Defying the Lycan King (Kira and Derek) novel Chapter 98

Chapter 98: The Fourth Frame

As they wove back into the heart of the night market, Kira’s eyes lit up as she spotted a faded, battered photo booth tucked between a candle stall and a woman selling handmade earrings.

She stopped walking so abruptly that Derek nearly walked into her.

"No," he said, reading her face.

"You don’t even know what I’m about to say."

"I know exactly what you’re about to say, and the answer is no."

She was already pulling him towards it.

The booth was designed for two average-sized people. Derek was not average-sized by any definition. He folded himself into the small seat with the pained dignity of a man doing something deeply beneath him, his knees almost touching the opposite wall, his shoulders filling the entire frame.

"This is undignified," he said.

"You look great," Kira said cheerfully, climbing in beside him and removing his hat. "Look at the screen." She leaned towards the screen to set the timer.

She immediately produced a sparkly blue headband with boingy stars from the small bag she was carrying and held it up.

Derek looked at it. Then at her.

"Absolutely not."

"Derek."

"Kira."

"It’s got little stars on it. Very kingly."

"I will not wear that."

She placed it on his head anyway.

"Kira, you can’t—"

Flash.

The first photo captured him perfectly: back straight, jaw locked, looking like a high-profile hostage being held for ransom.

"You have to do something," Kira said, laughing already.

"I am doing something. I am sitting here."

"With your face like that."

"This is my face," he muttered, trying to adjust his neck. He looked at the lens, squinting as he tried to figure out where the light was coming from.

The second photo captured him looking confused, one eyebrow arched so high it was nearly lost in his hairline.

"You’re supposed to smile," she told him.

"I don’t smile on command."

"Everyone smiles on command. It’s a photo booth, Derek, not a deposition."

The third photo caught him mid-frown, his brows drawn together, glancing back at the camera like it had said something personally offensive.

Kira dissolved into laughter, and for a moment she forgot entirely about timers and photos and sparkly headbands, laughing with her whole body, shoulders shaking, one hand pressed against his arm to steady herself.

Then the timer on the fourth frame began to count down.

A mischievous idea snapped into her head, she turned in the cramped space, grabbed his face with both hands, and pressed her lips to his in a quick, soft kiss that lasted only a second.

When she pulled back, his eyes were open.

Flash.

The camera caught it. Derek wasn’t scowling or confused. His eyes were wide, his hands had instinctively moved to her waist to steady her, and for the first time, there was a look of pure, startled wonder.

A look he hadn’t managed to put away in time.

She reached for the printed strip when it came out of the slot and looked at all four frames in order. The hostage. The confused man. The frown. And then the last one, where the King of Dravengard looked, for one unguarded fraction of a second, like a man who had just been handed something he didn’t know what to do with.

She folded the strip carefully and tucked it into her bag, knowing that last image was a treasure she’d keep forever.

"I’m keeping this," she announced.

"Burn it," he said.

"Absolutely not."

The shooting gallery was three stalls down, a long counter lined with moving targets and a rack of stuffed animals hanging above it in cheerful, oversized rows.

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