Chapter 33: Her Pain…My Joy…

*Yasmeen*
I whirl at the sound of someone sniffling, probably weeping. The witch rushes past me and I can see from her wet cheeks that she is crying. I can’t help but smile, despite my head, which feels like an army of ants is marching up and down my scalp. 
My day has been going quite miserably considering how Alpha Kyle seems to be avoiding me and ignoring my advances. What the hell does he want? I am the type of woman men crave, lust for, think of when they pleasure themselves, and more. 
I raise a hand to my head and try my best to scratch at the itchiness caused by the stupid wig I am wearing. I can feel the headgear shift clumsily as I attempt to scrape aggressively underneath its lace surface. Damn it! How do other women manage to wear these things on their heads for hours on end and still look graceful? This thing feels like a hair hat that was made with remnants of lice. 
Trying to distract myself from the discomfort, I walk down the corridor toward where the witch came from. As I reach the library door, I can see a dark shadow standing on the far side of the room. 
Casting a guarded glance at Alpha Kyle, who has his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze firmly fixated on the empty fireplace in the wall, I move closer. I manage to straighten my wig and smooth it down. Reaching my hands underneath my breasts, I push them up and pray they don’t spill out of the top that already looks and feels three times smaller than my normal size. 
I wonder if maybe I should have opted for a bigger size, until I realize I have seen all those women on human televisions wearing such clothes and men practically drooling over them. The shorts I have on are cutting into my butt crack, but I have to keep reminding myself that beauty is pain. 
“Hey,” I say in my most alluring voice I can muster. 
Alpha Kyle turns and gawks at me with a blank stare in his eyes. What the heck? Can’t he see how good I look? I am exposing a whole lot of flesh, more than our local butcher, and that unimpressed glance is all he can offer me? 
“Yasmeen,” he responds in a gruff voice. 
A scowl forms on his handsome features as he looks at me. What is his problem? Does he not like my little pink top that exposes my belly and shows off quite the cleavage? Or does he not like my jean bum shorts with their little ornate butterfly embroidery? I would have wanted one with a wolf, or a dog…but the only ones the shop I went to had were ones with flowers or the ones with butterflies. The design details are of no importance; all I want is for him to see what he is missing under the material. 
“I saw the witch running to her room in tears, do I take it there is trouble in paradise…or is it woe in hell?” I ask, as I make a point of trying out the sexy wink I had been practicing in the mirror all afternoon. 
I swing my head just to get the hair moving. The lady in that movie about the Playboy bunnies said flicking one’s hair is considered sexy. As I do, the wig falls. I hurry and pick it up, praying to the Moon Goddess that Alpha Kyle didn’t see that. When I stand back up with the wig back on my head, he is still staring blankly at me. 
“Was she crying?” he asks. 
What? Is that genuine worry I hear in his voice? I am right here in all my glory and all he can think about is that pathetic witch. I even dolled up myself with a bunch of makeup and contouring nonsense. I nearly stabbed my eyeball out with that damned mascara brush just to look good for him and he hasn’t even given me one compliment.
“Yeah. She was definitely ugly crying. She had mucus and nasty stuff running down her ghostly pale face and everything. Are you sure you want HER to be the mother of your children? I am sure you wouldn’t want ugly pups,” I respond as I move closer to him. 
I see a pen on his desk, and I see an opportunity. I make a bee-line toward the table, pick up the pen, and purposefully drop it. 
“Ooops,” I giggle. 
I turn, giving him my back, and bend down to pick it up. I hope he can see exactly what I aim for him to perceive: my half-exposed buttocks. Again, I feel the wig slipping, and rush to catch it before it falls off. I must get glue or something to keep this damn thing in place. When I stand up, he isn’t even looking at me. 
Alpha Kyle stands firm, staring emptily again at the empty fireplace, a worried look on his face. What now? What spell had that witch put on my man? 
“The pen…it accidentally fell…and I…,” I pause, realizing he isn’t paying attention to me. “What is wrong with you? You look like you were sucking on a fermented lime.” 
“My brother is here. I know I should be happy and slaughter a fat calf for the returned prodigal son, but I don’t need the distraction right now. He always chooses the worst times to make an appearance,” Alpha Kyle says and tsks loudly.