“It will,” she swore, reaching up and pushing her fingers into what was left of my hair. Which wasn’t a whole lot. “It actually kinda suits you.” “Don’t,” I snarled in warning, pressing her back against the wall, the shower cap bunched up in my fist. “Don’t you downplay this, Rosalie Oscura. My hair is my Lionhood. It’s the mark of a true king. A worthy Lion. It was the last piece of my old life I still had.” “It’s just hair, Roar,” she tried and my fist collided with the wall beside her head, making her jump.
chill my baby
