GRAYSON'S MOVEMENT was liquid shadow and lightning combined.
One moment he stood at the doorway, silver eyes blazing with barely contained fury. The next, he'd crossed the space between them with supernatural speed, his hand closing around Varrow's skeletal wrist with enough force to make the older demon's bones creak audibly.
"I said," Grayson repeated, his voice dropping to a register that made the walls themselves seem to shudder, "let her go."
Varrow's triumphant grin flickered, as though a shadow had passed over it.
His grip slackened, just enough for Mailah to tear herself free and stagger back, her spine colliding with the cold marble wall. Her wrist pulsed with pain, angry red marks already blooming where his claws had dug in.
She didn't understand what had made him falter, but maybe Varrow had suddenly realized—he was no match for a demon like Grayson, not one who looked as dangerously uncontrollable as he did now.
