CLARE – POV
By the time I changed—as he so politely requested—and went back to the sitting area, Blaze was still standing there. Perfectly still. Stiff. Clenching and unclenching his fists like he was debating whether to punch a hole through the wall or someone's skull.
Whatever he was thinking, it wasn't good. He looked furious—more than usual. His anger had a pulse, a kind of heat that seemed to thrum through the air and make the shadows twitch.
For a second, I considered asking him about Clark again. The question was right there, sitting on my tongue like a dare. But one look at his expression—tight jaw, twitching fingers, that faint golden fire flickering under his skin—and I thought better of it.
