Page 12 of The Rust in Her Hair

But he looks away before I can fully read him.

Swallowing hard, I pretend to read the placard, and the reality of what came out of my mouth catches up to me a second too late.

Why did I say that?

While I’ve known Owen for a year, and have spent countless hours in his company, I have never once asked him what he actually thinks about pack life. He might hate them every bit as much as my father.

Hopefully, I didn’t offend him.

"Lyra," Owen whispers my name, then he leans in. His mouth is close to my ear and the scent of lemony-sage is everywhere. His breath stirs the small hairs at my temple when he speaks. "Don’t tell anyone, but I agree with you."

Shocked, I look up at him.

He's so close.

The corner of his mouth lifts into the smallest smile, and his hazel eyes are warmer than I have ever seen. And for one suspended second, neither of us says anything else.

We just stand there, looking at each other.

"You do?" I finally whisper.

"I do." His voice is all rumbly. "But don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me."

He winks and my body flashes warm and tingly.

All at once, my chest is suddenly too small for everything happening inside me. I’m fluttery and warm at the same time. I press one palm flat against the cool glass of the display case, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person.

Owen smiles a little wider as the music picks up in the other room…a room full of monogamists. Pack-haters. And here we are, standing in an exhibit with a seventeenth-century book, talking about how lovely packs are.

"What are you smiling about?" Owen asks, and I swear his eyes shimmer.

"Nothing. I um—" I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. "I had no idea I was standing next to such a social deviant."

Owen tips his head back and laughs, his shoulders shaking and the sound coming out warm and loud. "I’m so sorry to offend, Ms. Van Houten." He’s all smiles, making my heart beat a little faster. "A lady of your standing shouldn't have to keep company with scoundrels like myself. I’ll leave you be."

He turns like he's actually going to walk away, and I grab his arm, laughing.

"Absolutely not." I tighten my grip, pulling him back. "Don’t you dare abandon me here with a bunch of dead alphas and a suspicious vase."

Owen stops immediately, and laughs.

His eyes sparkle as he looks down at me, and something shifts in his expression. He opens his mouth like he's about to say something else, some easy comeback, but nothing comes out. Instead he stares down at me, his hazel eyes searching my face for a long moment.

Owen's smile slowly fades, replaced by something deeper, more intense. We stand there, looking into each other's eyes, the air between us growing thick with something.

"Lyra," he whispers my name, then he licks his lips.

My eyes catch the movement, tracing the wet path his tongue takes across his bottom lip. I watch his mouth, fascinated by the shape of it, the way it moves when he speaks and the soft, dark beard that he keeps trim.

When I finally drag my gaze back up, our eyes lock.

"I…um…" I try to think of something to say, but then Owen’s gaze drops to my mouth, and my mind goes blank.

He’s so close and warm, and safe.

It’s hard to find men in this world that feel safe.

"Omega," Owen whispers. "I have to tell you something." He leans down, his mouth ghosting over mine.