Thrill of it .

Settling her at the front of their room door, he didn't bother to look into her face before he turned and left, hearing the door quietly snap shut behind him.

She had a clue; it was apparent, all thanks to the expression on her face.

The painting explained itself: it was a raw message, probably agonizing like the cut on her upper lip.

He hadn't known what had come over him; he had tried to escape the rage when Noah spilled the news.

And then he went to see for himself but met her hiding under the covers, shaking like a leaf and holding her breath.

That did it. He felt the self-control he had worked years to build break into dust.

He would give it to Mason. The man was strong-willed in refusing to spill out the name of his friend.

Confirming his suspicions that the wild animal was no ordinary person.

But he had a piece of advice for him: keep running.

Whatever had gone on last night had ruined everything—his pretense, his composure—and every demon he tried to pin down was flail