Damien stood in the doorway.
The bathroom door hung off its hinges, splinters of wood scattered across the tile floor. He filled the entire frame, his massive body radiating a fury so palpable it felt like a physical force, pressing down, stealing the very air from the room. The temperature plummeted so suddenly I could see my own panicked breath mist in front of me.
Leo's hand was still reaching for my arm. His fingers were inches from my skin, a smug, triumphant leer on his face.
They never made contact.
One moment, Leo was standing there, his mouth still open mid-sentence. The next, there was a sickening crack of bone, and he was on the ground, a raw, guttural scream tearing from his throat. His leg was bent at an impossible, unnatural angle.
I hadn't even seen Damien move. He was a blur of silent, controlled violence.
I looked up, my heart hammering against my ribs, caught somewhere between terror and a dizzying, overwhelming relief.
