Alistair glided more than walked—tall, lean, broad-shouldered, his presence sharp as a blade drawn in moonlight. His long dark hair fell like a shadow over the stark amber glow of his eyes.
Beautiful, yes. Almost ethereal.
But there was nothing soft about him.
Selene thought, fleetingly:
He might be the villain.
But then again—in this place, with these monsters—
he might not be the only one with amber eyes.
He reached the head of the table and sat with the elegance of someone born to command. His expression held no curiosity, no hunger, no interest in the trembling women before him. He did not even glance at their pale faces or their prettiness.
If anything, he seemed bored.
Disinterested.
As though all this was routine.
Still, the fear in the maidens' eyes deepened whenever their gaze strayed to him.
Fear and… fascination.
Even terror bowed to beauty, it seemed.
