Chapter 7
The Prey
He was looking at me.
At least, it felt that way.
Those pale, unfocused eyes rested somewhere in my direction, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling they saw far more than they should.
Not to mention, I slipped on snow while trying to limp. I shifted, trying to ignore my soaked jeans clinging to my skin, and the sweater plastered against my back. The cold had long since seeped beneath the fabric. Or maybe it wasn’t the cold.
Maybe it was him.
Kyle shut the window the moment I came in, but the room still felt strangely chilled. And wasn’t he cold?
He was wearing a robe as yesterday. At least this time he’d had the decency to tie it.
I, on the other hand, had to eat the snow.
Just great. He didn’t even have the damn modesty to hire a gatekeeper.
Twenty freaking minutes I had stood there, yelling like a madwoman.
And for what? To be left soaked and freezing?
I shivered, cursing under my breath. Kyle, noticing, had tossed me a big, warm, and soft sweater. “Change into this before you catch pneumonia,” he said, already turning away, leaving me to Eyes were fixed in my direction.
Blind eyes shouldn’t have had the power to flay me open, to unravel me thread by thread, yet Judas Romanovski somehow did.
I swallowed.
The corner of his mouth lifted—barely enough to call it a smile—before disappearing again. He drew lazily on the cigarette, completely unhurried, the ember glowing scarlet in the dim room. Then he exhaled a slow ribbon of smoke that curled between us, as though he had all the time in the world.
Heat crept into my cheeks before I could stop it. I hastily tugged the hem of my sweater lower, suddenly aware of every inch of exposed skin, of my damp hair clinging to my neck, of the way his head remained angled toward me.
Maybe I was imagining it.
Perhaps I was just rattled by the cold.
When I finally felt warm again, I folded the soaked sweater onto the floor, making a mental note to pick it up later, then forced myself to look anywhere but at him.
The bedroom was even larger than the office downstairs.
Black marble veined with gold stretched beneath Persian rugs so soft I almost felt guilty standing on them in my muddy boots.
A crystal chandelier hung overhead, scattering fractured light across impossibly high ceilings.
The king-sized four-poster bed, draped in burgundy silk, dominated one side of the room, while antique armchairs and a velvet sofa framed a marble coffee table stacked with leather-bound books.
Money.
An obscene amount of it.
Seriously, what had this man done in a past life to deserve this? Rob, a king?
Since he couldn’t acknowledge my existence, I wandered a few cautious steps, pretending not to notice him while stealing glances around the room.
A tiny gilded birdcage caught my eye on the shelf.
It couldn’t have housed anything larger than a sparrow. I reached for it before I could stop myself, turning it carefully in my hands.
Funny how beautiful they looked when you were holding one instead of being trapped inside it.
A knock had me startled so violently I nearly dropped it.
“Shit.”
Quickly placing it back exactly where I’d found it, I straightened just as the door opened. A middle-aged woman wheeled in a silver service cart.
My gaze flicked from her to the devil lounging on the sofa as though he owned the world.
He tilted his head, his eyes now distant, looking straight with no focus. I nibbled on my lips as the woman rolled the cart towards the table and stopped. She stepped back and bowed politely.
“Your dinner, sir.” He haughtily flicked his hand, dismissing her tersely. The woman bowed again, and without looking at me, she walked out before closing the door.
He snapped his head at me, casually leaned back and spread his legs wide, exposing his thick, muscled thighs. His arms were thrown over the back of the sofa, and he curved his lips.
“Come close,” My cheeks flared with embarrassment, and I averted my eyes to anywhere but at his legs.
It took me an entire minute to process his command and take a shaky step toward the couch. But that didn’t seem close enough, because he twisted his lips and beckoned me over with his fingers.
“Closer.” I frowned, fighting every cell in my body not to obey. I clutched the strap of the bag tightly and nervously circled the couch to sit beside him.
He took a deep breath and then, without taking his distant gaze off the unfocused point, he ordered.
“Feed me.”
My brain promptly blue-screened. “...Excuse me?”
Swallowing whatever dignity I still possessed, I moved toward the cart and lifted the silver lid. The rich aroma nearly made my knees buckle. Steak, buttery potatoes, roasted vegetables...
God.
