Hannah
The transition from the cold, damp silence of the catacombs to the roaring opulence of the ballroom was a physical blow. Kasper's tuxedo jacket, draped over my shoulders, smelled of cedarwood, rain, and the faint, metallic tang of his recent shift. It was a heavy, masculine scent that fought against the cloying sweetness of the lilies upstairs.
As we reached the top of the cellar stairs, Kasper stopped. He didn't shift back into the "Masked Alpha" persona immediately. Instead, he turned me to face him in the dim light of the service hallway. His eyes were still rimmed with amber, his breathing heavy. With a rough thumb, he smeared a smudge of dirt from my cheek, his touch lingering longer than necessary.
"Fix your hair," he commanded, his voice a low vibration that seemed to settle in my very marrow. "And for the love of the Moon, Hannah, hide your hands. If the Hollow King sees the Void-burn on your palms, this night ends in an execution, not an engagement."
