Holy freeze gun, Batman. The words died before she managed to expose them to air. Her mouth snapped shut.
One of the Queen’s guards stood before her, huge and tall, nearly twice the size of most of the other males in the joint, a hella hunka supernatural male. Clearly not human, although Hugo Boss’d to his Adam’s apple in an apparent bid to fit in among the humans trolling for hot sex, illicit drugs, watered-down booze and loud music. Beneath the fabric of the unstructured designer suit, the toned muscles of a demonic warrior rolled like tidal waves. Even without the small lapel pin the uninformed might mistake for the The Rolling Stones’ logo, she’d recognize him for a captain of the guard. Maybe the Queen’s own Captain.
Hellfire and cotton candy. Trouble. T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
But, by the goddess, whattahottie! Despite her certainty that his presence in the club corridor boded ill for her, the force of her sudden hunger shook her.
A desperate bolt out of the blue.
Instant connection to him on the paranormal plane, as if he’d wrapped her aura in gold chains and tugged her to him. But did that fast lane to heaven run one way or two?
A grim expression straightened the lines of what otherwise might have been a generous, sensuous mouth. A military buzz cut had weed-whacked hair the color of iron. And it didn’t stop there. Without doubt, metal fortified every single cell in the massive male’s body, pure titanium flowing in his veins. The stern planes and angles of a hard-edged, swoon-worthy face set grimly as cement. Though he lounged in the hallway like any Archie or Jughead waiting in line to discharge his rented beer in a urinal, he exuded authority, his carriage and bearing such that he made the others look like a pack of Twizzlers. Oh. Yeah. More than a mere guardsman, she guessed. An enforcer.