Zyran's jealousy hit the doorway five steps before he did. He didn't even bother with a smile; he planted himself just inside the frame like a problem that had learned to stand upright. "Isabella, get up," he said, voice smooth as a blade pulled slow from a sheath.
Isabella didn't even flinch. She sank deeper into Kian's lap on purpose, like a petty cat choosing its favorite cushion. "No," she said, soft and lethal. "Why would I do that, brother? I think this is the perfect place for me."
A muscle jumped in Zyran's jaw. "What do you mean by that?"
She gave him a look so innocent it needed to be arrested. "Why do you care?"
"Because you are mine," he said, and the room lost one full degree of temperature.
