Malcolm's breathing was a ragged, chaotic rhythm that echoed off the high walls of the silent master suite. He stood in the center of the room, his entire frame shaking from the lingering surge of adrenaline, his jaw clamped shut so tightly the muscles in his cheek twitched. The tear tracks on his face were still wet, reflecting the soft ambient glow of the room lights.
Dahmer stood near the door, tall, immobile, and perfectly poised. The terrifying, ice-cold fury that had radiated from him downstairs had completely vanished. His features smoothed out into that familiar, unreadable calm, his eyes fixed intently on the trembling Alpha before him.
