"Asher, wait. Please, follow me upstairs."
My voice cut through the explosive, frozen tension of the conservatory like a sharp blade of ice. The sound seemed to shatter the fragile glass of the silence that had encased us. Marcus snapped his head toward me, his eyes wide with a volatile mixture of grief, exhaustion, and raw disbelief. His chest heaved beneath his tactical vest, his breath rattling in his throat as he waited for the order to spill blood. But I didn't look at him. I kept my eyes locked onto my husband. I stepped directly into Asher's line of sight, my hand gently but firmly coming down over his rigid, burning forearm. The heat radiating from his skin was terrifying, a physical manifestation of the murderous fury vibrating through his towering frame.
