Page 90 of Pack Rivals, Part One

She pinches my bicep. Sparks flitter across my skin. "You're the bad boy of the pack, aren't you?"

I wouldn't exactly say any of us are good. But I'll let her believe what she likes.

I crack open one eye. "I don't always play fair," I confess.

The two shop assistants sweep back the curtain and emerge carrying a dress between them.

It's pastel blue. Not black.

It's also not silky. Or slinky. The skirt is all puffy and the top half has sparkly shit pinned all over it.

But if she likes it …

She walks closer, reaching out to stroke her hand down the material. I examine her face. I think she'll be all gooey-eyed the way girls go over dresses like these. Instead, my little bird looks like someone snapped her heart in two.

What the fuck?

I growl.

Bea, shop assistant number one and shop assistant number two turn to look at me.

"What's wrong with it?" I grind out through my teeth. "Are they fucking with you, little one?"

"Oh, no," she snatches her hand away and shakes her head. "It reminds me of another dress, that's all." Her shoulders rise and fall in a long sigh.

"We don't want it," I tell the assistants.

"It's a limited edition, Valentino," the assistant gasps, like we've committed a sin.

"Don't care. It reminds her of another dress. It's making her sad. Take it away, before I rip the thing to shreds."

The second assistant bundles it into his arm and sprints behind the curtain.

Reckon he's well aware of my reputation. Knows I don't make empty threats.

"Let's start again, shall we?" I say, taking my little bird's hand in mine. "Midnight blue and slinky. This girl is stunning. She doesn't need all those fancy crystals and shit."

The first assistant is starting to sweat. But he taps his fingers against his mouth and then disappears out the back.

He emerges with dark silk draped over his arm that flows like water.

"It's vintage. From the '90s. It belongs to the owner. She collects pieces like these but I'm sure I could–"

"Let her try it on. We'll work out the rest later." I cup Bea's chin in my hand and turn her face to mine. "You like this one?" I ask gently.

"I don't know. It's revealing."

"You don't like revealing?"

"Maybe." I can see all the wheels in her head spinning.

"Tell me what you're thinking."

Her eyes lock with mine. She chews her lip.

"It's okay," I whisper.

"It wouldn't look … slutty?" she asks.

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