Chapter Seven

Billie

The past two days have been some of the best of my life. The guys have all made me feel welcome, and everyone's allowed me to hide in the tower until I'm ready to meet more people. There are other girls in this dorm somewhere, and I intend to eventually seek them out.

Meanwhile, Raven showed me his attic studio and made me promise to sit for him on the first day of classes. He says I won't need to more than once, as his photographic visual memory is heightened by the Wolf inside him and he's able to do the rest by memory. As he showed me his beautiful pre-Raphaelite paintings, he flirted with me again and made me feel pretty. And Fleming and I now have a standing lunch date in the courtyard. We became instant friends when we realized how much in common we have–he has a sick mother and no father, too, and was raised to be independent. It's likely he, along with Dom, will become co-Betas, or Tristan’s lieutenants, when the Underground forms an official pack. He flirts with me, too, saying things that make my cheeks flush but never going too far or for too long.

The Phantom always seems to be too busy to really get to know; an enigma like his name suggests. Every once in a while I can hear music coming from a sub basement, mostly organ and digital music, and I'm told that's him. Fleming also told me about the parties Phantom arranges in his underground lair hidden beneath the college, which are both exclusive and legendary.

Tristan…I haven't spoken with him since I arrived, but every so often I sense someone watching me, and it's him. He was at the Gaelic Wolf last night for the entirety of my last shift, and all he did was slowly sip a beer and watch me.

I like the way his eyes feel on me. They make my skin tingle.

I’m eating lunch in the quad at the Rock House with Fleming, when he comes at me with this:

“Listen, darling, they’ll eat you up at Crescent if you don’t get some different clothes. You have to at least look like you have style,” Mister Rude says. “You know I’m a drama major, but you probably don’t know my concentration is costuming. I know how to dress women. Let me help you.”

“I can’t afford clothes. The scholarship is generous, I can afford my dance gear and I have a food and housing stipend. There’s nothing left for anything else.”

“Then you’re going to have to learn to let others do you a favor. C’moooon,” he whines, drawing the word out. “I’ve always wanted to be someone’s werewolf billionaire sugar daddy. Let me?”

I give him an assessing look. He really is into this. “I don’t know, it would have to be minus the sugar…”

“Of course, everything strictly proper, no obligations. I know all the best places to go if you want to look like you have money. I promise I won’t spend too much of my family’s obscene fortune.”

“Well…”

“We own a castle. Like, straight up.”

“Your grandparents wouldn’t care?”

“It’s my allowance. It’s this or spend it on prostitutes.”

“Fine!!! Fine.”

“Perfect! Now all we have to do is figure out your personal style. If you had endless amounts of money for clothing, what would you buy?”

I shrug a shoulder, self-conscious. “I’ve never had the luxury of thinking about this too seriously, but I guess there are some things I like the look of…”

He makes a “go on” motion with his hand.

“Well, I like black. And charcoal gray. And dark red. I like knits, like knit midi skirts and dresses with pencil skirts and plunging v necks or cowl necks. I like pleated skirts, and I like how it looks when girls wear thigh highs with the garter showing, or thigh high socks and dressy velvet shorts. I like velvet in general. Stuff like that. And I’ve always wanted a flowy white lace sundress. And maybe some brown tweed.”

“Girl, you are such a goth. You’ll fit right in. All that is doable on a tiny amount of money. Just let daddy’s charge card take care of it. Let’s go have fun. Ever been to a consignment shop? It’s a fancy word for Goodwill.”

Our first stop, to my embarrassment, is a Victoria’s Secret. 

“I’m not allowed to go in, but get everything you need, including some of those stockings and garters. And a decent strapless bra. Make sure they give you a fitting. A well-fitted bra is priceless. And don’t forget those little chemise silk nightgowns, guys love those.”

“Are you…are you banned from Victoria’s Secret?”

“By Tristan I am,” he says darkly. “Now scoot.”

“Tristan? Does he know about this?”

“Not a word, I promise. But if he found me in there with you, my head would be removed from my body.”

Oh.

Okay, then.

I plow through the lingerie shop, not wanting to keep him waiting, and then we head over to a fancy consignment shop near an outlet mall. “These are your two best friends,” Fleming says. “Let’s do this.”

By the end of the day, Fleming has railroaded me into a whole new wardrobe. What we come out with can only be described as “dark academia meets romantic goth”. Floral sundresses with rose and olive green cardigans, form-fitting black and gray knit dresses with flared skirts, a pile of pleated miniskirts and knit midi pencil skirts, a pleated brown tweed midi skirt with tan and mustard turtleneck sweaters, a gauzy white sundress with Swiss dots and lace, a few velvet and knit tops and velvet babydoll dresses, a black sleeveless corset top, a faux leather knee-length burgundy skirt, a knee-high pair of black riding boots with block heels, a brown pair of lace-up ankle boots with heels, and a pair of kitten-heeled slippers. 

He managed to sneak in some accessories too, so now I can replace my ratty book bag with a black leather messenger bag. There are hoop earrings and dangly pearl earrings and long strings of black beads, thin long scarves, and red head bands, hair scarves, and ribbons, which according to Fleming, should be “my thing” with my black hair.

“Okay, enough!” I tell him after the second outlet store.

“One more thing, sweetie. We need to stop at that Ulta. You need some decent palettes, a little blush, and a couple signature lipsticks. That’s all, I promise.”

So we come out of the makeup store with a brown neutral eye palette and a mauve and pink eye palette, a deep raisin, almost black, lipstick and a dark rose-colored neutral lipstick, some incredibly expensive mascara, black, nude, and red nail polishes, and a blush palette, with a set of makeup brushes.

“I feel like Pretty Woman,” I tell him when we get in the car, overwhelmed but happy.

“Just wait until Dominic gets ahold of you. His sister is a hairdresser. You’re in for a treat.”

“Why are you guys being so…I don’t know, nice to me?” I ask him sincerely.

“We like you, and we take care of our own. We have a lot of spending money. It’s simple as that.” He looks straight at me. “When you helped Thorne calm down that night at the Gaelic Wolf, you made a friend for life. And any friend of one of us…” 

“It was the right thing to do,” I tell him.

“And we like people who do the right thing. It was also a very brave thing. For a small female human to approach a wolf shifter in distress, she risks being accidentally ripped apart. But you disregarded all danger and helped a wolf in need. That says a lot about the kind of girl you are, Billie Marie Black.”