Azriel's Point Of View
Lucien's presence was always like that… quiet, controlled, but dangerous in a way that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. It wasn't the kind of danger that screamed… no, it whispered, it lingered like smoke curling around a blade, promising consequences without having to strike.
He didn't need to move fast, didn't need to raise his voice. Just being there, standing in that space, was enough to make the room feel smaller, heavier.
I smirked, letting myself sink deeper into the leather of the sofa, legs stretched, one arm slung lazily over the back. My gaze traced the sharp angles of Lucien's face, the way the light from the floor lamps reflected on the edges of his cheekbones, highlighting that permanent shadow in his eyes that suggested he saw too much and spoke too little.
"Where have you been, baby brother?" His voice slid over the room like velvet, smooth, deliberate, dangerous.
