He was well over six feet, as most Immortals were, with skin kissed by the sun and shining black hair. Tattoos peeked out from his velvety ornate tunic up his neck. They ran across his knuckles as well. They weren’t sleek or elegant. They were harsh, jagged marks of ancient Magic. Familiar and unfamiliar to her all at once. Vexkari. He looked to be in his thirties. But Immortals were gifted eternal beauty. They stopped aging in their second or third decades. “I think I may faint,” said Abraxas. Reeve and Ambrose embraced happily. “That may be the most attractive man I’ve ever seen,” Abraxas
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