He ripped the man away from Amara with such force that the attacker's feet barely touched the ground before he was slammed into the concrete floor. Then came the blows. It was rhythmic. Relentless. A sickening, wet sound as Darien dismantled the man's face. He wasn't thinking about the merger. He wasn't thinking about the law or the delicate political balance of the city's supernatural factions. He was thinking about the way Amara's breath had hitched when she saw him.
"Mr. Dravik..." she gasped, her voice a fragile, broken thing.
That sound was the final snap of his restraint. He let the limp, pulpy mass of the man fall from his grip, the kidnapper now nothing more than a heap of broken bone and unconscious regret.
He turned to her. And the world stopped.
