Jayvaughn leaned back on the sofa, his expression calm, though his father's words clearly irritated him. "Father," he said, his voice carrying a light trace of sarcasm, "even if you're desperate to separate me from my boyfriend, you don't have to accuse him so recklessly. What exactly are you implying? That my Axel, my fragile, gentle Axel, is hiding some dangerous identity? Dad, just look at him. Does he even look like he could kill a bird?"
Milford frowned deeply, the lines on his forehead tightening. "Don't joke with me, Jayvaughn. Don't tell me you didn't notice anything. I won't believe you if you say so. Think back to when he confronted your grandmother earlier. Don't try to lie and say he didn't make you feel a little sense of danger. I saw it in his eyes, I felt it in the air. That wasn't just anger. That was the aura of someone who has walked through blood."
