approached us.
“Who’s the new girl, Redfern?” an imposing man asked. He had to be at least six-five and I could tell by the rounded slope of his shoulders and the girth of his thighs that underneath a vintage concert T-shirt and jeans was a hulking mass of muscle. He was too big. Everything about him was over-sized—his eyes were rounded, his nose was on the overly-large size, and his wide mouth revealed a cluster of white teeth—but somehow it all worked to form one big baby face. I wondered if he even shaved, and knew right away this one was a teddy bear…or a Labrador.
“Good lord. Are you descended of bears or something?”
The words just rolled out of my mouth before I even considered whether they might be offensive or not. I had yet to be schooled on the subtleties and nuances of this strange new world, but realized questioning a person’s origins might not be politically correct. I resolved—again—to work on my brain-to-mouth filter.
“Oh, god. I’m sorry. I…”
Luckily, he took pity on me and interrupted with a wicked grin.
“Don’t sweat it. All you need to know is that I’m all man.”
I think it took everything he had not to adjust himself to illustrate the point. And I swear his nostrils flared.
“Forgive our horn-dog friend. His humanoid sense of smell is so limited that he sniffs up every skirt on the rare occasion he gets lucky. I’m Layla. I’ve never met a real celebrity before. Will you sign my boobs?”
Layla, the funny one—I was guessing—was impersonating a Japanese anime character. Her long straight hair was black with bangs cut straight across her forehead. The thick locks were pulled back in a high ponytail except for two bright aqua strands hanging over her ears to fall on her shoulders.
At the boobs comment, she stretched open a white V-neck, revealing a tattoo that spanned her entire chest. A two-headed raven began at her collarbone and extended down into her slight cleavage. The intricate black outline of the tattoo was filled in with an aqua that matched the hue of her hair. The two ravens’ heads stretched, open-mouthed, toward her shoulders as if cawing before taking flight upon a pair of outstretched wings.
The bird’s tail wasn’t fully visible, but I could just glimpse the top of two powerful talons gathered high into its body. Layla’s slight frame topped out just over five feet, but five-inch platform boots that hugged her legs all the way up her reedy thighs put her nearly at my eye level. A tightly-fitted black leather jacket with tiny daggers for buttons completed her Miniature Badass ensemble.
“Can it, crow,” the big man retorted. “And put the girls away. Everyone here has already seen ’em, anyway.”
Layla wasn’t fazed by the banter and dramatically rolled her eyes at the big guy, who surged forward with his hand out.
“Name’s Boone Adder. This is Bex, and that’s Ewan.” He nodded in the direction of the other two, who both nodded at me in turn.
Bex very obviously had feline forbearers. She exuded sleek and haughty. Her long silky hair was a rich caramel color, her skin tone only a shade lighter. Her eyes, the color of honey, were wide and bright in the middle, but slanted sharply at both corners. I imagined her circling her prey, ass in the air and tail switching, though no tail was presently visible. She was attractive, sexy—the kind of girl that always seemed to attract older men and had no time for ‘boys.’
Ewan, though, looked to be as homo sapien as I was.
Growing up in the South, I hadn’t seen many men with overly-long hair. I’d known one or two who expressed their pride of heritage with traditional long locks, and there had been shag-cut trends, but by and large most men I knew kept their hair cropped close to their scalp. This guy, though, had the most gorgeous head of hair I had seen on a man. Shiny black curls fell in layers almost to the top of his shoulders in back, and just around his temples in the
“Who’s the new girl, Redfern?” an imposing man asked. He had to be at least six-five and I could tell by the rounded slope of his shoulders and the girth of his thighs that underneath a vintage concert T-shirt and jeans was a hulking mass of muscle. He was too big. Everything about him was over-sized—his eyes were rounded, his nose was on the overly-large size, and his wide mouth revealed a cluster of white teeth—but somehow it all worked to form one big baby face. I wondered if he even shaved, and knew right away this one was a teddy bear…or a Labrador.
“Good lord. Are you descended of bears or something?”
The words just rolled out of my mouth before I even considered whether they might be offensive or not. I had yet to be schooled on the subtleties and nuances of this strange new world, but realized questioning a person’s origins might not be politically correct. I resolved—again—to work on my brain-to-mouth filter.
“Oh, god. I’m sorry. I…”
Luckily, he took pity on me and interrupted with a wicked grin.
“Don’t sweat it. All you need to know is that I’m all man.”
I think it took everything he had not to adjust himself to illustrate the point. And I swear his nostrils flared.
“Forgive our horn-dog friend. His humanoid sense of smell is so limited that he sniffs up every skirt on the rare occasion he gets lucky. I’m Layla. I’ve never met a real celebrity before. Will you sign my boobs?”
Layla, the funny one—I was guessing—was impersonating a Japanese anime character. Her long straight hair was black with bangs cut straight across her forehead. The thick locks were pulled back in a high ponytail except for two bright aqua strands hanging over her ears to fall on her shoulders.
At the boobs comment, she stretched open a white V-neck, revealing a tattoo that spanned her entire chest. A two-headed raven began at her collarbone and extended down into her slight cleavage. The intricate black outline of the tattoo was filled in with an aqua that matched the hue of her hair. The two ravens’ heads stretched, open-mouthed, toward her shoulders as if cawing before taking flight upon a pair of outstretched wings.
The bird’s tail wasn’t fully visible, but I could just glimpse the top of two powerful talons gathered high into its body. Layla’s slight frame topped out just over five feet, but five-inch platform boots that hugged her legs all the way up her reedy thighs put her nearly at my eye level. A tightly-fitted black leather jacket with tiny daggers for buttons completed her Miniature Badass ensemble.
“Can it, crow,” the big man retorted. “And put the girls away. Everyone here has already seen ’em, anyway.”
Layla wasn’t fazed by the banter and dramatically rolled her eyes at the big guy, who surged forward with his hand out.
“Name’s Boone Adder. This is Bex, and that’s Ewan.” He nodded in the direction of the other two, who both nodded at me in turn.
Bex very obviously had feline forbearers. She exuded sleek and haughty. Her long silky hair was a rich caramel color, her skin tone only a shade lighter. Her eyes, the color of honey, were wide and bright in the middle, but slanted sharply at both corners. I imagined her circling her prey, ass in the air and tail switching, though no tail was presently visible. She was attractive, sexy—the kind of girl that always seemed to attract older men and had no time for ‘boys.’
Ewan, though, looked to be as homo sapien as I was.
Growing up in the South, I hadn’t seen many men with overly-long hair. I’d known one or two who expressed their pride of heritage with traditional long locks, and there had been shag-cut trends, but by and large most men I knew kept their hair cropped close to their scalp. This guy, though, had the most gorgeous head of hair I had seen on a man. Shiny black curls fell in layers almost to the top of his shoulders in back, and just around his temples in the
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