Unlike when we had met at the welcome banquet, Dahlia Elrod was back to her fabulous self, dressed in designer goods and her hair styled to perfection. Even her fingernails, which were chipped and mismatched the day before, had turned into newly done French tips.
I raised an eyebrow as she stood in my path, sneering, and I had to stamp down every urge to do the same. For one thing, I didn't know how many of Dahlia's supporters were present in the infirmary. For another, I didn't wish to waste my time arguing with her.
However, even though I wasn't looking to pick a fight, Dahlia Elrod most certainly was. After all, she had taken the time and effort to dress in her battle gear — which consisted of the best fashion any she-wolf could get around these parts — and she must've thought it was a shame to not use it.
"Look what we have here," Dahlia Elrod said, scoffing as her eyes scanned me up and down. "You look like a homeless beggar, human."
