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The one called Zeb nods, smiling this calm, smooth smile that just oozes confident sexuality. He’s got golden-tan skin, dark hair that brushes his shoulders, and these pitch-black eyes that just pin me, making a tingling chill rush over my skin straight to my breasts and a nervous tangle of heat spin in my middle before it sinks lower.
I fight to give no sign of how his mere presence is affecting me, and gods help me, I wish I hated what it was doing. Or better yet that I wasn’t reacting like this at all, because I’m not a fan of anything that means my body is not fully under my control.
Except I’m already turned on, and this guy hasn’t even opened his mouth to say hello.
I tear my gaze away from him, but it doesn’t help. His friends aren’t an improvement. Zeb’s got his arm looped casually over the shoulders of the guy to his left, the one with damn near colorless skin and short ice-white hair that transitions to electric blue on the tips. The short spiky hair only serves to set off his sharp jaw and eerily light eyes, the latter of which haven’t left me for a heartbeat. From the way Tamira introduced him, I’m guessing he’s Huck.
And that leaves Phineas, the strong, dark god of a man leaning back against the booth seat cushions. He’s nothing but muscle, that much I can tell through his tight black t-shirt, and his face has this considering air, like he’s already weighed everything about me but wants to know more. His eyes are calm as night and yet mesmerizing as hell. He’s got long braids all tied back at the nape of his neck, and there’s some kind of tattoo on the side of his throat that I can’t make out against his dark brown skin.
Not that I’m looking.
But, gods, Creepy likes the sight of them. She’s practically salivating at the thought of touching them, getting to know them, and coming out to say hi.
Which is number one on my list of Bad Plans right now, so it only takes a second before I’m pulling Tamira back with me while looking anywhere but at the guys as I try to get my Hyde under control.
“What’s this about?” I demand of Tamira. “Do you know these guys?”
She shakes her head. “Just met them. But come on…” She chuckles, twitching her head back toward them. “There’s three. One for each of us and maybe one to share.”
Yeah, no. Not happening, and not just because Creepy is now snarling at the thought of anyone touching them but us.
Which is madness.
But these guys have dangerous as fuck written all over them in big neon letters I’m amazed Tamira can’t see. Down underneath their casual postures and their relaxed expressions, they’re killers. It’s in their eyes.
I should know. I see the same thing every time I look in the mirror.
“So, Mabel…” comes a smooth voice that I like the sound of just a little too much, especially when he’s saying my name.
My eyes dart back. Zeb. That was Zeb.
Not that it matters.
“Your friend says your family’s been in the area for a while. I bet you’d make a great tour guide.”
I throw Tamira a small glare and murmur under my breath so quietly only a shifter would hear. “You were telling them about me?”
She shrugs, still grinning, and murmurs back, “They smell good. There’s something… I don’t know, magic about them.”
Supernaturals, then. Maybe. But supernaturals with something hellaciously wrong about them that’s setting me on edge and making Creepy drool.
Which makes no sense.
Creepy doesn’t like that I’m not smiling back at the guys, though. Hell, she doesn’t like that I’m not climbing over the table to lick them like lollipops.
What the hell is her problem?
Could they be like me?
The thought stops me cold, leaving me tangled between caution, fear, and longing. Jekylls are the freaks of the supernatural world in our own way. Even when I’ve gone on dates, I’ve waited a good long while before revealing what I am. It took me years before I’d even tell Tamira more than the most basic of details about my life.
Secrecy is the best way Ican protect Creepy. And myself.
Because even if these guys are supernaturals, that doesn’t automatically mean I’m safe. What if they’re double agents for the GSS? Or witches, for that matter? Jekylls might be somewhere in the gray area between humanlike and monster, but the witches have a big issue with monsters in general, and they sure as hell don’t like Jekylls practicing magic. I’ve stayed off the shit list of the Grand Coven and others like them, but that doesn’t mean some random group of witch guys won’t hassle me if they find out what I am.
“Do you know any fun places to eat around here?” asks the icy-haired one, Huck, in a sweet, kind voice that slides around me like a hug and only adds to the way my insides are melting for no goddamn reason.
Creepy pushes at me harder. My hand shakes. I can feel my fingertips shifting.
