CHAPTER 5

I was terrified to death by the way Mesa gripped my hair. She had my hair angled so that I thought she was going to shave it all off. She stretched it out to its full length while yanking on my scalp, and I cleaned my eyes with my hands while pretending to be asleep.

I ought to have slept.

She continued to pull at it from every direction while saying, "You have so much hair," as she stared at it in astonishment. "How on earth do you even manage to brush this much hair?"

I sigh. I don't brush it very often since, despite everything, I think I'm simply fortunate. It is perfectly straight. It never knots because the silk is bone straight. Well, when it gets this long (it's currently below my ass and almost at my knees), it sometimes knots, but usually not when it's at my waist or just above my hips. I suppose having silky straight hair has its benefits, but it can be difficult to style into any kind of braid or bun.

"Ava, how brief do you want it?" When Mesa asks, I look down at my hair and try to figure out why I'll miss it. I have hair that grows incredibly quickly.

Hair typically grows 6 inches a year on average. My hair grows at a rate of nearly four times that, or around twenty-four inches per year and two inches each month.

My private school had tight rules regarding hair length, and at a certain length, my hair just got in the way of everything. I remember my mother becoming frustrated every six weeks when she had to get me a haircut. The assassins' desired it to be at waist to hip length, but I still feel a little loss every time my hair is either cut or clipped. According to them, it was just long enough to be attractive and short enough to not get in the way. Although I objected, the choice wasn't really mine.

The hair on top of my shoulders was taken between Mesa's fingertips while she grinned seductively.

Mesa smiled and said, "This length should be just fine then," and I squeaked.

You want to have all of my hair taken off? My words were so sluggish because of how sleepy I felt that I nearly screamed at her.

"Not every. I yank my hair out of her grasping hands, "just to shoulder length." I reply, "No," to her.

She begins, "Listen," again grabbing a few of my hair strands in defiance of me. "A picture of you with your brilliant blue eyes and hip-length black hair appears on the top page of every newspaper in your pack. Most certainly, the newspaper has been distributed. Therefore, there is no way in hell that you can resemble the iconic Ava if we are going to do this.

However, I am Ava. I argue while sighing wearily. "Mesa, your long, luscious hair contributes to your seductive appeal to men. How is Storm going to fall for me if you take that away?

Mesa settles down next to me and sighs. "Even the best Assassin makes foolish statements occasionally. Men hunger after beauty and fall in love with personalities. You are aware of that.

She was correct, but I tended to favor lust above love most of the time. Simply put, that technique is much simpler. Love is a very slow process. You have to shape yourself to fit someone else's ideal of you in order to achieve that. "Your hair is gorgeous but if you go into that pack looking exactly like the newspaper print then at some point, someone is bound to recognize you, Ava, and once your cover is blown then that's it," I mull it over for a while as I stare at the clumps of my hair that were gathered like a rug on my thighs. Furthermore, hair grows back, and yours grows quickly," Mesa adds, to my agreement but still disapproval. She again grabs for my hair, the scissors, and the comb.

The sheer volume of hair that piled at my feet as I stared surprised even me in its size. I fingered the strands that accumulated above my shoulders as she cut me bangs since she wouldn't allow me look in the mirror once she was done. I pretended not to notice as more hair dropped.

I'm eager to finish this, seduce this Alpha Storm, take that stone, and then depart on vacation. Just a necessary sacrifice, really.

"Done," said Mesa. She refused to let me see it despite my requests. "No. If you see it and don't like it, you'll probably decide differently, and I'll have to spend hours persuading you. Yes, I can essentially just pick up all the strands on the ground and re-attach them to my head if I don't want that. I scoff and wonder why we didn't simply use a wig. However, I am aware from personal experience that my hair would not have fit in one.

Mesa yells, "Give me your ring," pointing to the assassins' ring on my left second finger.

"Why?" I inquire, bringing my hand up to my heart. I never remove it. Never taking off the mate bond ring is against one of our Assassins' vows. Finding our soul partner cannot ever be at danger.

I gaze at her with anger in my eyes as she continues, "don't worry, Ava, your mate isn't anywhere around us so it's safe," as if she could read my mind. How are you doing?

"I am aware that assassins wear the ring to avoid meeting their partners. All mate bond rings are produced by witches, and your pack uses them frequently, therefore no one ever suspects an assassin when they see the ring, which is how I know this. Give it now. She offers her hand in a gesture.

"How do you know that my mate isn't anywhere near us?" I wanted to ask. I ask her a question while my eyes are closed.

"Gift," she says. "I see things. I was endowed with the capacity to recognize each person's gifted partner.

"So, who is-" I pause before asking the full question and decide I don't want to know. Its better that I remain ignorant. So I shift the subject instead. I asked, "Why do you need my ring?"

I must cast a number of spells on it. Your look will alter after the first spell. Actually, not quite. I cast a wary glance her way, "It'll just change the color of your eyes and hair." The others, too?

The Alpha won't be able to smell the dozens or even hundreds of wolves you've likely mated with thanks to another who will mask your scent.

I give her a snide glare. Yeah, actually being skilled at sex is such a turn off.

"One of the last crucial spells will enable me to appear to you at any time if you ever need me or are just in distress, all you have to do is delicately scratch your ring three times. So to speak, it's a personal link for us."

She beams confidently, as if praising herself for coming up with these ideas that she believes to be somewhat infallible. I object to her plans to alter the way I look. Without her sleek, long black hair, piercing blue eyes, and perfect, radiant complexion, who is Ava? But I realize that she's taking this action to lessen the likelihood that I'll be discovered. This gives me even more cause to despise Alpha Max. He has made sure that everyone now knows how I look!

She stretches out her hands once more, motioning with her fingers for me to hand her the ring. I do so reluctantly.

My finger immediately feels exposed. I haven't taken off that ring since I acquired it six years ago, and I miss having it. I abruptly stop feeling like Ava as I stare at the ring-related dent on my finger. I feel different, at least physically.