her kayak and it now rested just a few feet away from their skiff.
“Fine, just a little… shaken.”
Understandable. It wasn’t often a human nearly watched another human die. If she was human, that is. For him, the possibility of death lived with him daily, whether from attack by another Hunter or from an unexpected loss of energy.
“You did an amazing job of first aid. If he lives—”
“I pray that he does,” she asserted, clearly disturbed by the prospect that he might not.
“When he does, it’ll be thanks to you.” He downplayed his own contribution, not wanting to call attention to the power he had expended to seal part of the wound. Telling himself that he had imagined the other tendrils of energy since there was nothing about this stunning woman that was screaming Hunter at the moment.
Victoria nodded and paused to dip back beneath the surface and scrub, feeling as if the teen’s blood continued to coat her skin. There had been so much of it, sickly sticky with a metallic smell. The smell of death.
When she popped back up and dragged her hair backoff her face, he was still there, waiting for her. The water lapped against a totally impressive chest and broad swimmer’s shoulders. She slowly explored that tempting physique before finally moving her gaze back up to his face. Heat flooded through her at the interest in his dark eyes and at the masculine splendor of his features, even better close up than they had been from a distance.
High cheekbones and a sharp slash of a nose. Full lips and a strong jaw with a thumbprint cleft at his chin.
Perfection
, she thought, as they slogged out of the water and onto the shore. His long legs were well-muscled and flared into lean hips below a washboard midsection. Every inch of him was a creamy olive color, with a smattering of dark hair along the broad swells of his chest and tapering down toward…
She gulped at the thick ridge revealed by the board shorts he wore and yanked her head back up to the wide width of his shoulders.
The physical beauty of his body alleviated the concern that she had about the very dim outline of energy surrounding his body. If he was a Shadow, there would have been some hint of the pox that had contaminated the Dark Ones centuries earlier. Whether a noticeable red rash or an outbreak of the raised angry pustules, the illness would be there somewhere. It was unheard of for Shadows not to have some visible hint of the disease either on their bodies or as dark smudges and threads of pestilence in their auras.
Once they were out of the water, another man approached, almost as handsome, although not as tall. Also, where the man who had identified himself as Christopher was deliciously and dangerously dark, this manwas golden as light, with strawberry blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and an easy smile that radiated warmth.
He handed both of them towels and asked Christopher, “Do you need me to do anything?”
Christopher shook his head and then slicked back the wet locks of his coal black hair. “I’m okay, Ryan.” Then he looked toward her, his gaze alive with emotion, although she wasn’t sure if it was concern or caution. “We can row you back to the mainland if you’d like.”
Victoria wagged her head and then stuck her hand out in his friend’s direction. “Victoria Johnson.”
“Ryan Adams,” the golden man said, continuing to pump her hand until his friend almost growled to warn him away. The prolonged contact, however, served to ease yet more of her tension. No buzz of unusual energy had occurred during their contact.
“Sorry,” Ryan said and released his hold, jerking his thumb in the direction of the skiff. “I’ll get it ready to go, otherwise we’ll be battling the tide later.”
When he left, Victoria returned her attention to Christopher. He was standing there, examining her intently as he briskly rubbed a towel across that too-enticing body. “I can paddle my way back, but I appreciate the
“Fine, just a little… shaken.”
Understandable. It wasn’t often a human nearly watched another human die. If she was human, that is. For him, the possibility of death lived with him daily, whether from attack by another Hunter or from an unexpected loss of energy.
“You did an amazing job of first aid. If he lives—”
“I pray that he does,” she asserted, clearly disturbed by the prospect that he might not.
“When he does, it’ll be thanks to you.” He downplayed his own contribution, not wanting to call attention to the power he had expended to seal part of the wound. Telling himself that he had imagined the other tendrils of energy since there was nothing about this stunning woman that was screaming Hunter at the moment.
Victoria nodded and paused to dip back beneath the surface and scrub, feeling as if the teen’s blood continued to coat her skin. There had been so much of it, sickly sticky with a metallic smell. The smell of death.
When she popped back up and dragged her hair backoff her face, he was still there, waiting for her. The water lapped against a totally impressive chest and broad swimmer’s shoulders. She slowly explored that tempting physique before finally moving her gaze back up to his face. Heat flooded through her at the interest in his dark eyes and at the masculine splendor of his features, even better close up than they had been from a distance.
High cheekbones and a sharp slash of a nose. Full lips and a strong jaw with a thumbprint cleft at his chin.
Perfection
, she thought, as they slogged out of the water and onto the shore. His long legs were well-muscled and flared into lean hips below a washboard midsection. Every inch of him was a creamy olive color, with a smattering of dark hair along the broad swells of his chest and tapering down toward…
She gulped at the thick ridge revealed by the board shorts he wore and yanked her head back up to the wide width of his shoulders.
The physical beauty of his body alleviated the concern that she had about the very dim outline of energy surrounding his body. If he was a Shadow, there would have been some hint of the pox that had contaminated the Dark Ones centuries earlier. Whether a noticeable red rash or an outbreak of the raised angry pustules, the illness would be there somewhere. It was unheard of for Shadows not to have some visible hint of the disease either on their bodies or as dark smudges and threads of pestilence in their auras.
Once they were out of the water, another man approached, almost as handsome, although not as tall. Also, where the man who had identified himself as Christopher was deliciously and dangerously dark, this manwas golden as light, with strawberry blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and an easy smile that radiated warmth.
He handed both of them towels and asked Christopher, “Do you need me to do anything?”
Christopher shook his head and then slicked back the wet locks of his coal black hair. “I’m okay, Ryan.” Then he looked toward her, his gaze alive with emotion, although she wasn’t sure if it was concern or caution. “We can row you back to the mainland if you’d like.”
Victoria wagged her head and then stuck her hand out in his friend’s direction. “Victoria Johnson.”
“Ryan Adams,” the golden man said, continuing to pump her hand until his friend almost growled to warn him away. The prolonged contact, however, served to ease yet more of her tension. No buzz of unusual energy had occurred during their contact.
“Sorry,” Ryan said and released his hold, jerking his thumb in the direction of the skiff. “I’ll get it ready to go, otherwise we’ll be battling the tide later.”
When he left, Victoria returned her attention to Christopher. He was standing there, examining her intently as he briskly rubbed a towel across that too-enticing body. “I can paddle my way back, but I appreciate the
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