Luna Lyra
Just as I was about to head toward the stage, a screeching voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Alpha Damien.”
I turned, my jaw tightening slightly when I saw her. Celine.
She was stunning, as always, with her golden hair swept to one side and a red dress that clung to her curves like a second skin. The neckline plunged dangerously low, and the slit in the dress revealed more leg than was probably appropriate for the occasion. She was a picture of seduction, and she knew it.
“Celine,” I said evenly. “You look... prepared for the night.”