The man—boy just seemed inadequate though he didn’t seem much older than her—was tall, taller than she was expecting, and once she settled on his face, she realized she was staring at the subject of the painting to her right.
Messy brown hair that fell nearly to his ears was shoved back out of his face, as though he ran his fingers through it incessantly. There was also enough hair covering his jaw to tell her he hadn’t shaved in weeks, if not a month or more. Blessed with strong, aristocratic features, and a slight cleft in his chin, he was by far one of the most attractive people—outside of Uilleam—she had ever seen in her life, not that she gazed upon people like them everyday.
Eyes the palest shade of blue they were almost gray, watched her unblinking. They were cold, unforgiving, but the way dark brows arched over them, almost making him look perpetually curious, softened them.
Whoever he was, while he radiated a dangerous aura, he didn’t appear threatening.
Muscular arms folded across his chest as he leaned a shoulder against the wall, the expensive fabric of his shirt pulling taut.
“Who are you?” he asked, though not unkindly. “You’re not one of his projects. You’re too … young.”
And that fact seemed to trouble him.
“Luna,” she said, not really sure why she was answering him. “My name is Luna.”
Maybe because she wanted to be seen as a person, for however long that lasted before Uilleam told him exactly who and what she was.
Men … their faces always changed. Where there had once been indifference at the sight of her, it was replaced quickly with a disgusting lust—as though the thought of getting their hands on a girl they thought couldn’t say, ‘no’ was all the more appealing.
She just wanted to be human for a little while longer.
To her surprise, he uncrossed his arms, extending a hand between them. He held it there wordlessly, never looking away from her. Realizing he was waiting for her, she hesitantly extended her own, her skin coming alive as his much larger one closed around hers.
His hand was rough, not like the pudgy, sweaty fingers of men that Lawrence used to have around—there was strength in his hold.
“Kit Runehart,” he answered in return, sweeping his thumb over the back of her hand, and when he did, she yanked her hand free, tucking it close to her side.
She was almost embarrassed by the knee-jerk reaction, not liking the idea of him seeing weakness in her.
He wasn’t offended by what she did, quite the opposite it seemed as he said, “Apologies.”
Luna felt the stupid urge that she should apologize to him, as though she had done something wrong, but she tamped down that urge as deep as she could.
Her brain was only just now catching up to him being the one that Uilleam had meant for her to find should she need anything.
Now seeing him, she almost wished that Uilleam had meant one of the guards, or an assistant or something.
Kit made her nervous and she hadn’t the slightest idea why.
Realizing that she hadn’t really answered his question, she added, “He brought me here.”
“He did?”
“The Kingmaker?”
She formed her answer as a question, not sure what name he knew the other man by. Though Uilleam had given her his name, no one else seemed to use it.
She wasn’t sure if that was by request, or whether they just didn’t know it.
An emotion flashed in Kit’s eyes. “That’s what they call him anyway. I understand he brought you to my home, yes, but I’m not sure as to the reason why.”
Luna wasn’t even sure of that answer herself. He spoke of her doing something for him, but he had also mentioned that it wouldn’t be this day that she performed the task—truthfully, he hadn’t even said when, exactly, he would need her to do it.
“I bought her,” Uilleam said, his voice carrying from down the hall as he approached, a glass in hand.
If she thought Kit would look unsettled by this, he didn’t. The expression on his face made her think this wasn’t a rare occurrence. “For what purpose?”
“I didn’t purchase her for my own benefit, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Kit’s eyes flickered to her a moment before he said, “Very little doesn’t benefit you in some way.”
As Uilleam came closer, and they stood nearly side by side, she could see it.
The cut of their jaws …
The impressive heights …
And though their eye colors differed, there was a similarity to their eye shape and the dark lashes that lined them both.
Brothers, she realized. They were brothers.
A muscle worked in Kit’s jaw as he asked, “She’s a little young for what you need, isn’t she?”
There was a dark sort of humor to Uilleam’s expression. “Should I be asking that of you?”
He said something else, something she didn’t understand since he spoke in a different language. Kit answered back in the same, his tone gruff.