Ramona took her seat at the high table beside Lance, her expression composed, almost serene, as though nothing in the world could disturb her calm.
Yet the moment Lance leaned toward her, to kiss her in greeting like he usually did, she shifted ever so slightly to the side.
Her fingers grazed the hem of her gown, tugging at the folds as if fussing over something but the way he stiffened, it was enough for him to know that she had done this knowingly. No one else might guess it. But he would know it was a deliberate refusal.
And when Lance's gaze lifted to meet hers, steady and searching, she knew he had caught her anger and hurt. She knew it was not convenient to talk right now. After all, there were no 'whispered' secrets among the werewolves. Their senses were too sharp to not hear something.
