THE VIBRATION of the knife still thrumming in the mahogany table felt like a heartbeat—one that didn't belong to Mailah, yet resonated in the soles of her feet.
Grayson's grip was like iron wrapped in velvet; he was a contradiction of lethal intent and a hunger he clearly despised.
"Grayson," she began, her voice steady despite the way her pulse hammered against the palm he held pressed to her waist. "Before you decide I'm just a distraction or a 'biological glitch,' there is something you need to know. Something that hasn't been said, and if I don't say it now, I think the weight of it will break whatever is left of this... whatever this is."
