“So,” Tseng said, watching the jade-eyed beauty perched so hesitantly on the edge of the hotel room’s single desk. “Have you given some thought to my suggestion?”
He liked the way Kadaj’s big eyes widened, liked the exotic shape of them—the cat-like tilt that complimented those slit cat-pupils. The boy’s eyes were large and gorgeous, his lashes a darker shade of silver than his fine, wispy hair. Tseng had touched that hair when Kadaj was a young child, had run his fingers through it and found it to be heavy and surprisingly thick, so fine it had slipped through his fingers like spider webs.
He could see the pulse ticking in the boy’s slender throat—so graceful, his race. So lovely and supple and well-suited to love it was no wonder the entire country was so decadent. Kadaj, he knew, was descended from the Cetran people’s most esteemed line. His breeding showed in the fine structure of his face, in the delicate and long lines of his throat, in the slender but dainty length of his fingers.
If only Kadaj knew who he was, then he would never settle for being Reno’s creature. Continue reading