The knife slipped from my fingers and hit the floor with a metallic thud.
What I was feeling wasn’t fear anymore.
It was disbelief.Rage.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
He said nothing.
“You didn’t move in, did you?” The words came out strangled. I took a step into the room, and his scent engulfed me instantly, striking me in the chest like a cold wind against sun-warmed skin.
Cedarwood. Myrrh. Cold smoke.
Sacred. Ancient. Wrong.
He waswrong,and I could feel the warning signal deep inside my bones. The smell lingered in the air like incense after ritual, thick and unshakable, creeping into my lungs and settling under my skin. It invaded my senses, almost dizzying me.
I shook my head, focusing on the unmoving figure near the window.
“I rented this house, including the two rooms,” I snapped, my voice rising with each syllable. “You have no right to break through my door and move your things in without my consent!”
Still, he didn’t move. Just kept looking out the window like I was nothing but a passing storm he was waiting out.
Rage that had been smouldering in my chest suddenly ignited, flushing heat through my veins and forcing my feet forward before I could think twice. I stormed across the room, every step fuelled bythe absurdity of this moment—of him, standing there like this washishouse,hisspace,hisworld and I was the one intruding.
I reached out and grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to face me.
But I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t prepared for the way he turned slowly until the full weight of him was in front of me.
Would I ever get used to this?
He was...colossal.
A looming figure with a frame so broad and unforgiving it made the air feel smaller and tighter.
And again, those eyes...
It got hard to breathe.
Those eyes were the first thing that hit me. A dark, sharp pair that locked onto mine and stayed there. They were punishing, an anchor pressed straight into my chest.
Just like that, the air in the room changed. Like whatever oxygen was left was laced with smoke and static. I could feel the tiny hairs on my arms lift, feel my skin tighten with invisible warning.
He was still watching me. Still silent.
His face—still too beautiful to belong to a human—was calm, carved like it had been shaped by someone who loved cruelty. That arrogant mouth, the strong cheekbones, the long, veiny neck that hadn’t caught my eyes before. I didn’t even have to look further to know his arms bore the same cruel beauty—corded and dangerous beneath that black long-sleeved top.
But none of that was what stole the words from my mouth.
It was the look in his eyes.
He looked...down. Not sad in the way a human might be. But drained. It was an undercurrent buried in the black of his eyes, and it unsettled me, making my hand fall from his shoulder.
Did I say something to upset him?
The thought flitted through my mind before I could stop it, and despite myself, I stepped back, my tone softening.
“Why are you staring at me like that? I’m not wrong. Why are you in my house?”
