A sinful smirk tugs at his lips when he hears his new nickname. He thinks this is a game of cat and mouse. If he wants to debase me with a nickname, it’s only fair I return the favor.
Slowly, he reaches up and slides the hood off his head, the knife glinting as if to mock me. I have my own knife, too.
Any triumph I felt over my little jab dissipates like butter in a hot skillet.
And all the fear I’ve been feeling triples. His face is… unlike anything I’ve seen. But that’s the thing—I have seen him before. The mismatched eyes give him away.
In the bookstore, I only saw portions of his face. At the time, he seemed mildly attractive. But now that I see those pieces as a whole, he’s devastating.
His right eye darker than the midnight sky, and the other the exact opposite. His left eye is so bleached of color, it’s nearly white. The scar starting from the middle of his forehead, slashing straight down through his white eye and to the middle of his cheek, is something I haven’t been able to forget since I saw him in the bookstore.
Despite the ugly scar, it only serves to heighten his utter beauty. A jawline so sharp, he could cut diamonds with it. A straight, aristocratic nose. Full lips. And short black hair, just long enough to run your hands through.
This is wrong. So wrong.
I shouldn’t be attracted to a stalker.
His presence is so overwhelming, it feels as if he’s ten feet tall with a shadow crawling up the ceiling, slithering toward me. This room feels tiny with him in it. I feel tiny with him in it.
He takes a step toward me, a hint of that smirk remaining on his face—just the slightest curl in his lips.
I take a step back. Finally, my instincts aren’t completely jacked sideways, and I make my first smart move of the night.
“Cat got your tongue, little mouse?”
Briefly, I close my eyes. His voice washes over me, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The sound is as deep as his black eye.
I swallow again, nearly choking on the very muscle. It feels like my tongue has swollen to double its size.
“What do you want from me?” I choke out.
He prowls towards me. My spine tightens, and despite the gallons of fear pumping through my heart valves, I stay still. When he gets close enough, I’ll stab him.
Aim for the throat, Addie.
My eyes lock with his, and all thought escapes me. He presses the entirety of his body against mine. No shame. No shyness. No, let me buy you a drink first before I press my man pecs into you.
The boldness of it has me nearly biting my tongue in surprise.
It takes several seconds for my body to unlock. Before I can think about what I’m doing, I swing my knife towards him, but meet resistance when I attempt to lift it.
I look down in confusion, just to see his bare hand wrapped around the blade. Blood pools in his hand, a small trail heading straight towards my own.
I gasp, my eyes widening and snapping back to his. Not a single iota of pain shines in his eyes. Not even a glimmer.
He jerks on the blade once, ripping it from my weak hold, blindly tossing it behind him.
The knife clatters loudly against something before toppling to the floor, the sound reverberating in the otherwise quiet room. Nothing but my heavy panting breaks the static of silence surrounding us. His presence is a vortex, steadily depleting the oxygen from the room—and even from my brain.
Because I cannot think straight with his body so close to mine. With the fear coiled tightly around me, the force of it turning my body to stone. I’m useless. Powerless. The inability to fight rages in my head, my survival instincts tell me to just move, yet my body refuses to.
And then his bloody hand is wrapping around the back of my neck and bringing my body flush with his once more. I cringe at the feel of his life’s essence dripping from his hand. The blood feels like menacing fingers crawling down my spine, staining my skin as if to mark me.
To my horror, he lifts his other hand—the one still gripping a much more wicked-looking knife than mine—and brings the tip of the blade to the underside of my chin.
He applies enough pressure to force my chin up further, the metal biting into my skin. The slightest curl to his lips stalls the breath in my lungs. The act speaks of something daunting. Something condemning.
“You’re even more beautiful up close,” he murmurs, his sinful eyes devouring my face.
I scowl and plant my hands on his chest, ignoring the pure steel beneath his flesh, and attempt to push him away. But he resists the force, his lip curling into a snarl.
Tears rim my lids as frustration grows.
“Please, just leave. I-I don’t want you here. I don’t want you. Just leave me alone,” I beg. It feels like reaching a hand inside my chest, yanking out my pride and throwing it onto the floor. But I don’t give a fuck about my pride in this moment.
I just want this man to fucking leave.
He presses in closer. “Are you going to cry, Addie?” he taunts. My hands are still pressed firmly against his chest. His heart is racing beneath my palms, giving me pause. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s not as unaffected as he’s appearing to be.
“No,” I lie.
I will absolutely have no problems crying my eyes out after he leaves. But I refuse to show him any more weakness.
He flashes me a feral, toothy smile, pulling the blade from my chin and dropping his hand from behind my neck.
The second he steps away, I feel a mixture of coldness and relief. But then he’s coming right back.
The intensity in his eyes holds me in place as he walks to stand beside me, his chest brushing against my arm. He smells like leather and smoke. It’s intoxicating. He’s intoxicating.
Fear has a taste. Acidic, burnt metal. It numbs my tongue. Not just my tongue, but my entire being.
I’m so, so scared.
But yet, so… consumed by him.
I keep my head straight but don’t let him out of my line of sight. He leans into me, pressing his weight against me. I combat his strength. Rather than being pushed away from him, I’m being absorbed by him. Hot breath warms my skin as his lips trace the outer edge of my ear. Another shiver wracks my spine.
“I want to devour you,” he whispers.
My lip trembles. I suck the traitorous lip between my teeth, if only it stops showing my weakness. When I risk a glance at him, his eyes have zeroed in on my lips.
“Are you here to kill me?” I ask lowly, trying my best to mask the tremors wracking through my body.
I’m failing.
Slowly, he shakes his head. “Why would I do that?” I’m not sure how to answer that. He continues, “I wouldn’t kill you, little mouse. I want to keep you.”
“What if I don’t want you to?”
He smiles. “You will.”
I open my mouth, ready to tell him about himself and his momma, but the words die on my tongue when he reaches up a hand and swipes his thumb roughly across my bottom lip.
“Mm,” he growls in delight. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to allow you the opportunity to run and hide. If I find you, then I will deliver your punishment. If I don’t, you go unpunished and I will leave.”
I pinch my eyes shut, a small single strand of hope threading throughout the hysteria. I know this house like the back of my hand. I know where the good hiding spots are.