ARIA
I froze, turning to the source of the voice.
A man stood there—mid-twenties, dark brown hair swept back from his forehead, deep-set green eyes, and a face that looked carved by gods themselves. Masculine. Angular. High cheekbones, a defined jaw, full lips, and a straight nose that made him almost too perfect to be real.
He ran a hand through his hair as he stepped forward, his gaze locked on Jason.
Mason and Tyson dropped my hands at once, stumbling backward. Then they sank to their knees, heads bowed, eyes averted like scolded dogs.
Jason didn't move. The dagger still hovered in his grip, frozen mid-air.
"I asked you a question," the stranger said. "I said, bring her to me in one piece. I never permitted to lay a hand on her. So why did you?"
Silence. Jason didn't speak. Or maybe he could, as his mouth opened, but no words came out.
"Ah. Right," the man murmured and snapped his fingers.
