I pouted, staring up at his handsome, mocking face.
The banter had broken my defenses, and a sudden, unprompted curiosity took over.
I hadn't purposely meant to dig into the deeper, darker corners of his past so quickly, but the question slipped out before I could filter it.
"Who did you actually take this horrible attitude from anyway?"
I asked, adjusting myself on the mattress. Intrigued by my own thought, I sat up a bit higher, leaning forward as my eyes searched his.
"Was it your father?"
Instantly, the casual, teasing atmosphere in the grand bedchamber completely evaporated.
All the playfulness vanished from his posture in a single heartbeat.
Draven didn't move, and he didn't snap, but his large hand slowly and violently clenched into a rigid fist against his side.
He cracked his neck, his head slowly turning until his piercing dark eyes locked onto mine.
The temperature in the room plummeted, and a lethal, suffocating stillness took over his frame.
