Darren skidded to a halt as the two figures came into view. He didn’t even care if Jasmine stopped right behind him. He was pretty sure the sight before them would still her hand if she was armed with another knife. Two shapes that could have been twigs, but Darren knew without a doubt were fingers, were on the ground, and blood gushed from the fresh stumps on Ray’s hand.
Aden didn’t look like he intended to stop at Ray’s fingers. He was just an oil-black shadow against the pale moonlight, deceptively silent. Darren recognized that silence. It was the calm right before an attack—the silence that happened after the final warning. Every instinct screamed at Darren to reach for his gun, to stop Aden before things could go further. But he stood, frozen, as Aden jumped toward his prey.
Frozen
