The icy air that swept in with Axton settled over the room like a shroud. Ren felt his heart hammer against his ribs, not out of passion, but out of a cold, profound terror.
He glanced at Dorian, whose hand was still resting on his thigh, and saw the moment his soft vulnerability dissolved into rigid, desperate fear.
Axton didn't move from the doorway, but his silver eyes moved with devastating slowness, assessing the scene: Ren sitting on the bed, Dorian sitting close, the intimacy of the moment violently interrupted.
"Leave the room, Dorian," Axton commanded. His voice was flat, containing no anger, which made it far more terrifying than a shout.
Dorian instantly stood, his face pale. He opened his mouth to explain, to apologise, but Axton cut him off with a chilling glance.
"You said your piece. Now, leave."
