This Dark Wolf (Soul Bitten Shifter #1) - Everly Frost Page 0,92

don’t care if Tessa Dean doesn’t have a real wolf. She’s strong. And fuck knows we need all the strength we can get.”

I bite my lip and back away from the door, sliding the little girl to the floor at the same time. She clings to my hair and I discover that she’s chewing on it. Attempting to extricate myself and finally succeeding, I push the damp strands behind my ear and straighten, only to find myself staring at a twenty-something female with dark brown hair the same color as the little girl’s.

She must be Jemimah.

“I didn’t know you were there,” she says, her eyes wide. “I didn’t sense you.”

I shrug. “One of my strengths.” I step away from her, not wanting to get caught up in any conflict, especially when the sour woman speaks up behind her.

“She’s not even a real wolf at our door.” The sour woman snarls.

I don’t bother glancing back to see what she looks like. Ignoring them, I proceed to the seventh door on the right like Iyana instructed me, welcoming the darkness inside the apartment that tells me Iyana is sleeping, fighting the darkness creeping back into my heart.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Something intimidating, huh?” Iyana asks, pulling yet another flannel shirt out of my duffel bag.

We’ve eaten and showered. It’s nearly time to go to the pack meeting, and now Iyana is attempting to find me something to wear. She scrunches the shirt in her hands. “Your wardrobe needs serious help, Tessa.”

I give a nonchalant shrug. “I like to be comfortable.”

“You don’t like showing off your figure.” Iyana gives me a pointed stare, daring me to contradict her. She’s already dressed in her usual tight black pants and tight low-cut shirt, her black hair piled on top of her head and red lipstick making her eyes appear bright.

I pick at my fingernails while I perch at the end of the couch. “I’m still a target,” I say. “Nothing will change that. Curves make things worse.”

Iyana slips onto the couch next to me, wrapping her arm around me. “I get it.”

She rests her chin on my shoulder and raises her eyes to mine. “But maybe it’s time for you to look like the badass that you are.”

I chew my lip. “Do you have something I can borrow?”

She grins. “I might. Come with me.”

Half an hour later, I hardly recognize myself. I’m wearing a strapless leather bodice that hugs my ribs and pushes up my breasts. It’s cut down the middle to my sternum, revealing the inner curves of my breasts while a belt sits around my waist, making my waist look smaller than it is. I’m wearing a tight leather skirt beneath the bodice that extends down to my mid-thigh and has a serious slit up the left leg. My usual boots look a whole lot sexier combined with this outfit.

“Holy hell, you’re a double D cup,” Iyana announces, grinning at me like she’s going to burst. “Here, you need this.”

She hands me a thigh holster for a small dagger and helps me tie the weapon around my left thigh, where it will be visible.

“How do you feel?” she asks.

I test my movements. The bodice is incredibly supportive and the skirt allows me to move in every way that I might need during a fight. “It feels good.”

“Then you’re wearing it out on patrol tonight,” she says with a wink.

Danika rushes into the apartment just then, glowing, her hair windswept. “Damn, it feels good to fly again. But I know! I’m late!”

Iyana gives her the eye. “And you need to shower.”

Danika hurries past. “I’ll only be a minute.” She misses a step, breaking into a smile. “You look good, Tessa.”

True to her word, Danika emerges a few minutes later, dressed in similarly intimidating black jeans—distressed at the knees—and a black tank top that shows off her wing tattoo, scar and all. She scrapes her hair back into a tight ponytail and holsters several pistols in a belt around her hips. Then she grabs a duffel bag and stuffs some spare clothing in it, along with a rifle. “We can carry our weapons in here while we walk through the streets,” she says.

“Are we ready?” Iyana asks.

“Ready.” I take a deep breath, sensing the shifters milling outside in the hall waiting for the elevator.

We file from the room into the corridor.

It falls silent.

A woman with pinched lips glares at me from the side, holding the hand of a boy who looks about five years old. She must be