13. Rand
RAND
I’ve always been good at hiding my emotions, and that skill has never been more vital than it is right now. I’m not wearing my skull mask, and Karolina is close enough that I can smell her rose and peony scent. If I slip up for even a moment, I could ruin everything.
I have to earn her trust. She can’t suspect that I’m the one who killed Rich; I’m the one who texted her about his unworthiness.
It was very convenient that his body was discovered at such an opportune time. I was able to send the message when all of her classmates left the building shortly after she stormed out. Having the excuse to return her forgotten bag was another stroke of luck.
But if it’s going so well, why is my stomach in knots?
The sight of her distress causes me physical pain.
I harden my resolve. She’s scared, but I’m here to comfort her.
She will accept my protection.
She’ll accept the fact that I already own her, body and soul.
We’re meant to be together.
“I should join the others at the pub,” she asserts when I close my office door behind us, as though the soft thumping sound has jolted her out of a daze.
I pause, staring down at her. I maintain direct eye contact for longer than appropriate for a professor and his student, but I don’t relent.
She swallows hard, but she doesn’t break from my gaze.
That’s my brave Karolina.
“Sit,” I command, gesturing at the chair across from my desk.
Her shoulders stiffen, but she complies. She doesn’t like being bossed around, but she’s flustered enough by the shocking turn of events that she doesn’t sass me.
I round my desk and settle into my chair. I place her phone between us so that she has no choice but to acknowledge the “stalker’s” message.
“Who sent this?” I ask, keeping my voice carefully neutral.
It’s too soon to act possessive and fiercely protective, even if that’s how I always feel about her.
Besides, I know there’s not a real threat. I’m her stalker, and I would never harm Karolina.
Her light green eyes flick to the phone and back to me. Her cheeks are too pale, but she’s not on the verge of tears. She’s stronger than that.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “There aren’t any contact details.”
I lean forward, pinning her with an incisive stare. “Have you received any messages like this before?”
“No.”
She’s being cagey.
That’s okay. I can handle her reticence. She thinks she doesn’t know me. She can’t trust me yet.
“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” I say, keeping my practiced English accent smooth and cultured.
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
I lift my brows. “Are you planning to go to the police?”
That would complicate my plans for her, but before I can worry about a potential investigation, she replies, “No.”
I tap the phone. “You have a stalker, Lena. This isn’t something to be ignored.”
She’s brave, but surely, she has some sense of self preservation. I know all too well that Karolina is a survivor. She’ll fight for herself if necessary.
She doesn’t know that I’ll gladly fight all of her battles for her.
“This isn’t any of your business,” she counters. Her voice is calm, but her fingers twist in her lap—she’s anxious despite her attempt at composure.
“I’m making it my business. Why won’t you go to the police? Is someone intimidating you into staying silent?”
She shifts in her seat and cuts her gaze away. “I really don’t want to talk to you about this.”
That surprises me. She’s fiercely independent, but I hadn’t anticipated this much resistance to my offer of support.
“Why not?”
She sighs. “I barely know you. Why would I come to you for anything, much less a private matter like this?”
I tap the phone again. “I won’t leave you to fend for yourself. Why won’t you go to the police?”
She eyes me warily, and I hate the distrust in her guarded expression.
“I promise nothing you say will leave this room,” I vow. “But you need some sort of protection. A stalker has your number. This person is a killer, and they’re watching you.”
She wrings her hands, even though her expression remains carefully impassive.
It takes all my willpower to stay seated when all I want is to gather her in my arms and promise her that everything is okay.
I simply regard her calmly and allow the silence to stretch between us.
Finally, she admits, “I’m worried about losing my visa if I go to the police. I don’t want to be involved in anything illegal.”
My brows knit. “You haven’t committed a crime. You’re the victim here.”
She bristles at the word victim.
“You read the text.” She’s a bit sharper now. “Whoever killed Rich did it because of me. I’m responsible.”
“You are not responsible.” I don’t quite manage to keep the bite from my tone. I won’t allow her to feel guilty for my crimes. “Whoever killed him is responsible. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
She shakes her head slightly, dismissing my assertion. “I won’t go to the police. Please don’t keep pressuring me about it.”
“I won’t pressure you. I never said you had to report this. I wanted to know why you’re choosing to keep it to yourself when you’re clearly in danger.”
“Oh.”
She takes a moment to assess me. She didn’t expect me to be okay with her not going to the police.
