Qavael let out a low, vibrating growl that settled deep into the floorboards as he abruptly pulled out of her. The sudden, agonizing absence left Galathea gasping, her fingers slipping against the cool, dark leather of the sofa. Before she could process the loss of friction, his massive hands locked onto her hips. With effortless, terrifying strength, he flipped her around.
"Let me show you the kind of demon I really am." He said, voice low and menacing.
She stumbled slightly, her bare feet finding the hardwood floor. She was standing directly in front of him now, the ruined layers of her custom reception gown hanging in jagged, shredded strips around her thighs. The sterile, cedar-scented chill of the overworked air conditioning immediately rushed over her exposed skin, making her shiver violently.
But the cold didn't last.
