“Lucien.”

Jaxon’s voice was all steel low, sharp, dangerous. His finger hovered near the trigger, every muscle taut, a predator ready to strike.

Lucien didn’t even flinch. He strolled into the living room like the crash of the door was a mere inconvenience, his gaze sliding past Jaxon and locking onto Raven.

“You’ve grown up well,” he murmured, tilting his head in appraisal. “Your mother would’ve been proud.”

Her pulse spiked. “Don’t ” The word cracked out before ...