AIDAN.
My fists clenched so tightly at my sides that my knuckles turned stark white.
Anabel's pale, trembling hand was practically vibrating in my grip, her skin ice-cold against my palm. Looking down at her, seeing her eyes wide and swimming with a sickening, haunted terror, made a foul, bitter fury boil up from the bottom of my stomach. She was terrified. She looked like a ghost standing beside me, flinching every time the wind blew, completely rattled by the quiet, mocking way Vincent kept looking up at her from his post.
Something felt deeply wrong about the way he stared at her—the subtle, arrogant tilt of his head, the knowing look in his dark eyes that made my skin crawl. He had no right to even breathe the same air as my sister, let alone toss his silent, twisted mind games at her while she was still grieving our brother.
A raw, lethal agitation flared through my chest, burning away the last shreds of my patience.
