34. Zver
Zver
T here’s nothing I hate more than having my me-time interrupted.
Especially when it involves indulging in some truly depraved stalker shit.
I ignore the buzz and focus.
My fixation: her.
It’s always her.
There’s an art to slipping into someone’s world without leaving a footprint.
Gliding seamlessly through the fabric of their life.
It’s an icy breath skimming her neck—fleeting, easy to dismiss.
But tonight?
She felt me.
That sharp, green stare hunted the shadows, stubborn and suspicious. Instinct clawed at the base of her skull, warning her she wasn’t alone.
Knowing I was there.
But knowing and believing are two different beasts, and she wasn’t ready for the latter.
So I nudged her closer. A flicker. A tease. A step into the light.
And the most exquisite part?
I know Riley Mullvain better than she knows herself.
My Zapretnaya.
Even with the blinds drawn, her curiosity scratched at the glass like a starved cat.
Her pulse, a frantic flutter beneath fragile skin, breath fogging the window in short, jagged bursts.
Those delicate fingers twitching helplessly, aching for just one more peek.
One brief, delicious second.
To be certain.
To know for sure.
I asked Fate for a worthy conquest. Fuck me, she served up an apocalypse on a silver plate.
I could’ve played this out all night.
Teased her with stolen glimpses—a half-step closer, the phantom curl of a smile. Watched her twist and spiral, balanced perfectly on that knife-edge between terror and temptation…
When what she really should’ve been doing was slamming every fucking deadbolt in the door.
But then— buzz.
A sharp vibration slices into my palm. Irritating. Intrusive. Two very good reasons to kill someone.
I glance down at the text.
And just like that, my fun’s over.
For now.
Declan
VIP Invitation: Auction.
Dante’s Inferno.
Perfect.