Xaloc stared at the man standing in front of the carriage, not even noticing that his breath hitched.
The man was tall and muscular. He should be over six feet, maybe six-four or six-five. His skin was a warm shade of olive and his long sleek black hair was swept back from his face, coiled into a low ponytail.
He was very attractive, his facial features were sharp as if carved from marble, and a distinctive knife scar was prominent on the man's left cheek giving him a very dangerous look.
But what held Xaloc's attention was the man's eyes. They reminded him of the vase of lavender flowers that were kept near the window that his mother changed the water and pruned so carefully.
There was a warm lilac colour.
The man's soft gaze searched his figure before it wandered to Neil and then narrowed in something akin to frustration.
"Neil." He greeted. The man's voice was low and flat, a sharp contrast to the warmth in his eyes.
