THE COLD MARBLE of the hallway felt like a tomb, yet the heat radiating from Grayson as he stood over Mailah was enough to make the air shimmer.
He was a paradox of ice and fire, his gray eyes searching hers for an answer he didn't even have the question to. He looked at her not with the warmth of a man who had planned to marry her, but with the dark, focused hunger of a predator who had found a rare, glittering stone in the mud and couldn't decide whether to wear it or crush it.
Slowly, Grayson pulled back, though he didn't let go of her hand. His fingers were long and cold, his grip possessing. "Lucson," he called out, his voice snapping the tension like a whip.
Lucson appeared at the top of the stairs, his expression unreadable.
