As she continued making her way forward, ignoring the murderous dagger the girls were throwing her way, her stare collided with Azrael's first.
Azrael's head snapped to her like a predator catching sight of prey. The hallway seemed to hold its breath. His gaze didn't waver, didn't soften. He drank her in without shame. His stare peered onto her hair, the snowy white hair pulled into a loose braid, a few strands falling across her face. They framed her features, softening her edges, giving her an innocence that felt dangerous. Fuck. This whitehead was dangerous. Deadly. And he couldn't tear his eyes away. His jaw tightened, the faintest twitch betraying the heat beneath his composed exterior. Every second that passed, his stare grew heavier, hotter, like invisible fingers dragging down her face, her throat, her chest.
Then her hair. His favorite part of her that always seem to stir up something dangerous in him. Something he doesn't want to admit to yet.
