Shay's brain ordered her body to make a break for it, or at least let loose a scream to draw attention, but she stood there, dazed and staring. It was the throw-your-panties-off-gorgeous bad boy from her hotel room.
My God, this guy was a brick shithouse oozing don't-screw-with-me vibes. And didn't that just make her knees weak. She was so not a swooning type of girl.
Despite the warmth of the day, he wore a knee-length black leather jacket. No doubt, he was armed out the wazoo beneath it.
He subjected her to a scrutinizing once-over. A swirling black substance in his irises mesmerized her. She hadn't noticed that last night.
What was this guy? Definitely not completely human. A month ago, she would've rationalized the sludgy black substance obscuring the real color of his irises into normalcy and remained in complete denial of anything amiss.
She wondered if this guy might just be the real deal--one of those mythical, sorcerer-like immortals obligated to fight daemons for all eternity. A Scimitar Magus. Shouldn't he be a good guy? A hero figure? Why then did her intuition demand immediate evasion? For some reason, her gut equated this guy with death, but not random death. Hers.
Scimitar Magi Series Book 2