Page 44 of The Unwanted Mate of the Lycan Kings
“Your Majesty.”She bows low, and I look at Regan, who looks at her, annoyed.
“Well, don’t just stand there, help her!I have places to be.”She quickly rushes over and asks what I’m looking for, but I have no idea, then she asks what size I am, and I just stare at her.
“I don’t know.I used to make my own clothes.”She purses her lips and tugs on my clothes.She then moves to the racks and pulls some dresses down, holding them up, and I shake my head, seeing theyare short-sleeved.After an hour, I realize they have only airy, flowy dresses made for the hotter months.
“Just pick something!”Regan snarls at me.The woman glances at him before dropping her head.
“Do you have anything with long sleeves?”I ask her.
“But it’s—” I hold up my hand, cutting her off.
“I know, the days are long and hot and the nights freezing,” I sigh.
“You would be more comfortable in—” I shake my head as she holds up a floral dress resembling a daisy explosion.
“I have scars I like to keep covered,” I tell her, not knowing what else to say without saying I’m a witch trying to hide runes!
Yet saying that aloud seems to have piqued Regan’s interest as he looks up from his phone.His eyes flicker, and he looks me over for these scars like he can see through the blouse.
“I’m afraid my store might not be what you are after.Most of my stuff is for spring.”She chews her lip.I nod, about to thank her for wasting her time.
“Maybe try Kelly’s four stores down.She never throws stock out,” she tells me.
“Thank you,” I tell her, and she smiles before her eyes move to Regan sitting behind me.
Chapter 22
She drops her gaze when he grips my wrist and tugs me out ofthe door.He leads me back into the busy street and down a few stores, stopping at a building with dark windows and a beaded entrance.I glance up at the sign moments before Regan pulls me through the beads and opens a glass door.A bell chimes our arrival, and a woman wanders out from behind the counter.She glances between Regan and me, yet the moment our eyes meet, I know there is something more to this woman.Her energy radiates power.
“My King, what brings you here?”she asks, yet her eyes remain on me, and her lips tug in the corners.Looking around, I see she has pants!
“This one needs clothing,” Regan tells her, nodding in my direction.
The woman nods and purses her lips.“Size?”I almost groan, having not paid attention in the last store, so I am shocked when Regan gives her my measurements.
She hums and nods.“Well, we have this section, which should be mostly your size.What are—”
“Something with long sleeves,” Regan says, as he runs his fingers over the racks.The woman nods and grabs some stuff, holding it up, but everything is...floral.What is it with people wanting to look like a flower around here?
I am about to shake my head but freeze as Regan plucks a few things off the rack that are free of embellishment and busy prints.The clothing he chooses looks more like what I would make myself.
“Try these on, and leave whatever that crap Shelley has you wearing here so she can burn it,” Regan orders, thrusting a dress into my arms.
The woman motions toward a curtain, and I pull it back to find it is some sort of booth with a mirror taller than me.Slipping inside, I hang the new clothes up and get undressed.Folding Shelley’s clothes into a neat pile, I can’t help but wonder why I can’t give them back to her.Why must I throw them out?
Shaking my head, I pull the black dress on.It flows to the floor, hugging my hips, and the neckline plunges rather low in the front.Seeing my breasts on display in the mirror, I tug and twist the open front, trying to tuck them in and pinch the top closed, but the style of the dress doesn’t allow it.
Despite having long sleeves, it fits like a second skin, and the stretchy material hugging my curves makes me feel more exposed than when I wore Shelley’s short tops.
Yet the longer I stare at it, the prettier it looks, especially when I see the straps on the back hanging down.I hold them up, wondering why I have tails.Walking out of the dressing room, I am about to ask the woman what to do with them when I find Regan sitting on a bench holding a heap of clothes across his lap with his phone in one hand.
“Does it fit?”he demands, looking up as I am stupidly holding out the bits of fabric that make me feel like a bat.His eyes roam over me and flicker black.He suddenly stands, and as the woman rushes over to help me, Regan steps in her path, grabbing the pieces of lacy fabric from my hands.
He begins crisscrossing them over my waist and hips before spinning me around and tying them at the back.
Great!How am I supposed to tie that by myself?Regan then spins me around to face him.Looking down at my feet, he clicks his tongue, then wanders off to grab a pair of heels.
“I’m not wearing those.”I shake my head, and he presses his lips in a line before finding these strappy sandals and another pair ofsilky flats.He nudges me to sit in the chair he was in before he lifts my skirt.As his hand skims up my bare leg, I nearly slap his face, but he catches my wrist before it connects with his face.
