Chapter 12 · High-Society Hunting Ground

"Stop fidgeting. You're making the dress look cheap," Kael muttered, his fingers tightening around my waist to pull me flush against him.

I stiffened, my breath hitching as the silk of the gown slid against my skin. "Maybe if you didn't pick a dress that feels like a gilded cage, I wouldn't be fidgeting."

"It's called couture, Vesper. Try to act like you've seen it before," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave. He didn't let go. Instead, he shifted his grip, his palm warm and heavy against the small of my back, forcing me to arch slightly into him.

I looked up at him, my eyes narrowing. "I've seen plenty of high-end gear. Usually, it's on the people I'm paid to put in the ground."

Kael's lips quirked, not quite a smile. He leaned in, the scent of expensive sandalwood and something cold—like ozone before a storm—filling my senses. "Tonight, you're not a killer. You're my companion. Which means you smile, you look pretty, and you don't kill anyone unless I give you the signal.