Marcus didn't turn.
But Pemberton did—eyes rolling upward in raw animal terror despite the hand crushing his throat like a vice of living iron. And Harrison, still standing uselessly by the trap machine, fell backward onto his ass as his gaze found the sky, his bladder letting go in a hot shameful rush he wouldn't remember until later.
A figure descended in a form of a man drifting downward through empty air like gravity had politely asked for his cooperation—reality and space itself bending around him in reluctant submission while his catchy golden hair caught the afternoon light like molten divinity.
His features too perfect to be entirely human and arranged themselves into the most punchable smile in existence yet in the same way, it was the same smile that promised both salvation and annihilation in the same breath.
He landed without sound because of course even gravity bended to his pleasure ang grace was his second trait after his name.
