Victoria stood three steps up, bleeding from both hands, glass still embedded in her knuckles. She shivered and backed away — fear of him and from the void, from the cold, from the crackling energy that made the air taste like ozone and old blood.
Her eyes were huge but dry.
Victoria didn't cry when she was scared. She cried when she was furious, and right now the fury hadn't finished forming yet.
It was still in the kiln. Still hardening.
Phei didn't care.
Not tonight.
He reached his woman and pulled Melissa into his arms — one hand sliding around her waist, finding the curve of her hip through the thin nightdress, the other gently drawing Delilah against his chest.
Both women were trembling.
Melissa's trembling was controlled — the vibration of a taut wire, a woman holding herself together by force of will alone, her face buried in his shoulder, her breath hot against his neck.
Delilah's trembling was not controlled.
