Ull was seated in a massive, Viking throne with two unusual toddlers on his lap; one had blond hair and blue eyes like Ull, but the other had blood red hair and green eyes with slit pupils like a snake. It should have been an unsettling image, but it wasn't. All three of them had peaceful smiles on their faces, and I felt as if these were aspects of Ull. It was completely wrong; Ull was not a trinity god. Still, it felt right to me. And sad. Every time I looked at the painting, I wanted to cry. It was the reason I'd waited until the last moment to frame it.
I felt a little better once I had the painting wrapped in brown paper. I carried it out to my old Honda and packed it carefully in the trunk. Then I drove into Chinatown and dropped it off at the gallery. I still had to get my hair done before I could get dressed for tonight. Gallery shows meant schmoozing; I had to sell my art and myself. So, we both had to look good.
Hours later—primped and primed with flowery words about my art—I was glad that I had put some extra effort into my appearance. Because as I wandered through the throng of glitzy, gallery guests, the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen walked in the glass doors. He looked as if he could be Hapa—what we in Hawaii call people who are half Hawaiian and half Caucasian. But I wasn't sure; his features were too refined, and his skin was the oddest color. Beautiful, but odd.
“How do you get your skin to gleam like gold?” A woman asked him with adoration in her eyes.
“It's genetics,” he said in a voice like warm sugar; addictively sweet, seductively comforting, and sticky enough to cling to you long after he stopped speaking.
“Come on,” the woman cajoled as she played with her diamond necklace. “You can tell me; I'm very discreet.”
“I assure you,” he purred, “this is how my skin naturally looks.”
He took her hand and rubbed it slowly over his arm. The woman sighed as she wrapped her fingers around his forearm and lightly scratched him with her long, red nails. The man smiled knowingly as he lifted her hand to show her that her fingers remained clean.
“See?” He said. “I'm not wearing cosmetics; it's all me.”
“How fascinating,” the woman practically swooned.
I frowned at the strange display and focused my witchy senses on him. Sure enough, there was more than the gleam of gold to his skin; there was also a distinct ripple of magic in his aura. He was some kind of other, but he didn't have the feel of a witch, he was too classically handsome to be a werewolf, and he wasn't pale enough to be a vampire.
He looked up and caught me staring at him; staring in a way that I'm sure he was unused to; more scientific than appreciative. This seemed to pique his interest, and he excused himself to saunter over to me. Oh, great; I could tell by his swagger alone that he knew how attractive he was. I hated that. I could appreciate all kinds of beauty, but once someone became cocky in their appearance, I lost my appreciation for it. The Golden Boy saw my distaste, and his eyes widened as his steps quickened.
I turned away and started heading for the bar.
“Now, hold on a minute, Miss.” He caught my arm. “You can't just look at me like that and then run away.”
“Can't I?” I looked pointedly at his hand.
He loosened his grip but only to slide his hand down to mine. In a move that seemed practiced, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. My heartbeat picked up despite my irritation; this guy was handsome enough to make me excuse his arrogance. And that's past movie-star handsome, by the way. Living in Hawaii, I've had the opportunity to meet several celebrities, and the arrogant ones always become unattractive to me. But not this guy.
I glanced up and found his face mere inches from mine. His eyes were the most amazing shade; a metallic gold that matched his skin. From this proximity I could tell that they were real too; they had striations of amber, umber, and even pale blue in them. I blinked in surprise, and his sensual lips turned up into a smile.
“I'm Re,” he introduced himself as he lowered my hand but continued to hold it.
I just stared at him.
“Now, you tell me your name,” he prompted.
“I don't think so,” I whispered as I extricated my hand from his.
Re gaped at me as I slipped past him. The last thing I needed was some gorgeous man making me feel insecure on my big night. He was so distracting that none of my usual quips had come to mind; the man was actually making me boring. Which made me angry.
“Vervain, the turnout is fantastic,” Jennifer, the gallery owner, said as she approached me. “Oh, hello.” Her gaze went up and over my left shoulder. “Who are you?”
“I'm Re.” His hand came around my shoulder to shake Jennifer's.
I glanced over and noticed the dark undertone of his skin. I began to contemplate his ancestry again; not Native American, but possibly Middle Eastern. How strange that the sheen of gold made him look so much paler. I had assumed that he had some Caucasian genes, but now, I was certain that he didn't. This man was all kinds of exotic. Damn it; I really wanted to paint him.
“I'm Jennifer,” she said. “I own this gallery. Welcome, Re; thank you for coming.”
“Oh, coming is my specialty,” he teased.
Jennifer blushed to her blond roots as she giggled. “You're naughty,” she whispered. “I love it.”
“Does Vervain work with
