The two minutes roll by quickly, and I find myself working on my dinner again, reflecting on all the fun I had a few nights back.
It’s been both nerve-wracking and fun to get more time with them over the last few weeks, even if it’s mostly drinking at Mingle and then sneaking away while they do the same. Their friends are a blast— well, maybe at this point I should start considering them my friends, too.
With the stove off, I drain my pasta and toss it in an olive oil-lemon sauce before scooping the chicken on top, turning to settle into my seat with my Gamay and enjoy some trash TV.
As I spin towards the island, my body goes cold, frozen in place with a glass of wine in one hand and the plate of food in the other.
There, standing silently on the far side of my kitchen, leaning against the wall, is a man dressed in all black. A man who certainly shouldn't be here, and I didn't even hear come in.
My heart thrums, addled with fear, my body frozen with it as he makes no effort to move, happy to stand there and watch me react to his presence.
After a moment of terror, I force my mind to work again, trying to take note of every single detail, ensuring there's a chance of justice should I survive this encounter.
Maybe he's just a thief, and he happened to catch me at home instead of out. Robberies occur every day in a city this large. I'll just give him what he wants, memorize every detail, and let him go to be found later.
The strange man is at least six feet two, his arms crossed against his chest as he stays still as a statue. Tattoos span one of his hands before it disappears under the sleeve of his jet black hoodie.
My eyes travel higher, not sure where to look first or where I'll find the best evidence as to who thisperson is.
In the shadow of his neck, dark and muddled, there's another tattoo, and as I realize what it is, my blood runs cold.
A fucking vampire bat. Mouth wide and ready to strike, a predator stamped on the flesh of a monster. I don't allow myself to linger too long on the dark threat lying in the art on his body, hoping to memorize every inch of his face in case I have a chance to report it to the police later. However, the chances of that happening have just dwindled thanks to the indicator of who the man standing before me is.
As our eyes meet, his are so warmly amber that in the dying light of day, they appear the color of fire, burning me as he watches me carefully, his eyes landing on my full hands.
His dark hair, even as short as it is, frames his stunning features, the sharp widow's peak drawing attention to his strong nose and gorgeous eyes instead of hiding them.
Against my better judgment, I note that, regardless of the fact that he broke into my home and is standing unwelcome in my kitchen, he's mesmerizing.
Every inch of his face looks sculpted by the kindest hands. His jawline is sharp, his cheekbones high and angular. Even his fucking eyebrows defy all logic, the dark slashes above his eyes both harsh and smooth at the same time.
"Smells good," he gestures with his chin to my plate, one side of his lips lifting in a wicked smile as if he can smell the fear building beneath my skin.
But I refuse to show just how rattled I am. If he's here to hurt me, which he must be, my terror will only be part of the fun for him.
I should drop something and fight back.
I should throw it at him.
I should—okay, wait. What am I thinking? I have a gun. I just need to slow down and find a way to get to it.
Hold on. I know this man. Who he really is.
But if I reveal that, there’s a good chance this gets worse for me.
His head tilts to the side slowly, his eyes dripping down my body before traveling back up. “Do you know who I am?”
With a shake of my head, I take a single step back. He tracks the motion like a predator, so motionless it's uncanny.
“Only that you’ve been on the news a lot lately," I fight to keep my voice from trembling, pointedly looking at the TV I was about to turn on before he startled me.
"Yeah?" As he steps closer to me, that taunting smile grows, giving me the distinct impression of a fox watching a rabbit it knows is already caught. His tone is casual, every syllable floating on his silken voice like a caress as they reach my ears, "What do they say about me?"
"You're dangerous."
He nods, raising a single brow as he comes closer, "And?"
I'm completely frozen in his gaze, trapped in the eye of a monster and unable to snap out of the hypnosis, "You killed people."
