A little distance from her allowed Endymion to be at least partially distracted from her beauty again, although it still took a beat to comprehend Oz’s comment about human women. “I know lots of human...” he began, in protest, just as the meaning sank in. “She’s a veela,” he echoed instead. “Why is she here?” Here, in the middle of a ballroom, an enclosed space, drawing everyone’s eye. (The veela he’d known hadn’t been in society.)
Endymion found his gaze lingering on her still, and shook his head a little as if he could shake himself out of it. He did manage to, for a moment, and he offered his brother a frown instead. “And how can you just –” he gestured at his apparent state of general composure to mean resist her?
Endymion found his gaze lingering on her still, and shook his head a little as if he could shake himself out of it. He did manage to, for a moment, and he offered his brother a frown instead. “And how can you just –” he gestured at his apparent state of general composure to mean resist her?
