Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SANORA
The sound of something sizzling slipped into my unconsciousness and yanked me out. I jerked upright, gasping as though I’d been pulled from the bottom of a lake, lungs desperate for air.
My hand flew to my chest, where my heartbeat thudded like a warning drum. I breathed out, heavy and uneven, the memory of passing out crawling back through the haze.
I blinked around the room, disoriented. I was in my bed, a blanket tucked around me. The floor, which had been buried in an avalanche of books and papers, was now clean.
The box I’d dragged out earlier had been zipped and pushed against the wall, right where it used to be.
Of course.
He’d tidied everything up again.
A groan of quiet frustration left me as I rubbed my hands over my face. Why was he always doing this? I didn’t ask him to clean up after me, didn’t even want him in my space. And yet, every time I got knocked out, he was always there.
My gaze flicked to the door. The memory of how he got in returning. Giving the door a careful look, I realised it wasn’t damaged. Not even the knob. There was no scratch, no forced entry.
Could he have a spare key to my room?
Since he paid more money?
I stared at it a little longer, unease curling inside me. Before my thoughts could spiral and have me panicking again, I gave myself a dull smack on the side of the head and shoved off the bed.
I walked to the window, needing distraction.
Far outside, the hills curled protectively around The Crater like sleeping beasts. Fog clung to their ridges, thick and white, curling like smoke from a dying fire. Even from here, the hills loomed massively.
The tug came again
This one was a gentle pull from my ribs, no longer the piercing pain from before, more like a beckon. Like The Crater was touching me.
I laid my hand over the spot, pressing my palm to the faint itch that pulsed beneath my skin.
What are you?
Before the question could root itself too deep, a stronger scent hit me. Savoury and sweet.
My brain stirred. Is he...cooking?
My stomach gave an indignant growl, confirming the suspicion. Then another, louder. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and now the scent of food was enough to make my insides churn with need.
I swallowed, walked to the door, and slowly turned the handle. It creaked slightly as I opened it, and I slipped out.
The smell intensified the moment I stepped outside my room, inviting in a way that made it impossible not to breathe deeper. I frowned. Why did it smell good?
What the hell was he making?
Curiosity, annoying and relentless, pushed me forward. I crept towards the stairs, careful not to make a sound. Although he was making enough noise on his own, I didn’t want him to hear me. I didn’t even want to see him.
Not after I’d passed out in his arms.
Not after he helped me. Again.
How would I have him out of my place if I kept owing him? Ugh.
There was a shame that came with that. Humiliating and hot. Like I’d lost something each time I blacked out, and he took it without asking.
I gripped the railing tightly, praying the wood wouldn’t betray me.
Three steps from the landing, I stopped, held my breath and listened.
He was still there, still moving in the kitchen.
And I stayed frozen on the stairs for a while, caught between hunger and embarrassment, wondering why exactly I should be feeling this way when he’d done worse, including stalking me, and he was comfortable enough to show his face and mess around.
Sighing, I pushed my hunger aside and turned to climb the stairs again. But I barely raised my leg before his voice broke through the quiet.
“Do you prefer the food being brought to your room, then?”
I froze.
He knew? He knew I was here the entire time?
Shame curled in my stomach. I shut my eyes and bit down on my lip until I tasted the faintest trace of iron. I let the embarrassment wash through me in a crashing wave, waited for it to settle, then I pulled in a breath, squared my shoulders, and lifted my chin.
When I turned around, I forced my legs down the remaining steps one at a time, trying to keep my movements even and unaffected.
The kitchen opened in a warm yellow glow, light pooling across the floorboards like honey.
He stood near the counter, carefully setting down plates.
His food smelled too good, rich, seasoned, and homemade.
His coat was draped over the back of one of the chairs.
Could tell it was intentionally folded and placed there, and he was no longer wearing the same clothes from this morning.
He’d been out.
And I hadn’t heard a damn thing.
My gaze flicked to the food on the stove, then back to him. He was cooking something I didn’t remember buying. The ingredients weren’t mine. The dishes weren’t mine. He’d gone out, brought this in from somewhere, and was now calmly preparing dinner in a house he had no business living in.
I cleared my throat again, louder this time, and crossed my arms over my chest.
“I wasn’t hiding from you.”
