Page 66 of Lycan Prey
“I think it’s closed?” I tell her as she climbs out of the car. I climb out after her and peer at the doors and around the empty parking lot.
“Nope, my husband and your future one are just overprotective and called ahead, shutting the place down to the public. We have the place to ourselves!” she chirps excitedly.
As we wander through the place, every store is open, and there’s not a single shopper, making me wonder how much it costs to shut down an entire mall. The oddity of it all does not dim Maribel’s excitement as we pick out linens and sample cake flavors; a part of me can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness. This is everything I imagined doing with my own mother, and though Maribel’s enthusiasm is infectious, it underscores what I’m missing and something I will never experience.
Despite these bittersweet emotions, Maribel’s warmth and excitement make the day more enjoyable than I expected. She has a way of making everything seem special, and her laughter is contagious as we dart from one shop to another with Soren’s credit card while Damian and her own guard follow closely.
Halfway through our shopping spree, Maribel claps her hands together with a conspiratorial grin. “I think it’s time for a little pampering,” she announces, steering me toward a quaint-looking beauty parlor nestled between a florist and a bridal shop.
As we enter, the scent of lavender and jasmine fill the air, a soothing welcome. My sense of relief is short-lived when Maribel leans in and whispers, “We’ll take care of that fur issue.” My faceheats up with embarrassment, and I’m about to protest when she ushers me toward the back of the parlor.
“Wait, I don’t think this is really necessary.” I blurt while Damian snickers. I cut him a glare.
The beautician, a cheerful woman with bright pink nails and an even brighter smile, ushers me toward the door of a room out the back. I glance desperately toward the front, contemplating a swift escape, but Maribel has already settled comfortably in the waiting area with a magazine.
As she shuts the door, she tells me to sit while she prepares the wax.
“Queen Maribel said you have an unusual hair situation, that werewolves have some strange anomaly us Lycans don’t?” she asks, perplexed. Great, just what I need. Thanks, Soren!
“No, I shaved already,” I tell her lifting my pant leg, she looks confused when she glances at my legs.
“Oh, you’re already quite smooth, dear. No need for a leg wax, then.”
“But since the session is already paid for, we can move on to the Brazilian instead.”
My heart drops. “Brazilian?” I echo, my voice rising in panic.
“Yes, dear. Queen Maribel insisted you should experience the full package,” the beautician explains as if a Brazilian wax is a leisurely stroll in the park. “It’s all paid for, dear! Just relax and enjoy,” she calls out, giving me a thumbs up.
Reluctantly, I follow the beautician into the designated bed behind a screen, a small, overly bright space that suddenly feels more like an interrogation room. As I lie down on the waxing table, my mind races with apprehensions about the impending pain and the sheer awkwardness of the situation.
The beautician pats my shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Think of it as… preparation for the wedding night!”
I muster a weak smile, but internally, I’m screaming. As she prepares the wax, I close my eyes, trying to think of anything but what she is about to do. She turns back to me and frowns. “You gotta take your pants off, silly!” she chuckles, and I grit my teeth, forcing a pained smile.
I slip off the table and shimmy my pants down before stopping at my underwear. Why didn’t I go bald eagle? Instead, I’m going to be spread eagle on her damn table. I step out of my underwear and slip onto the table. I twiddle my thumbs as she wanders over and assesses me.
She purses her lips. “I was expecting more, to be honest, the way she described. I was expecting a monkey to come in here, so this is just a typical session.” I grimace, just wanting to get this over with.
I flinch as she spreads the wax on my skin and then places the fabric strip, smoothing it down. She chatters away happily as if she is not about to violate my lady bits.
I nod and cringe before I nearly choke on air as she rips the strip off with blinding speed. My eyes bulge, and I know she must have pulled skin off. I glance down, finding the skin raw and angry, however my vulva is still attached, thankfully.
The beautician chuckles and says, “Woo, that was a good one!” Her enthusiasm feels almost sadistic as she prepares another dollop of wax. “Clean as a whistle,” she hums, spreading the wax liberally, tugging my thighs further apart like she’s opening the gates to some sort of torturous amusement park.
“Wait! Where is that one going?” I gasp, a new wave of panic setting in as I feel the wax smear in a dangerously low region. I slap my hand over my eyes, unable to watch the horror unfold.
“Anyone would think this is your first time,” the beautician teases, clearly enjoying this far too much.
I groan from behind my hand barricade.I’m going to kill him. Soren will die by my hands.
Rip! I shriek as the strip comes off, my hands gripping the table like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded in a world that has clearly lost its sanity. How is this legal!
Oh, I can’t look. I’m pretty sure I’m one lip short now.
Yep, that’s me—Franny with her One-Lipped Fanny.I’m half-convinced the beautician’s keeping trophies.Pretty sure she’s made off with more than hair this time. I must be half the woman I used to be.
As the beautician preps for another round, my thoughts race.At least now I understand how those girls manage to fit into those microscopic bikinis—they’ve had their flaps waxed off! It’s the only explanation.
