The silence in the bedchamber lasted for exactly one second.
Then, the chair beneath Arkin splintered.
The terrifyingly soft, romantic husband vanished. The apex predator who had torn through the spatial fabric to reach her returned, completely unhinged.
The air pressure in the room violently inverted. The violet night-stones flickered and died, plunged into the suffocating darkness of Arkin's expanding shadows. The heat rolling off his massive frame was blistering, searing the oxygen straight out of the room.
He didn't look at her. He looked at the heavy, splintered doorway.
"Shadow," Arkin commanded.
His voice wasn't a roar. It was a low, guttural vibration that shook the dust from the vaulted ceiling. It was the voice of a warlord issuing a decree of absolute annihilation.
