THE SILENCE Grayson left in his wake was louder than the clatter of silverware. Mailah stared at the doorway, the ghost of his warm breath still dancing against her ear. Her heart was a frantic drum, caught between the urge to run after him and the instinct to hide under the heavy mahogany table.
"Don't mind him," Lucson said smoothly. He leaned back in his chair, his presence as steady and imposing as an ancient oak. "Grayson has always been a bit much when he's... agitated."
"Agitated is a nice word for it," Mason chimed in, leaning back. The nightmare demon was back to his playful self, though the warning he'd given Mailah in her room still sat like lead in her stomach. "I'd say he's a tea-kettle about to blow its lid. And you, Mailah, are the fire underneath."
