the reason why she has nothing left to wear. He was carrying her luggage.”
LeAnne clasped her hands together and spoke sternly. “And you're the only damn idiot who would put a handyman who is also a feral werewolf in charge of a woman's personables.” The eyeball roll he received from her made him pinch his nose as she turned back to Wilma. “I am so sorry, miss?”
“Wilma. Um, Wilma Hart.” She offered weakly.
“Even her last name is adorable. Ms. Hart, please don't spare this dumbass yeti a single penny,” she demanded, grabbing Wilma by the shoulders and forcibly leading her into a fitting room. “Try it all on and be sure to pick a gown for tonight while you’re at it.”
“A gown?” She spun back but LeAnne had closed the door on her. “Why?” she squeaked.
“You can't be serious.” Tenzin sounded frustrated as Wilma shook her head, laying the items on the cushioned bench. “Didn't you just tell me Mr. Morozov was expecting me tonight? I don’t think a newly appointed rani is ready to face the yeti equivalent of the mafia, LeAnne.”
His fuming assistant made some nefarious sounds before laughing sarcastically followed by, “Well, you princess-carried her through the damn lobby and someone got word to the Morozovs. Now, he's extended his invite out to every damn king within reach.”
Wilma paused, one leg in a pair of jeans as she stood in the pool of sweats. The silence was heavy and agonizing as she slowly pulled on the jeans, buttoning them. She strained, listening. Tenzin’s mark tingled on her forehead. Glancing in the mirror, it glowed and sparkled. Her heart fluttered. Through it, she could tell he was stressed and upset.
“Which kings?” His tone darkened.
LeAnne’s voice matched. “Why does it matter?”
“Did you see her neck?” Tenzin pressed.
“Which alphahole did that to her?” LeAnne sounded like she would hunt them down to defend her honor.
“Lucan,” answered Tenzin.
“No fucking way.” LeAnne scoffed, the disbelief apparent in her next few words. “Are you telling me he’s the Lost Alpha?”
Another long pause as Wilma pulled the shirt on and looked to the mirror. “Fuck,” she muttered at her headlights on full blast like some smutty model on the runway.
“You ok?” Tenzin was against the door.
“Well, yes and no.” Wilma opened the fitting room door. “You wouldn’t happen to sell bras here too?”
Tenzin gave her a toothy grin. “I see no problems with it.”
“I look like I’m smuggling grapes in my shirt, Tenzin,” whined Wilma.
LeAnne stifled a laugh. “How about this,” she began to offer, “I will send gowns to the room upstairs, and,” her eyes bounced across Wilma, “36D bra?”
“38D.” Wilma rubbed her forehead where the snowflake was, giving Tenzin a worried look.
“I’ll be fine.” He pulled her hand off and kissed the mark. “Though I like you worrying about me like this. I’ll be upstairs later and we can coordinate from there, ok?” He leaned over and looked at the pile of clothes on the bench. “For now, make good use of that sweater you took a shine to.”
Wilma’s cheeks blushed. The idea he had noticed made her attraction swell. His nostrils flared. In reply, she could smell peaches and it was no question they were unable to hide that wave of raw desire. Her body burned at its core and she rushed back into the fitting room, door slamming.
“I would say get a room, but you already have one,” drawled LeAnne. “Are you coming so we can review what happened while you were away and you can explain why you came back in full puppy love mode.”
“I am not in puppy love mode,” snapped Tenzin offended.
Wilma stifled a laugh now.
“She thinks you are too,” LeAnne added. “Do I even want to know why you took Lucan’s mate?”
Wilma stiffened.
“I marked her first,” he corrected.
“Oh, shit.” LeAnne whistled. “We have a lot to talk about, because you can’t possibly be the same tightass corpo snob that left here to see who broke into his cabin.”
“Call Boone,” he drawled.
“Boone?” quipped LeAnne. “As in the better-not-mention-thou-name-Boone?” There was a long pause. “Oh, we are talking about that Boone. Did you hit your fucking head at the grotto?”
“It’s complicated,” he drawled again.
“You’re damn right it's complicated.”
Wilma could hear beeps and could only assume LeAnne was making the call.
Pulling the sweater on, Wilma checked herself in the mirror again. The headlights hidden well, she sighed in relief. Spinning back, she grabbed the beanie and pulled it on. Then tugged it further down on her forehead to hide the snowflake. Some part of her was guilty for doing so, the stabbing pain in her heart enough to confirm it was wrong. Then she recalled the lobby moments before. Shaking her head, Wilma needed to be able to make it back through said lobby and she would have to endure the guilt. Opening the fitting room, she did a ta-da motion.
“Better?” she offered.
Tenzin scoffed. “If you say so.”
As if they could sense it, both Tenzin and Wilma looked to the door a minute before Boone walked through it. He paused and blinked. It was clear he had taken a shower, and wore something a little cleaner with a white undershirt, flannel overshirt, jeans, and boots. Weaving through the racks he couldn’t take his eyes off Wilma. She smiled. Something about the way he looked at her was much gentler than the hungry stare Lucan gave her, or the deep stare of Tenzin.
