Chapter 34
Sebastian
I pushed off the car and moved toward her, watching her tense almost imperceptibly as I approached. Up close, the mask covered most of her face, leaving only her mouth visible—dark red lips, skin like porcelain.
"Miss Fish." I let my gaze travel down her body and back up, taking my time, watching her breath catch. "I've heard a great deal about you."
"All good things, I hope." Smooth voice, controlled. But underneath—a tremor, barely there.
Afraid. You should be.
"That remains to be seen." I stepped closer, close enough to catch her scent. Expensive perfume, something floral, but underneath... underneath was something that made my wolf practically sing with recognition.
Jasmine. And beneath that, the faintest trace of—
Moon dew. The scent was faint, buried under layers of perfume and fear-sweat, but it was there.
Gotcha.
"Shall we?" Ethan interrupted, oblivious to the tension crackling between us. "Dr. Vance is waiting at the facility."
I forced myself to step back, to smile politely. "Of course. Miss Fish, you'll ride with us. I insist."
Not a request. She knew it. The way her throat worked as she swallowed told me she understood exactly what trap she'd walked into.
Let's see how long you can maintain this charade, little moon.
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The car's interior was intimate, designed that way deliberately. I'd positioned myself so she'd have to sit beside me, close enough to feel my body heat, close enough that every breath she took would be saturated with my scent.
Ethan sat across from us, chattering nervously about the facility and the break-in. I barely listened, too focused on the woman beside me—on her racing pulse, the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself perfectly still as if afraid any movement might give her away.
You're very good at this. But not good enough.
"You're very quiet, Miss Fish." I kept my tone conversational. "Nervous?"
"Just focused." Professional, controlled. "Eager to see the damage and understand what was taken."
"Mm." I leaned back, deliberately casual, and let my hand rest on the seat between us. Not touching her, but close enough that she'd feel the heat. "Ethan tells me you predicted the lunar protein surge. That's quite impressive. Most people don't even know what lunar proteins are."
"I make it my business to know about emerging biotechnology markets." Her throat sounded tight. "Lunar proteins have fascinating applications in regenerative medicine. The fact that they're derived from deep-sea organisms that only surface during full moons makes them particularly rare and valuable."
Textbook answer. Well-rehearsed.
"Indeed." I watched her face, what little I could see of it. "Though I wonder—have you ever seen a lunar protein sample in person? They have a very distinctive quality. Almost... luminescent."
Her heart rate spiked. Just for a moment, but I heard it clearly. Interesting.
"I've seen photographs," she said carefully. "But I'm looking forward to examining them more closely today. Assuming any samples survived the break-in."
Good recovery. But that hesitation tells me everything.
I was about to push further when one of my servers appeared, carrying champagne. I'd positioned him specifically for this moment, timed it precisely.
The car hit a bump—Marcus, following my earlier instructions—and suddenly champagne was cascading over her mask, liquid running down the silver surface, dripping onto her dress and bare shoulders.
Perfect.
"Oh!" The server's face went appropriately white. "I'm so sorry, Miss!"
"It's fine," she said, but I could hear the edge of panic beneath her professional calm.
I produced a handkerchief, all polite concern. "Though you might want to remove your mask to clean it properly. That champagne will damage the finish if it sits too long."
Now. Let's see what you're really hiding under there.
The car went silent. Everyone watching. Waiting.
She reached up—hands steady, I had to give her credit—and removed the mask.
Ethan's sharp intake of breath was audible. The server looked away quickly.
But I didn't react at all. Just studied her face with the same intensity I'd give to examining a rare artifact.
One eye grotesquely larger than the other, eyelid drooping. Nose built up into a bulbous mass. Dense clusters of moles and warts, some with synthetic hairs protruding. Sallow, pockmarked skin.
Prosthetics. Very good ones, but prosthetics nonetheless.
I reached out slowly, deliberately, and cupped her chin, turning her face to the light. My thumb traced the edge of one of the warts, testing the texture, feeling where the prosthetic met her real skin.
"Fascinating," I murmured, pressing slightly harder, watching her eyes. "You're even more interesting up close, Miss Fish."
Let's see how committed you are to this performance.
She met my gaze, something like defiance flickering in her eyes—eyes that were the wrong color, I noted, probably contacts. "Is that so? Most people find my appearance... off-putting."
"I'm not most people." I slid my hand from her chin to her throat, fingers settling over her racing pulse. "And I've always appreciated things others overlook."
Especially things that are mine, pretending to be something else.
Her pulse hammered against my palm. I pressed slightly harder, not quite choking but making a point. She held still, held my gaze, refusing to flinch.
Brave. Stupid, but brave.
Then I released her, sat back with a smile. "Though you should clean that champagne off properly. We wouldn't want the prosthetics to be damaged by the alcohol."
I said it casually, almost as an afterthought, but I saw her reaction—the way her eyes widened slightly, the way her breath caught.
Yes. I know. And now you know I know.
But I turned to Ethan before she could respond, keeping my tone conversational. "Why don't you tell Miss Fish about the security measures at the facility? I'm sure she'd be interested in what kind of protections were in place before the break-in."
As Ethan launched into explanation, I watched her from the corner of my eye. She was dabbing at her face with my handkerchief, hands shaking slightly.
You're good, little moon. Very good. But I've been hunting prey far longer than you've been running.
The question wasn't whether she was Lirael. I knew she was. The question was: what would she do when I finally proved it beyond all doubt?
And how much fun will I have watching you squirm until then?
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