Miguel's POV
I stood at my window , the glass cold against my knuckles as I stared at the shimmering, jagged skyline of the city. Behind me, I could hear him breathing, shallow, hitched, terrified. Danny. My little siren. My biggest mistake.
I didn’t turn around. I didn't have to. I could feel him in the air, the scent of that expensive, flowery soap he used and the underlying musk of pure, unadulterated fear. It did something to my blood.
It made it run hot and thick, like liquid lead.
"Come here," I growled. My voice sounded like gravel grinding together.
He was shaking. Good. He should be. I reached back without looking and grabbed a handful of that soft, blonde hair, yanking him toward the floor to ceiling glass.
"Look at it," I hissed, forcing his face toward the window. We were
