Standing on the wooden porch, framed by the pale morning light, was the ghost that had haunted his marriage for nearly two decades.
Jorah had aged, his broad shoulders wider, his jaw heavier, silver threading through the dark hair at his temples. But his sheer, imposing mass was unmistakable. He stood well over six feet tall, an immovable block of stone, his golden-brown eyes level and unsettlingly clear.
For a single, breathless second, the suburban street disappeared, replaced by the memory of tearing flesh, hot blood, and the terrifying snarl of a beast.
Silas’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Get off my property," he snarled, his voice vibrating with raw fury. "Get off my porch right now, before I call the police and put a bullet through your chest."
Jorah didn't flinch. H
