"I am really out of words, Storm.... I don't even know what to say to you," Scarlet said, his voice a tiny, fragile thread that shook with every syllable.
He sat upright with agonizing slowness, dragging his gaze away from Storm's piercing eyes and pinning it instead on the glass reflections of the drink cabinet, looking like a man whose spirit had finally snapped.
Storm, however, remained a predatory silhouette, hovering patiently and cautiously above the couch. He wore a death stare capable of capsizing a ship, his pulse thrumming with a violent restlessness.
At this point, he couldn't bear the heavy presence of Scarlet, who did nothing but sit there like a dumbfounded idiot.
The sight was so pathetic it made Storm's blood boil with a toxic mix of irritation and suspicion; he fought a primal urge to pounce and tear the truth out of the man. The temperature of the room plummeted, a sudden, crazy chill settling into the floor.
