He stopped and stared at his wife with cold, ugly rage.

A large cold rage was rising in him, quietly, like black, still water.

Again he could see only her eyes, but they told him clearly enough that she was in a cold rage.

He heard the quick, cold rage that iced her voice.

Thank the Darkness, this was no longer cold rage but hot anger.

Lucas was in a cold rage: he should have thought of this.

Or perhaps it was the cold rage in his eyes as he scanned faces, forms.

My only emotion as I went back into the box was cold rage.

From deep inside of me comes a rage so cold and hard that everything in the room seems to slow down.

And he gave his heart over to a cold, murderous rage to kill.