If Celtic warriors still existed, I imagine they’d look very much like him.
His head is completely shaved, leaving the elaborate tattoos across his skin fully exposed.
He’s shirtless, too, showcasing artwork that twists and winds along his thick arms and muscled torso, creating a violent mosaic of ink and old scars.
A loose pair of jeans hangs low on the wrakh’s narrow hips, baring the sharp carve of muscle and the trail of hair disappearing below the waistband. It’s enough to make me want to throw a goddamn coat over him before Aurora sees it.
The bloody heathen never did like to wear underwear.
I suppose he’s savagely handsome in a “knife fight in an alley” kind of way. A thousand years ago, I would’ve had him moaning into the dirt, my hand flexing around his throat, fucking him hard enough to leave bruises.
But that was a different version of me.
A different kind of monster.
Back then, we bled. We fucked. We survived.
What else was there?
“Ah, for fuck’s sake. Ezra. What d’you want now?” Iain shouts over the music.
His wild gaze shifts to Aurora, who steps behind me while Louie growls loudly from the car.
“Hello, Iain. It’s been a while. I hope you’re well. Do you think you could turn down the music? I have something to discuss with you.”
Iain glares at me, slams the door in my face, then yells, “Fucking monsters, always darkening me doorstep.”
A few seconds later, the loud music stops. We wait and wait, and then wait some more.
This asshole better open the door. Although a rather large piece of me hopes for violence after twelve solid hours of patience, understanding, and restraint.
Twenty rage-inducing minutes later, the front door flies open again. Iain leans against the door frame with his arms crossed, looking Aurora up and down.
Would she change her mind about me if I ripped his eyes out?
At least Iain had the decency to put a shirt on. The tattered, bright pink Minnie Mouse sweatshirt certainly tones down his savagery.
“Well? You gonna stand there all day or come in?” Ian grumbles as he walks away from the open door.
“That fucking hellhound stays in the car. I’m not dealin’ with a hell-beast’s shite today. I’m too fuckin’ hungover and got way too much to do.”
“Very nice to see you, too, Iain. I trust you’ve been well.”
A menacing growl tears from the wrakh’s throat as he abruptly turns and strides toward me, jabbing a finger into my chest. When I smirk at his cute little outburst, he leans in close, his nose almost touching mine.
“Listen, shadow man. I did you a favor years ago. I’m not dealing with you lot anymore. Why the fuck did I even let you in?”
Iain seems confused. That’s odd.
Suddenly, his gaze shifts from me to Aurora. Without warning, he grabs her, catching me completely off guard.
Iain has always been a little … extreme … but never like this.
I wonder what has him worked up?
Aurora whimpers while Iain sniffs her hair and runs his hands over her body.
I know he has to touch her. I know that’s how his magic works.
