He glanced back, eyes of purest sin meeting mine, like a spill of oil mixed with hellfire. His face was brutally beautiful to look at, the slash of his eyebrows carving over those wicked obsidian eyes and the slant of his cheekbones like two cuts of glass driven beneath his skin. His black hair was as sleek as feathers, wayward and tumbling more to the right of his face than to the left, and there was a hint of deepest red to it, like a slick of blood glossed through it.
