6. Chapter Six - Willing Prey #2
I remembered it being shut before I’d even opened my laptop. I hadn’t touched it, and that realization sent a cold knot tightening in my chest.
So how the hell was it open?
I moved slowly, every step feeling like a question I wasn’t sure I wanted answered.
The curtains fluttered gently, brushing against my thighs like warning hands.
Outside, the balcony glistened with moisture, the air thick with mist. Beyond the railing, the road sat dim beneath tired street lamps, empty and still.
And yet, I felt it.
A strange lingering presence. As though someone had just left. As though something had slipped away seconds before I noticed, leaving the air charged with an uneasy echo.
The electric hum beneath my skin told me I wasn’t imagining it.
I stepped back and slid the glass door shut, my hands shaking as I turned the lock. The click echoed too loudly in the stillness. I peeled off my clothes with numb fingers and tugged on an oversized t-shirt, barely aware of the goosebumps dotting my skin. I checked the lock again.
And then again.
Each time, I hoped it would calm the thoughts racing through my head, but instead, the room only felt smaller and more suffocating.
No matter how many times I checked, the feeling didn’t fade.
I climbed into bed and pulled the blankets tight around me, as though I could hide from the sense that something had come too close, brushing against the edges of my world. The shadows in the corners of my room felt heavier now. The silence felt alive.
And worst of all, his scent lingered.
Culver’s cologne.
Which was totally impossible.
Faint, but unmistakable. It clung to the air, my sheets, and even my skin, as though he’d passed through the room and left part of himself behind. The thought was ridiculous, and I knew my mind was twisting the quiet into something darker just because I couldn’t stop thinking about him all day.
Still, my heart kept pounding as I lay there curled beneath the blankets, unable to settle. I didn’t want to close my eyes.
And when I finally did, it wasn’t sleep that came.
It was his image and those tired green eyes hovering in the dark.
***
“I used to shine bright like gold—”
I swiped my fingers across my phone screen before the alarm could finish the line, silencing it with a sharp tap.
Except I hadn’t really been asleep when it went off.
I’d been lying there with my eyes open in the dim gray light slipping through the curtains, trapped in that awful space where your body is exhausted but your mind refuses to shut up.
Sleep hadn’t come properly last night. I’d drifted in and out of some murky half-conscious state, waking each time with my chest tight and my skin cold.
This house sat tucked away from everything, distant from neighbors and surrounded by fog-heavy woods and long stretches of silence.
The isolation pressed against me in a way that felt strangely personal.
My stomach churned with a lingering sense of unease that had nothing to do with nightmares and everything to do with instinct.
I dragged myself out of bed and moved through my routine like a ghost: washing my face, brushing my teeth, pulling on clothes. When I finally glanced up at the mirror, I lingered.
The girl staring back didn’t feel like me.
Bloodshot eyes rimmed with darkness. Skin dull beneath the surface effort of concealer and blush. Makeup helped, but only barely. It couldn’t hide the exhaustion written all over my face.
Navigating an unfamiliar school in a foreign country already felt overwhelming, and adding whatever was happening with Culver on top of that had stretched me painfully thin.
At least it was Friday. One more day, then maybe I could breathe.
Yawning, I wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a yogurt from the fridge, eating without really tasting it as I stared out the window. There weren’t any nearby houses within sight or sound, just a distant roof barely visible through the trees.
So when I heard the slam of a car door, my head snapped up instantly.
Parked neatly in the driveway was a sleek black car, its surface catching the dull morning light. And leaning against it, like a figure cut from a completely different world, stood Culver.
I didn’t bother fixing my hair or checking my reflection again before opening the front door. The crisp morning air hit my skin, but it did nothing to cool the heat crawling up my neck.
“What’re you doing here?” I demanded, my gaze flicking between him and the car, refusing to linger long enough to really take either of them in.
“I came to pick you up,” he replied calmly, as though this were the most natural thing in the world. As though we were friends. As though I hadn’t spent most of the night haunted by the storm he’d stirred up inside me.
I crossed my arms, planting my feet. “And who said you could do that?”
Men really did just wake up and decide things.
“Surely you are not troubled,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “I am already here. You may as well enjoy the ride.”
I didn’t even try to hide the eye-roll this time. “No.”
The word came out blunt, but I was running on too little sleep and too many thoughts.
“You should take him up on his offer,” a voice said from behind me, making me jump.
“Ma?” I turned, startled. “You’re still here?”
She stepped out with a coffee in hand, strolling toward us as though the whole situation wasn’t strange in the slightest. “Yeah. I stayed back a bit today to run a few things through the printer.” Her smile was soft, but there was something knowing in her eyes that made my shoulders tense.
“Anyway, I think you should take him up on the offer. If he wants to drive you to and from school, let him. It makes things easier for you, and you won’t get caught out in the rain. ”
I tilted my face toward the sky, noticing the dark clouds gathering overhead like bruises.
Still, accepting his offer felt like stepping through a door I wasn’t ready to open, especially with people already whispering about me and how out of place I felt. And if I said yes now, would this become a thing?
Would he expect it? Worse, would I?
“I still think walking to school and getting some exercise is better,” I started, clinging to the last shred of control I had left.
“Nonsense,” my ma cut in smoothly. “Go on and take the ride.” She nudged me forward, gentle but firm.
I hesitated, the argument in my head flaring hot against my already flushed cheeks, curiosity and reluctance twisting together until walking away felt impossible. “Fine,” I muttered, lowering my gaze. “You can take me to school, but please don’t make this a habit.”
“Oh, come on now, honey,” she called after me, teasing as though this were nothing more than a harmless push in the right direction.
“He’s just trying to be nice. Let him drive you back and forth.
This makes up for us not being able to bring your car.
Plus, he waited a while out here for you today. ”
Great. Fantastic. Now I felt guilty too.
I shot a glance at Culver. He didn’t say anything, just smiled faintly.
Mortified, I hurried toward the car, nearly forgetting for a second that the steering wheel was on the opposite side.
I buckled up quickly and folded my arms tight, suddenly aware of how small the space felt and how heavily his presence settled into it before he even got in.
Outside, Culver and my ma exchanged a few words I couldn’t make out, which only made my anxiety climb higher.
When he finally slid into the driver’s seat, silence settled between us, thick and tense enough to make the air feel heavier somehow. He placed my bag in the back with quiet finality, and whatever fragile hope I’d had of escaping this dissolved completely.
“Thank you for allowing me this, Ira,” he said softly, his voice smooth enough to slide straight beneath my defenses.