Resisting the urge to puff and preen a little, I edge my way up to the end of the bar. She’s currently filling another order, and once she cashes them out, she walks over.
“What can I get for you, stranger?”
Her handwritten name tag saysBlue, and her hair’s obviously a wig. Adorable, a bright blue pageboy cut that sweeps along her jawline, and I wonder what her real hair color is.
Except…
Even as I sniff, I realize I cannot smell…her.
Normally, someone’s blood still holds at least part of their scent. Hell, humans are like three quarters water, so that makes sense.
But…
I glance back at Lucius, who lays a hand on my shoulder. “Blue, my dear, this is my nephew. Everything he orders is on my tab.”
She props her hands on her shapely round hips. She’s around five-five and has one hell of a gorgeously spankable ass. “Ianto Jones is your nephew, huh? Who’d a thunk?” But she’s smirking, and Selene giggles behind me.
Finally, my irritation overrides my fascination and attraction. “All right, can someonepleasetell me who the hell this Ianto guy is?”
Selene and “Blue” both laugh. “From a TV show,” Selene says. “Torchwood. ADoctor Whospin-off. You’ve never heard of it?”
“No. I don’t watch much television. I take it Ianto is an actor?”
“Character,” Selene and Blue say in unison, making both women laugh. “Gareth David-Lloyd is the actor,” Blue adds.
That’s when I realize she’s looking merightin the eyes.
I mean, dead-on.
And she’s not…
Whoa.
I literally lean back.
“Problem?” Lucius softly asks, but make no mistake, he sounds amused.
I slowly shake my head even as I continue to stare into her beautiful violet eyes. Eyes I can tell are natural, not contacts, not fake, like her hair.
Violeteyes.
Eyes a very deep, rich violet that no human has.
Bewitching eyes.
Her smirk turns playful, sexy, even. “Hellooo, Sweetie,” she says in a mock British accent.
“He won’t get that reference, either,” Selene says.
But I can’t look away from Blue’s eyes. “You’re not a vampire?”
She tosses the bar towel in her hand over her right shoulder. “Nope.”
“Not a shifter?”
She shakes her head.
Even as I try to compel her to tell me what she is, I realize it’s useless. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m struggling not to fall into the depths of her gaze and totally lose myself there. “Dexter Van Sussex,” I finally manage, extending my hand over the bar.