After several heavy heartbeats, her shoulders slump.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admits. “Someone killed him. Rich is dead.”
It takes effort to prevent my eyes from flashing with triumph. Yes, the entitled little shit is dead, and I’d kill him a hundred times over for trying to force himself on my Karolina.
“Did you have a relationship with him?” I ask, even though I know the answer already.
“No!”
Her kneejerk disgust soothes the vicious afterglow from the memory of my kill. She never wanted Rich.
She’s mine.
“Then why would someone who’s fixated on you kill Rich?” I press.
I need to know what the boy did on that night I was busy installing the cameras in her apartment. I’ve been worried that he tried to make a move on her when I wasn’t watching. Maybe that disgusting scene in her kitchen wasn’t the first time he tried to steal a kiss from her.
“He was flirty with me, but that’s all. I guess there’s a chance someone saw him hitting on me when we were out at the pub a few days ago.”
“Did he touch you?” I don’t quite manage to keep the growl from roughening the question.
She jolts at the slightest hint at possessive aggression.
Fuck.
My possessiveness is exactly why she ran away from me after the hunt. I have to be more careful. She has to come to me. She has to think our relationship is her idea, her choice.
I take a quick breath and force my shoulders to relax. “I don’t tolerate abusive men,” I explain.
That much is true. Every man who might’ve abused her is long dead.
Her lush lips press together, as though she’s holding in a follow up question.
She must decide that she doesn’t want to press for more information because she simply answers, “No, Rich didn’t touch me. Maybe just putting his hand on my arm, but nothing more than that.”
She’s not telling me about how he forced a kiss on her.
I don’t like that she’s holding back, but it’s probably for the best that she doesn’t even consider the fact that anyone could’ve witnessed the scene in her kitchen.
She doesn’t suspect that there are cameras hidden in every room of her apartment.
In her mind, no one could know about his attempted assault.
“That must’ve been enough to draw the attention of your stalker,” I reason.
Her mouth pinches with distaste. “I wish you’d stop saying that.”
“What? That you have a stalker?”
“Yes. I’m not a victim, Professor.”
“Rand,” I correct her. “And I can see you’re not a victim. That doesn’t mean someone isn’t stalking you.”
“What happened to not encouraging familiarity with your students?” she challenges instead of rebutting the truth.
“You were right. I was being an arsehole. I want you to call me Rand.”
She’s looking at me warily again, as though she isn’t sure if she can trust this new side of her uptight professor.
“Fine.” She capitulates, but she doesn’t actually say my name.
It irritates me, but I do my best to hide it.
“I should go join the others at the pub,” she says. “Amala was really upset.”
She reaches for her phone, but I pick it up before her fingers brush the device.
“What are you doing?” she demands.
“Giving you my number.” I enter my contact details.
“What? Why?”
I spear her with a no-nonsense look. “If you’re not planning to tell anyone else about your stalker, I want you to come to me if he contacts you again.”
She couldn’t be falling into my trap more perfectly, and I have to conceal my smirk. I won’t have to worry about anyone else comforting her through this difficult time.
Karolina’s trust issues are working to my advantage for once.
She snatches her phone away, but I close my fingers around hers, trapping her.
She gasps and goes completely still. I know she feels it too: the electric chemistry we share. The almost painfully intense sensation of our skin finally touching. After agonizing years of physical denial, she’s within my grasp.
Her eyes are soft when they meet mine. Some of her defenses have dropped.
If I were truly a stranger to her, this kind of contact would be unwelcome from her professor. But deep down, Karolina knows me. She recognizes her soulmate.
It will take time for her to accept the truth, but in this moment, I know I have her. She will come to me. I can be patient.
“Tell me you’ll call me if you need help.” I don’t bother to keep the ring of command from my words.
“Okay,” she breathes.
My kitten can be so sweetly submissive when I turn this side of myself on her. Our power dynamic is even more potent in person than it’s ever been over a phone screen.
Good girl. I barely hold back the praise.
Reluctantly, I withdraw my touch, allowing my fingers to brush hers as I slowly break contact.
She shakes herself slightly, as though tossing off a reverie.
“Thank you, Professor,” she says earnestly.
“Rand.” I keep my voice deep and demanding.
“Thank you, Rand,” she replies, softer this time.
“I’m here if you need anything. Day or night. I’ll make sure you’re safe, Lena.”
I hate using the shorter version of her name, but it’s close enough that I won’t slip up. No matter what I call her, Karolina will always belong to me.