“Boone.” LeAnne blinked, hanging up her phone. “I see you are already here.” LeAnne squinted her eyes at Tenzin. “So, shall we go now, boss?”
Sighing, Tenzin grabbed a scarf off a rack and shoved it into Boone. “Keep the marks covered. Morozov is demanding a meeting of the kings.”
“Fuck,” Boone scratched his jaw. “To announce the queen and host for bragging rights, I bet.”
“It includes the Roodblud Crown.” Tenzin and LeAnne were out the door.
Wilma waited for Boone to look her way again. “And that means?”
“There can’t be two alpha kings.” Boone walked closer and tenderly wrapped the scarf over her. “There, no more shiny marks.”
“Thank you,” Wilma’s face heated.
“For the scarf?” Boone arched his brow.
“For your mark being some place more … discreet.” Wilma saw the coy expression forming on his face slowly and amused. “It seems you put more thought into it than I realized.”
“I did.” He cooed and that happy grunt escaped him. “You like tea?”
“Yes.” Wilma nodded, taking his hand. “I do. With honey if we’re talking a black tea or oolong.”
“Oh, so we do know our teas.” He pulled her along, slow and steady.
Wilma hesitated at the door, wondering if she should dare try traversing the lobby again. Boone’s hand squeezed hers. He opened the door slowly. And like someone coaxing a lamb, he pulled her over the threshold. This time no eyes stared in their direction. The commotion Tenzin created seemed nowhere to be found. Surely, those who had seen it were chasing down tabloids.
Did cryptids and this world have their own gossip magazines?
“How is this going to work?” Wilma asked the question but hadn’t expected Boone to answer.
“What to work?” He cast a glance at her as they made their way through the lobby, still unnoticed.
“This relationship. With all of you,” Wilma pressed.
Boone chuckled. “I suppose we can take turns letting you watch us–”
“No, not that!” Wilma blurted before hissing, “I meant a relationship. What is this that I have?”
“Ladybug, you’re going to have to be a little more clear on what it is you’re picturing in that pretty little head of yours.” He giggled, loving the blush on her face.
“Aren’t I your wife? Like, for all three of you,” she demanded.
Boone scratched his beard in thought. “I see, in human society this would be a marriage.”
“But in this case, three,” she added.
“In our society, we are in a single marriage,” Boone offered.
Wilma’s brow furrowed as this fact settled and one thing came to mind. “Wait. Wait.” She tugged him closer, whispering, “As in you’re Tenzin’s husband?”
“And Tenzin and Lucan are your husband as I am to you.” Boone smirked. “And though he’ll never utter this, Tenzin is my husband and so is Lucan as you are my wife, my queen, our queen.”
“This is so fucking weird.” Wilma held her head as they stepped through the open doors of a cafe. “Wait. Wait.” They slid into chairs at an empty table where Wilma tapped her finger. “Do we have to have a wedding with all of us?”
Boone leaned onto the table, holding her hand and looked her dead in the eyes. “I hate to tell you, but that’s what we did on that stump.”
Wilma nodded. “So that foursome in the snow where you all railed the shit out of me on some old big ancient stump was our wedding?”
Boone nodded. “If we are comparing apples to apples.”
“No paperwork needed?” Wilma’s mind was spiraling.
“No, it was recorded though, if that’s what you’re asking,” offered Boone waving over a barista. “Skye made sure it was certified for us when we left.”
“The goat lady?” Wilma shook her head, her mind crashing into itself. “What do you mean by certified? How? By a judge? One of your B.O.O.T. pals?”
“Televised.” The word left Boone’s cupid bow lips and echoed for infinity inside Wilma’s head.
A waiter came with a teapot of hot water and a tray of teas complete with teabags ready for the loose tea selection. Wilma was on autopilot, still digesting the word he had dropped with such ease it was disarming and alarming all at once. She mindlessly scooped the orange blossom oolong into a tea bag, folded it and added it to her cup. Her brow furrowed, deeper in thought as it all kept coming back to one thought, one she had had while there. The steam rose between them as she poured the hot water into her mug. She grabbed the honey bottle, squeezing it ever tighter until she looked to Boone and declared where she had landed on his answer.
“Like a football game?” she asked, arching a brow.
“On replay,” he added with a wince.
“Replay.” She slammed the honey bottle down on the table making the cups, spoons, and pot clatter. “What do you mean by on replay?”
“Like played on repeat for most of the year considering it was the crowning and union of the Queen of Three.” It pained Boone to confess this.
Wilma lowered her voice. “But that was us. Having a four way outside.”
“Yes. That. On repeat like the biggest football game of the year,” he reassured.
Wilma’s chest tightened. Then she felt faint. The world went black. Only the recognizable warmth of Boone’s arms made it through the darkness before her mind lingered on one more thought.
I am the fucking porno of the year. What the fuck!
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