A man with long white hair braided down his back, high cheekbones and cold, clear blue eyes stared unblinking at me. His beard was also braided in one straight line, meeting his chest. He wore a strange, leather patchwork vest. One might have said he looked creepy, but I saw him as ethereal. He looked like he belonged in the mountains, in the snow, and I couldn’t explain why other than he was arctic himself.

Two of the men sat side-by-side and it took me a moment to realize they wore the same face on different bodies. They were identical although each of the twins had nose rings telling them apart. One of them had a stud in each nostril with a small chain joining them, while the other had a septum piercing. Two-studs appeared curious of me. Septum Dan, however, looked at me as like I was a barking dog in the middle of the night and he would have liked nothing more than to keep me quiet, with a bullet if necessary.

After a moment of quiet, the scariest looking man, with longish brown hair falling over his eyes and a wide, jagged smile etched onto his face with ink, leant forward and spoke quietly into the ear of the dark-haired, obsidian eyed man who sat centered and I knew immediately that the man he whispered to was Roam.

I couldn’t hear what he said but he made it fairly obvious the statement was about me, seeing as he kept his eyeliner smudged eyes on me, unblinking. He was lean but cut, his tattooed muscular body was on full display as all he wore was tailored slacks, a pair of black suspenders sans shirt, an odd looking black beaded rosary hanging in the center of his broad chest that held a silver pentagram as well as an upside cross, and black heavy silver-buckled boots.

On anyone else, it would have looked ridiculous. On this man though?

I could have easily mistaken him for an alt model.

Each of these men screamed danger, but a single lazy glance from the ominous man sitting front and center, surrounded by misfits, had my heart jumping into my throat and blood rushing in my ears. A small silver hoop glittered in his ear. He blinked at me a second, his heavy brows marred and then he ran a hand down his neatly trimmed beard, slow and calculated. When he spoke, his voice was deep and he uttered an offhanded, “Ettore, please explain to me why we have another Vero at the table when I barely tolerate the one.” He did not hide his disdain for my sister when his hooded gaze swept over her.

Her own responded in kind.

Meanwhile, I sat frozen to the spot, my heart thumping in my chest so hard I was sure they could all see it.