The brass fire poker hit the hardwood floor with a deafening clatter, but neither of us flinched.
I stared at the towering, blood-soaked silhouette of Kaelen Cross. The man standing in the threshold of the penthouse was completely unrecognizable from the composed, untouchable King of the Syndicate who had kissed me that morning. His black tactical gear was shredded, the heavy Kevlar plates scored with deep gouges from shrapnel and blades.
But it was his eyes that stopped my heart.
The pale, icy silver was completely gone, swallowed by blown, feral pupils. He looked hollowed out. He looked like a man who had descended to the deepest circle of hell, slaughtered every demon he found, and lost his own soul in the process.
I took a trembling step forward.
Kaelen violently flinched bac
