Draven saw the greed on her face before he saw her real face. It had been so obvious from her appearance today and her eagerness every time he talked to her. Each question he asked was a coin tossed into a well, and she dove after it without checking the depth.
Just a mere word would make her dart her eyes and look down as if trying to enchant him. The performance was practiced, the lowered lashes, the slight parting of lips, the way her fingers fluttered to her collarbone. Draven sat in a relaxed manner and crossed his leg, his head cocked to the side as he observed the girl, who finally showed him her true face at his question.
Belle's pulse raced. This was it. He was asking about her. Not Luna. She lifted her chin defiantly, the perfect angle she'd rehearsed in the mirror every morning since she was fourteen, and opened her mouth to paint herself gold.
