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12
What, You Jelly?
TO SAY THAT THINGSwere awkward until the other two Hunters showed up would be putting it lightly. Aside from a few grunts of acknowledgement, neither dude said a damn word to each other. Instead, everything was directed at me, as if they couldn’t be bothered to wait for the other one to finish.
It was honestly the worst.
So, when the other two Hunters appeared, I praised them for the gods of salvation they were.
“You must be V?” a man asked, whose eyes could only be described as the color of ice.
His raven-black hair was styled and swept back, emphasizing his pale features. Dressed in form-fitting garb, the handsome stranger looked like he should be at a fashion show and not out hunting Shadow Goblins.
There wasn’t really a better way to describe him other than the dude was pretty as fuck. It was a gorgeousness that transcended gender and, honestly, reality. My face was sure to say so, and it took every bit of my willpower not to outright drool in his presence.
Is he glowing?
His features oddly reminded me of elves portrayed in fantasy movies—they were perfect, seamless, without flaw. It was a beauty I wanted to photograph and send to Kate, sure she’d be just as mesmerized. My hand itched to reach into my pocket for my phone to do just that.
“You okay there?” the attractive stranger asked as I continued to stare silently at him.
And he’s like, six-foot-three. Easily.
“I...you. Me fine,” I managed to string together, giving Nigel and Phillip plenty of reason to snicker.
I absently wondered how soft the new dude’s skin was, because it looked really smooth. Baby smooth.
The amorous Hunter wore a thickly padded vest over his chest, but it was easy to see without looking too hard the other Hunter was built to fight. Not like Nigel or Phil, but more like someone who primarily used martial arts, because the tone in his arms and torso suggested he’d be limber and quick.
Super limber.
The compound bow and sniper rifle strapped to his back also meant he was likely a long-range fighter.
“I mean,” I started, working hard to get my head together, “That’s me. I’m V. In the flesh. At your disposal.”
I couldn’t stop the lame greeting even if I wanted to. To clarify, guys who looked like I should be reverently bowing and calling them Elf King made my brain short-circuit.
