Page 18 of Wolf Blood

Bloom gaped at me. "You're kidding."

"I wish." There were no panties in the pile of clothes Rhone had tossed me, so I just pulled the shorts on and eyed them in the mirror.

Definitely not mine.

They looked like short leggings. Tight, athletic spandex. Comfortable, and high-waisted.

They actually fit me, too.

There was a sports bra that I didn't really need, but the t-shirt looked short, so I reluctantly pulled the bra on.

It fit too.

My shirt followed. It was cropped to a little above the point where my shorts hit my waist, putting my body on display in a way I was no longer fully comfortable with.

I stared at myself in the mirror.

I looked so... haunted.

"Did you order the hair dye?" I asked Bloom.

"Yeah." She eyed me. "Are those clothes yours? They fit you."

"I think Rhone bought them for me."

She blinked. "They’re not really your style."

"I'm not really the same person anymore."

The silence that stretched between us was a little painful.

"Maybe pink hair and short leggings will be my new style," I said. "But I'm not growing out my hair. I hate it. Can you get scissors, too?"

"I think they’re called bike shorts."

"Why?"

"I don’t know. Your hair is going to look horrible if we try to cut it ourselves, though."

"The internet can teach us the basics."

"We'll figure it out, unless you want to let a werewolf do it for you. Someone in the tower would probably know how. I think Carmen was a hairdresser at one point."

"I don't trust Rhone not to kill a straight woman for having her hands in my hair at this point." And I didn't trust myself not to attack her, either.

"We've got this." She let out a quiet breath. "I know you're different now, Harper. You don't need to be self-conscious about it. We'll figure out your new style. We'll deal with Rhone's weird possessiveness. We'll even come up with something to do about the fang necklace."

"I like it," I said.

"Are your nightmares about him?"

We both knew she was talking about Velour. Not Rhone.

And that she was aware of my consistent nightmares, even though I'd never technically told her.

Like I said, she was clingy.

Plus, I lived in an observation room.