Something ugly twisted across Aerion’s face, as though he could not quite decide whether what enraged him more was his cousin’s remark, or the fact that he had dared to spit it at him at all. It did not take long for him to seize the front of the other’s shirt in his fist and yank him close. “You said what?” he demanded, taking care to make sure Valarr’s beautiful mismatched eyes could see the malice burning in his own. And yet, not even that cruelty could disguise the way Aerion’s gaze dragged from his cousin’s lips back up to his eyes, as though he himself did not know which of them deserved his disdain more. “I find it amusing,” he hissed, “that you’ve grown so cocky all of a sudden. But do mind your words.” Aerion then pressed his body as hard as he could against Valarr’s, as if that alone were the purest expression of his threat.
