The Lost and the Chosen (The Lost Sentinel, #1)

by Ivy Asher

He looks like he should be walking into a boardroom instead of this concrete, lemon-scented locker room. His suit is custom-made and pristine, at odds with the old, gruff, Viking vibe the rest of him exudes. He had long hair the first time I met him. The blond locks danced in the wind, and ocean blue eyes stared up at me, as I stood on top of his SUV with a rock in my hand. I was fifteen and homeless, running from a couple of assholes who got pissed that I dared to fight back when their group tried to steal my backpack. Talon wears his hair buzzed now, his beard shorter, more well-kept. The facial hair does little to conceal his square jaw or sharp nose. I discovered over the years that his blue eyes only ever seem to soften for me. Everyone else gets the ruthlessly cold and calculating side of Talon. Me? I get the protector and friend. At six feet two inches, he’s tall enough to hulk over me, and everything about him——from his size to the way he carries himself——oozes, don’t fuck with me.

Talon—protector, friend, Daddy long legs