I was wrong. As soon as I locked eyes with the leader, I realized that his eyes weren't cold at all.
They burned. They burned with a ruthless intensity that threatened to take my breath away. It was terrifying and unknown and deep and dark.
I'd never felt so alive.
I couldn't look away, I didn't want to, even though I felt like I was going to vibrate out of my skin.
*It's adrenaline. That's all it is, Lizzie. Adrenaline. The fear, the shock, the pain. There's a lot happening, and none of it's good. Get a grip. That look in his eyes isn't about you, it couldn't be. That kind of look never is.*
Even so, I tried to imagine what he saw when he looked at me, what it was that had captured his attention and prevented him from looking anywhere else. There was nothing remarkable about me. I was slightly taller than average, but 5'8" wasn't that unusual. Brown hair, brown eyes. Slightly crooked nose. I liked my cheekbones and my lips. If you had to reduce my body to a shape, I suppose it would be a sturdy hourglass, but it certainly wasn't on display: loose gray joggers plus an oversized UCSD t-shirt didn't do much for my figure.
There were plenty of more attention-grabby people around me, people with perfectly symmetrical faces and mathematically ideal figures. After all, the golden ratio was the golden ratio, no matter what galaxy you're from.
Maybe it was as simple as me being the only person in the room who looked back at him, who met his scrutiny head on. After all, he and his men were overwhelmingly intimidating. Tall, broad, and heavily armored, they loomed over us, and their navy blue skin made their golden eyes all the more jarring. Except for my guy.
*My guy? Since when is he "my guy"? Get it together, Lizzie.*
He was deep aubergine, and pale designs cut their way over his skin, designs that pulsed with light as he stared at me. He was also the only one of the group with hair on his head. It was black as pitch, a long braided mohawk. I wondered how long it was. I wished I was closer so I could see their faces better. The illumination from his skin wasn't enough to get more than a vague impression of a strong jaw and some kind of ridging along his cheekbones, nose, and forehead.
But his eyes. Those I saw perfectly, and I liked what I saw. I liked being seen by him, too. He didn't look at me with disdain, or pity. He looked at me with hunger. Something that should have concerned me considering I didn't know what his kind actually ate. Maybe we were on the menu, To Serve Man style.