Yesterday on Twitter I complained about having to write introductions of the characters for the 10th thousandth time. Eventually, as a result of the discussion, I ended up posting a couple of descriptions. Here they are – this way you don’t have to hunt for them on Twitter.
He must’ve been out of the Keep, because instead of his regular sweatpants, he wore jeans. When you looked at him, you got an overwhelming impression of strength. His broad shoulders and powerful chest strained his T-shirt. Carved biceps bulged on his arms. His stomach was flat and hard. Everything about him spoke of sheer physical power, contained but ready to be released. He moved like a cat on the prowl, graceful, supple, and completely quiet, stalking the Keep’s hallways, a lion in his stone lair.
If I didn’t know him and I saw him coming in a dark alley, I’d make myself scarce. But his real power was in his eyes. The moment you looked into his grey irises, you knew he would tolerate no challenge to his authority, and if his eyes turned gold, you knew you were going to die. In a fit of cosmic irony, he had fallen in love with me. I challenged his authority on weekly basis.
A young man walked up and stopped in the doorway. He moved with complete silence, like a ghost. Still lean, but on the way to filling out, he had short brown hair and the kind of face that made you stop in your tracks. He used be pretty, almost beautiful, with huge brown eyes that possessed the power to make any girl under twenty swoon. Back then Jim had used him for covert work. People had discounted Derek Gaunt as a boy toy, but he missed nothing. He’d survived more horrors by the time he was eighteen than most people ever see in their entire lives. He was ruthless, hard, and disciplined, and he dedicated himself to the task completely.
Then bad things happened and Derek’s face lost the innocence. The good bones were still there, but trauma had thickened his clean lines and stripped any remnants of softness from his features. He looked like a man who’d cut his way through too many fights to count. His brown eyes had turned hard and distant and when he decided to be unfriendly, they went completely flat. I’d seen that kind of stare from veteran pit fighters. It said you weren’t a human being. You were an object to be removed.
The stare worried me. Derek was a friend. Even if the entire Pack turned on me, he would stay in my corner. But the humor, the spark that used to make Derek who he was, was growing dimmer and dimmer. If it disappeared, Derek would be in a bad place. I’ve been there and it was hard to claw your way out of that hole.