"Hold still." Killion's voice is low, barely above a growl as he leans over me, tightening the silk ribbon of the mask behind my head. He moves my short hair locks so that he can do it better.
"I am still," I snap, but my voice wavers just slightly. His fingers, cold and precise, linger for half a second longer than necessary.
"Clearly not," he murmurs, pulling the knot tighter just to prove his point. My scalp protests at the pull, but I don't flinch. I don't give him the satisfaction. "There," he says, stepping back, his eyes raking over me like he's surveying a battle plan.
"It's itchy," I comment.
"You are itchy too," he mutters opening the door and getting down.
Well, I am not on the top of your fucking face. I almost barked out the words and, thank the stars I am a very patient woman.
He strides out without a backward glance, chatting with Zevrin in a low voice as if I'm already an afterthought.
Typical.
