I choke back the instinct to claw at his arm. I have a dagger tucked into my boot. But that will be messy. Too damn messy.
Shit.
“Willow Vale,” Phoenix says my name like he’s tasting it. “Who ever would have thought you weren’t all keyboard warrior? I didn’t peg you for the type to get your hands dirty. What was your plan here?”
My pulse roars, but I keep my eyes locked on his. If he wants fear, he’ll have to strangle it out of me.
“You finally stepped out of your temple without your choir to sing for you,” I snarl. “Thought I’d see what you were really made of.”
He grins, all teeth, all poison. His fingers flex just enough to make my vision spark. “You think you’re clever. Those little comments on my videos? Cute. Almost tragic. I’ve wondered what it is you want, and now you’ve shown your hand.”
“You might be surprised what I really have in mind for you,” I give my most venomous smile.
That throws him off. And it shows exactly what kind of man he is. I know that his brain goes somewhere dirty and physical.Even though I was literally holding a plastic bag over his head. He has to know I mean kill him, but he still considers sex.
But of course, the hardness snaps back into his eyes. His hand tightens for just a moment. “Do you know how many have threatened me?” His voice is calm, silk over barbed wire. “Dozens. Hundreds. They wither, they cry, they disappear. But you…” His grip tightens, a cruel caress. “You’ve got fire. I almost admire that. Almost.”
“You should admire my patience,” I taunt calmly. “I will find my opportunity. I always do.”
He digests that for a moment, the implication of what I’ve said.
He’s looking at me different now.
He’s realizing I’m serious
He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a rare specimen in one of his jars. “Do you know what happens to witches, Willow? They burn. Careful of the flames you aren’t ready for.”
I compose my expression, even though I want to go full banshee on him. “Do you know what happens to false prophets, Phoenix? They choke on their own lies.”
The elevator suddenly dings behind us, and there’s the sound of it opening, followed by footsteps.
Phoenix glances toward the elevator and loosens his grip, his hand casually falling to his side. His smile transforms, soft and benign, and he murmurs, “Play nice.”
A middle-aged man in gym shorts rounds the corner, fumbling with his keys. Phoenix steps back with a relaxed chuckle. Loud enough for the newcomer to hear, he says, “Always nice to meet a fan. Take care of yourself, Willow.”
I don’t play the part, though. I don’t smile, I don’t look awestruck. I stare at Phoenix with a coldness Elsa would be proud of. The man throws us a passing glance but doesn’t linger. He proceeds to his Hummer down the row.
Phoenix’s eyes are still on me, hard and bright, the smile never reaching them. “I’ll be seeing you,” he promises, low enough that only I can hear.
He slips into his Porsche, engine growling to life. He throws it into reverse, and I catch his eyes. He’s a predator, through and through. But I’m no prey.
He puts it into drive, and the car glides out of the garage, taillights bleeding red into the shadows. The man who will never know what he interrupted, follows in his vehicle right behind Phoenix.
I stay where I am, standing in the middle of the parking spaces, throat throbbing under phantom fingers. My pulse hasn’t slowed. My hands still shake with the weight of what almost happened.
Heknowsme. It wasn’t just his lawyers telling me to stop. He’s personally seen my comments. He’s paid enough attention that he’s clicked on my profile, watched my videos. He recognized me immediately. He knew my face. He remembered I do tarot.
Phoenix Marrow knows me. And I just attempted to kill him.
Maybe he doesn’t realize the danger he’s truly in. He has no way of knowing how many men I’ve killed with a plastic bag.
But those threats were serious. The look in his eyes was serious.
Predators recognize predators.
This is war.
My hands shake, but it’s not entirely fury. There’s a cold, bright satisfaction prickling under my skin.
