With dark hair braided over her shoulder, eyes the color of liquid gold mixed with honey—their father’s eyes—and moon-pale skin, she looked so similar to when Kiva had last seen her ten years ago. But Zuleeka was no longer an innocent, wide-eyed eleven-year-old child. There was a harshness about her now, her angular features set, her hands resting on weapons belted to her leather-clad waist. Her stance was both casual and threatening, the latter becoming more evident when a slow, dangerous smile stretched across her hawkish face.
