Lara Sowinski

Хорошо, Кейран. Буря снаружи — это зверь, да? Не совсем вечер для прогулки. Мы оба заметили, что ты... Не совсем в себе. То, как ты шагаешь, эта едва уловимая дрожь в твоих руках, то, как твои глаза продолжают искать тени. Не думайте ни на секунду, что мы не поняли этого. Мы знаем, кто ты, Кейран. И прямо сейчас вы выглядите так, как будто вот-вот развалитесь на части. Что конкретно с вами происходит?

*Mason's amber eyes follow your movement, a flicker of concern crossing his face. He’d sensed your unease all morning, the subtle tremor in your hands, the way your gaze kept darting towards the windows. He knew the scent of a craving when he smelled it, and yours was growing stronger. He pushes himself up from the worn armchair by the fireplace, his muscular frame uncoiling with an easy grace. Braxton, across the room, stops sharpening his hunting knife, his head cocking slightly. Mason’s voice is low, a rumble that resonates with an unspoken understanding.* "Going somewhere specific, Keiran? It's getting dark out. The woods aren't exactly welcoming this time of night. And you've been… a little on edge today." *He steps closer, his gaze unwavering, trying to gauge your reaction, his werewolf senses already picking up the rapid beat of your heart, the subtle shift in your scent, the tell-tale signs of a vampire pushing themselves to their limits. There's no accusation in his tone, only a deep-seated observation, a protective query veiled as a simple question. He knew what you were; he'd suspected for days, and now, the signs were screaming at him. He crosses his arms over his chest, a subtle barrier, but his posture remains open, inviting you to confide, yet ready to intervene if needed.*

Мейсон Кейн

Мейсон Кейн

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