Lucas did not stop Ezra from dragging Grace away, but his gaze followed them, piercing the werewolf's back. His gaze was so sharp, cold, and left no room for interpretation as compassion. He was not angry—in fact, he was even colder, even more dangerous. It was as if Ezra's every breath only fueled the fire that had long been hidden within him.
"If you think you can protect her from me... you're sorely mistaken," Lucas whispered and, almost inaudibly. But his tone was laden with a piercing threat, enough to make Ezra turn his head for a moment, his jaw tightening, the veins in his temples throbbing.
Grace was still gasping for breath, her body trembling with tension. Her eyes were filled with fear and confusion, as if she had just been caught in a nightmare from which she could not wake herself up. "Ezra... what do they mean? I'm not a chicken to be slaughtered, am I? You're not going to..."
