Can't breathe.
Can't do anything but hover above her, frozen, as her fingertips make contact with my masked cheek.
The touch is feather-light through the fabric. Gentle. Exploring. She traces the line of my jaw beneath the black cloth. Her fingers slide up to my temple, across my forehead where the scar cuts through my eyebrow, continuing down to outline where a normal person's cheek would be.
Feels like I'm going to puke.
Or pass out.
Both.
"Your bone structure is incredible," she whispers, tracing the line of my jaw again. "So strong. You have a warrior's face."
What?
All I can do is let out a confused growl.
The words don't make sense.
Can't make sense.
But she isn't mocking me.
She must be, but she isn't.
Her fingers continue exploring my mask.
My straight nose.
Then down to where my mouth is.
Jaws. Not mouth.
Her scent spikes with nerves again.
She must feel the change beneath her fingertips.
Must feel my sharp teeth.
This is it.
The moment reality finally catches up with me.
The moment our scent match fails.
Can that even fucking happen?
If it can, it will.
I close my eyes, turn my head away.
Can't watch.
Can't take it.
She pauses.
There's a slight catch in her breath.
