Five inches taller than her own five feet nine, he had the same alabaster skin as all their kind but flame-red hair in contrast to her black. In the near darkness the centers of his silvery eyes glinted crimson. Glowering, he grabbed her shoulders and loomed over her. “I see you’ve dressed up for the occasion.” His hands seared her skin through the light cloth. “Bron! What the hell are you doing here? I was supposed to meet someone named Leon Marcato.” “Leon.” He practically spat the name. “As soon as I learned Morella chose him for you, I contacted him and told him to forget about it.” He shifted his grip to her bare upper arms and dug his fingers into her flesh. An ache spread between her legs. Fighting to ignore it, she said, “What made that your business? How did you even find out?” “You thought I’d forget you’re almost thirty and ready to go into heat for the first time? Or I wouldn’t hear about it when Morella starting looking for a stud? I got her to tell me what she’d arranged.”
