Ryker paid bland attention to the source of the power blazing nearby. An impressive well of the power, to be sure. There was little point in direct comparison, though. Power without intelligence was not a threat that concerned him.
At least, not unless it addressed him directly.
Instead, something far more innocuous found him.
She was gorgeous. Skin the color of the moon. Golden strands to slip through his fingers. Spindly arms and a wide mouth. Hunger curled his lips back into a smile. He remembered her, of course, from the hallway. She had Ascendancy’s attention for a few minutes, meaning she was someone more than another feckless guest.
Her comment was returned with a shrug. “Introductions between those two seemed unnecessary. Do you disagree, Natalie?”
His gaze settled upon her, studying the nuances of her expression. Half of her seemed fuzzed through the milky smudge that was half of his eyesight. Treatments existed for the deficiency in his eyesight, but like the scars on his face, Ryker did not want to strip himself of the ceaseless reminder. His face was the relic of his past, and the world would not be right again until vengeance was satisfied.
He towered over her diminutive frame: a cliff looming over the branches of a spindly aspen. His hand closed around hers, and he tugged the attached arm ever so slightly to draw her nearer just to feel the resistance. “Ryker.”
At least, not unless it addressed him directly.
Instead, something far more innocuous found him.
She was gorgeous. Skin the color of the moon. Golden strands to slip through his fingers. Spindly arms and a wide mouth. Hunger curled his lips back into a smile. He remembered her, of course, from the hallway. She had Ascendancy’s attention for a few minutes, meaning she was someone more than another feckless guest.
Her comment was returned with a shrug. “Introductions between those two seemed unnecessary. Do you disagree, Natalie?”
His gaze settled upon her, studying the nuances of her expression. Half of her seemed fuzzed through the milky smudge that was half of his eyesight. Treatments existed for the deficiency in his eyesight, but like the scars on his face, Ryker did not want to strip himself of the ceaseless reminder. His face was the relic of his past, and the world would not be right again until vengeance was satisfied.
He towered over her diminutive frame: a cliff looming over the branches of a spindly aspen. His hand closed around hers, and he tugged the attached arm ever so slightly to draw her nearer just to feel the resistance. “Ryker.”