"That would be because of the Wolves," Dima guessed.
"Are they on the same team?" I asked.
"Nope. From what I understand the feral Wolves hate the Dragons and visa versa."
"Now there's an understatement," Hank said sarcastically.
"Meaning?" Dima asked.
"Meaning we had an unexplainable run in with the feral Wolves and Dragons and it wasn't exactly pleasant," I said.
"You lived through it?"
It was obvious by her tone that Dima was astounded by the news.
"Duh," I said with an eye roll. "Sitting in the car with you… which would lead me to deduce we're alive."
"You're an ass," Dima snapped.
"Occasionally," I agreed. "Tell me another secret."
Dima sat and deliberated what to tell me. I never should have let her eat the damn paper. I was driven by my juvenile need to tell her she'd eaten poop. What if she overlooked something important—or life threatening?
"There were dossiers," she said and then sat quietly.
"Cryptic much?" I huffed. "Who were the dossiers on?"
This was going to be a long car ride if we played the game like this. The only thing I had on her was helping with offing her dad.
"You, me, your grandmother, Hank, Dwayne and two who I assume are your parents."
"Assuming is dangerous…" Why in hell was Angela looking at my parent's dossiers?
"Annie and John McGee?"
I was silent. Those were my parent's names. Annie and John—the beautiful Annie and the handsome John. My dead parents.
Hank took my hand in his and squeezed. My emotions were riotous where my parents were concerned. Ever since I had learned their death had not been an accident it was hard to think about them without getting a feeling of panic. Granny had kept the truth from me and I honestly wished she hadn't.
"Okay," I said softly. "Go back to the feral Wolves being housed and trained by the Dragons. What else do you know about them?"
I needed to move on and get focused on what was going to be in front of me in the very near future.
"Are Annie and John your parents?" Dima asked.
I nodded and leveled her with a stare. She met it and gave me a small sad smile of condolence.
"Feral Wolves?" I reminded her, not wanting her sympathy.
I didn't know what to do with her sympathy because I didn't even know what to do with my own feelings about my parents.
"I don't know much about the Wolves directly," she said in a business-like tone. "I've lived on the fringes of my people for quite some time now so I could stay alive. That's neither here nor there," she said with a sigh I felt deep in my gut. "The Dragons often take over failed projects of other species… for money."
"Keep going," Hank said through clenched teeth.
"I'm guessing the Wolves were an experiment from within your own circles that went wrong," she said with a shrug.
"We did this to our own people?" I hissed. "We prohibited their shift back to human and left them stuck as animals? What kind of horrific experiment is that?"
"Can’t answer," Dima said. "Sounds like it might have been a punishment of sorts. There are about thirty feral wolves under my father's rule."
I mulled the information over and tried to stop myself from shredding the interior of the car. I was furious anyone could be so vile and inhumane. What the hell was wrong with people—my people?
"Were," I corrected her. "There are now twenty-three."
"Oh my God," Dima whispered. "You killed feral Wolves?"
"Um… yes. It was them or us at the time. I'm getting married in a few months and in no mood to die." I turned to Hank and made a momentous decision. "This clusterhump has given me the confidence to tell your mom I'm not wearing her poofy wedding dress."
"Really?" he asked, abject fear clearly written on his gorgeous face.
"Well, um… maybe not," I whispered.
The car was quiet as we all pondered if it was worth it to die over a wedding dress. A large part of me felt it was very worth it.
"Is it really heinous?" Dima asked with a half suppressed grin.
"From what I understand it's huge with a train and poofy sleeves," I said as I bent over in pain thinking about it.
"I'm so sorry," Dima said. "I hurt for you."
"Thank you. I plan to beat the shit out of whoever takes a picture of me in the dress."
"Could you stage a separate set of pictures with just you and Hank in a different dress?" she suggested.
"Like how?" I asked, intrigued.
"It's risky, especially if you want to display it. You'll have to remember to remove the picture any time Hank's mother is going to visit," Dima recommended.
"Sounds dangerous," Hank said with a shudder. "And potentially bloody or life ending."
"He's right," I said dejectedly. "She'll remove body parts if I don't wear the damn thing. It's all Dwayne's fault. He'll be in some fabulous bridesmaid gown while I'll be the billowy, inflated white poofy thing from hell."
"Dwayne's a guy, right?" Dima asked, a little confused.
"Yes. Drag queen," I explained. "He's my man of honor and really wants to wear a dress."