Page 91 of Pack Rivals, Part One

Slutty? I frown. "Did someone call you that?" I ask. "In the past?"

She chews that lip, then nods.

Yeah, I can see it now. This bird's been locked up in a cage. Bet she loves dresses like this. Bet there was a time she wore them. Then someone came along and stole that joy away.

Bet I can guess who.

Maybe I'll do my own digging.

I turn to the assistant. "Go hang it in the changing room. We'll be there in a minute." Then I give Bea my attention. "I had someone," I tell her, "used to call me names too. Long time ago now. Sometimes I hear their voice in my head. But people like that, they're all hollow inside, all cold and empty. They know it. They feel it. And they put people like you down – all beautiful sunshine and golden light – to make themselves feel better." I stroke her cheek as she listens to me intently. "You could never look," my mouth curls in disgust, "slutty, Bea. And that word? It's fucked up. Don't use it again. Okay?"

"Okay," she murmurs, body drifting towards mine. It would be so easy to kiss her now. So damn easy. But it's not what she needs.

"Come on." I lead her to the changing room. "Give it a try. If it's no good, we'll keep trying."

She smiles at me and ducks behind the curtain.

I pace, hearing the ruffle of material as she strips out of her clothes.

Hell, it's hard to stay on the other side of the curtain.

I've fucked plenty of girls in changing rooms, up against the wall, or the mirror, or bent over the chair.

I could do the same to Bea. I know she'd cave like a tower made of sand.

But I can't do that. Not to her. Not to the pack.

So I pace, fiddling with the knife in my pocket.

Finally, the curtain parts and she steps out.

My heart stops.

It fucking stops. One minute it's beating like a drum in a rock band.

Next, silent.

The woman is breathtaking. Sex and beauty and all the things that are good wrapped up into one goddamn woman.

I'm probably drooling, all down my front. I'm certainly growling like a beast.

Can't fucking help it.

I swallow down the noise. Don't want to scare the woman.

"What do you think?" Her dress, her choice.

She smoothes her palms over the silk clinging around her hips. The action has my heart jumpstarting and my brain short wiring.

"I … I like it. It's beautiful and classy."

"You look a million dollars," the first shop assistant says, the second coming to stand next to him and nodding enthusiastically.

She smiles, her cheeks flushed. She loves it, I can tell.

"She looks priceless," I correct.

"Better than the model who wore it originally," the second assistant says.

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