GRAYSON'S PRESENCE didn't just fill the room; it crushed it.
Julian, to his credit, didn't run. He stood his ground, his hand still hovering near Mailah's arm, though his fingers trembled.
"Grayson," Mailah gasped, stepping between him and Julian. "I was just... He's leaving."
Grayson didn't look at her. He was looking at Julian's hands, which were still hovering near Mailah's shoulders.
"You are very brave," Grayson said. His voice had that "Prince" quality now—the one that made the very ground feel like it was bowing. "To come here. To touch my wife."
"Grayson, stop!" Mailah cried, placing her hands on his chest. He was like a furnace, his skin scorching hot even though the air around them was freezing.
He stepped forward, and the sheer pressure of his presence forced Julian back until he hit the glass window. The glass groaned under the weight of Grayson's intent.
