The voice that whispered into his ear was low, guttural, and laced with a demonic charm that seemed to echo from the deepest, darkest recesses of a fever dream. It carried a tone of pure, unadulterated wickedness that sent a shiver of ice skittering down Julian Sterling's spine, freezing the marrow in his bones even as it paradoxically ignited a molten fire in his lower abdomen, causing his insides to contract violently in anticipation.
The man pressed closer, his hot breath ghosting over the sensitive shell of Julian's ear, articulating every syllable with deliberate, terrifying clarity.
