Astonishment filled his alluring eyes. His lips curled up, exposing a sharp incisor, and he flipped off the roof and landing upright outside the veranda. My eyes snagged to the gold lettering on his padded black vest. Guardian. He seemed to be a volyr in his early thirties. Maybe late-twenties? A very attractive one at that.
He took out his cigar. “You’re the one,” he said, voice unreliably pleasing. “Ausmane’s little human.”
Wary of his disposition, my feet were ready to sprint at the first sign of threat. “I’m not his anything. Who are you?”
His eyes flared, first with detest, then with interest. “I didn’t want to believe it at first. This is sensational. I’m surprised Ausmane didn’t get in trouble yet.”
“Who are you?” I repeated.
He flicked his fingers. “Ah! You’re the same woma
