Long black coat fluttering, Jericho Barrons stepped out of the glass. He was covered with blood that had iced to crimson frost on his hands, face, and clothing. His skin was pale from extreme cold, and his midnight eyes blazed with an inhuman, feral light. In his arms he carried the brutally savaged, bloody body of a young woman. I didn’t need to feel her pulse to know that she was dead.