He raised his head slowly, and those eyes—the ones I thought I should be used to by now—hooked right into me. They sank deep, and for a wild second, I almost spoke the truth.
“I didn’t say you were,” he said simply.
His gaze dropped slowly, dragging down the length of my body.
“Are you still hurting?”
I scoffed. “If I was, you’d be thrilled to have this house all to yourself.”
His answer came like a hammer blow. “I don’t want this house if you’re not in it. It’s you I want. Not the house.”
My heart stumbled over itself. Like four beats missed—at least. But his eyes didn’t waver. Not even for a second, as if he meant every word.
They hardened slightly the moment I parted my lips to spew what he assumed was nonsense. And before I could help myself, I stepped closer, my voice finding me before logic could stop it.
“Did you just admit to stalking me?” I demanded. “You rented this house just because I did. You bought every other property so I wouldn’t have anywhere else to go.”
I moved another step, even knowing I shouldn’t. This should be the moment where I stayed away from him, away from those eyes that had not blinked once since he looked up at me “What are you? A serial killer? You just said I’m the one you want.”
He pushed off the counter with a calmness that made my blood run cold. There was a quiet, stalking grace to the way he walked, like he knew exactly how fast to move to trap something already panicked.
Fuck.
I backed up immediately, my pulse roaring in my ears. Don’t touch me, my mind screamed. Don’t come near me. I remembered too well what had happened last time. How I’d frozen. How his hand had touched me and my body had obeyed him before it obeyed me.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Now I knew he wasn’t human. And if I ever let him touch me again, I might never crawl my way back from whatever power lived in his skin.
Still, no matter how far I edged away, he came forward in an impossibly calm manner.
I glanced back, only to realise I was just three steps away from the wall. Unless I turned for the stairs right now and locked myself in my room, he’d corner me.
And he might touch me.
Swallowing, I took another step back. Then I fisted my hands and bolted for the first step. Successfully, my foot landed on the second step as well, but another couldn’t touch the third step because a large arm wrapped around my stomach like a chain and lifted me clean off the ground.
Just like that.
I gasped, gripping his sleeve on instinct, my back hitting his chest for one breathless second. It happened in one blink. One terrifying blink.
Then, just as quickly, I was spun and was pressed right against the wall I’d tried to escape.
My feet found the floor, but I couldn’t feel them properly. My lungs struggled to sync with the jackhammer of my heart. I could barely breathe, let alone speak. Words filled my mind, screaming and blaring, but none escaped my mouth.
He leaned in, one arm braced on each side of me, trapping me between his body and the wall. No part of him was touching me, but the weight of the close distance between us, the heat of him, and just him in general overwhelmed me.
I couldn’t even look him in the eye. I wouldn’t. Because if I did—
“Look at me.”
My heart flipped.
“Stay away from me,” I said, forcing the words through my tight throat. “Don’t touch me.” I didn’t want to touch him either.
“Look at me.”
I shook my head.
Then his voice deepened, like he didn’t fancy disrespect. “Sanora.”
The sound of my name on his tongue shot through me like a drug, one that left goosebumps racing over my skin, blooming at my spine, curling into my core and igniting something I didn’t have a name for. My stomach clenched, my legs ached to run, but they’d turned jelly
I whispered, “How do you know my name?”
“Look. At. Me.”
“How long have you been watching me?” I whispered again, panic fighting its way back into my chest. “Who are you?”
He moved, lifting a hand from the wall and reaching for my face. I jerked.
“Don’t touch me—”
But he did.
He touched me.
His fingers curled gently beneath my chin and tilted my face up. I held my breath, waiting for it—waiting for that same horrifying stillness from last time, for my body to betray me.
But nothing happened.
No freezing. No paralysis. Just the warmth of his fingers beneath my jaw. Just his eyes, watching me, close and endless.
But not controlling.
No.
This time, my body didn’t shut down. But it reacted differently. It leaned slightly and burned quietly. Why did it feel like I missed his contact, one that I had no right to long for?
My frown deepened. I stared into his gaze, heart racing, trying to figure out what trick he’d pulled this time, why his touch felt familiar or why he was fooling my body into craving more of his touch.
“Was that what you were thinking,” he murmured, “when you panicked earlier? That I’m out to kill you?”
“Maybe.”