I plated the food, then glanced at him. Taking a slow breath, I picked up the knife and fork. Twenty thousand dollars.
I’d survived worse things than feeding an arrogant billionaire. Barely. Cutting off a small piece of steak, I lifted the fork toward him. My hand shook.
He remained perfectly still, head resting against the sofa, eyes unfocused on the ceiling as if waiting for me to figure it out.
I hovered the fork awkwardly in front of his mouth, “Sir?”
Was I supposed to make airplane noises too?
I cleared my throat. His jaw ticked as he tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in a way that made my pulse stutter. For a second, I thought he was about to glare at me—then his expression shifted. A slow, almost dangerous smile curled at his mouth instead.
He leaned in, and I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. Before I could steady myself, his hand closed around my wrist and guided the fork toward him. The controlled strength in his grip sent an unsteady shiver through me, like I’d just lost more balance than I cared to admit.
His lips wrapped around the fork, and he pulled away with slowness, suddenly making everything so hot.
I ignored the way my skin tingled and forced myself to focus.
But the heat in my cheeks betrayed me; whether from embarrassment or the ghost of his touch, I couldn’t tell.
I turned back to the plate, slicing the steak into small pieces that felt unnecessarily difficult with how much my hands were shaking. Frustration prickled under my skin.
Eventually, I set the knife and fork down, dragging my clammy palms over my jeans to steady myself before I picked them up again.
I took a steadying breath and lifted the fork toward him, cleared my throat, and his hand closed around my wrist again.
To make it less awkward, I decided to cut the deafening silence.
“If you don’t mind me asking… what do you do, Mr. Romanovski?”
The last time I’d looked him up, the internet had offered nothing but dry fragments—nothing that actually told me who he was. Not that I was curious.
He took his time with the bite, chewing slowly. I watched as his tongue brushed over his lips afterward. I cut another piece of steak, swallowing.
“I kill.”
I choked on air, coughing violently.
“Relax, Ms. Rosewood. It’s a joke, not a dick.” A low, rough chuckle followed. “You don’t have to take it hard.”
I breathed out. “What do you do, then?”
The smile never reaching them, he tilted his head back. “I make problems disappear. Permanently.” I cut the steak into larger pieces, now shivering altogether.
“That’s... menacing,” I muttered unconsciously, but before I could realise what I had just said, he was already humming.
His voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “I’d call it necessary.”
My mouth suddenly felt dry, and I licked my lips with a shake of my head. “And who decides that?” I poked the steak with the fork and again moved it to his mouth. He grabbed my wrist once again, guiding to his mouth.
“I do. It’s a judgment I’ve honed over the years.”
My heart pounded in my chest. “That’s a dangerous way to live.”
He let go of my wrist and leaned back, still smiling. “Sometimes, we have to become the danger others fear.” I swallowed hard, dropping the topic, realising he was far more twisted than any emotion.
Only I know how I managed to feed him those last pieces of steak, cause the closer I was to him, the more dangerous he seemed.
Grabbing the empty plate, I put it under the cart. All the while his words echoed in my head.
As I rolled the cart to the corner, I stole a glance at him. His face was obscured as he pulled a cigarette from his robe and lit it up as if it were a learned act.
Whatever it was, I should keep my distance from him.
“Prepare the bath,” My hands stilled as he puffed out the smoke.
“Yes, sir,” Something strange had settled in my chest. I couldn’t grasp it, and I couldn’t shake it either. It’s deeper and darker than anything I’d felt ever.
We become the danger others fear.
I could almost scoff.
I found the bathroom. Just like the room, the bathroom was enormous. Larger than the dorm I share with Alina. It astonished me, the luxury that enveloped me. Black walls, tiles, and a gigantic bathtub in the middle, I could swim.
I walked to the tub and played with the faucet buttons before I found the one I was looking for.
I checked the temperature, making sure the water wasn’t too hot or too cold. Then, almost without thinking, a small idea slipped in—more curiosity than sense. I turned the tap further, letting the tub fill with hot water until steam began to rise and blur the edges of the room.
Satisfied with my work, I walked back into the room and beamed with excitement I had never felt before.
“The bath’s ready.”
We become the danger others fear.
He gave a slight nod and began to shrug off his robe.
My throat went dry. Not a single patch of bare skin was left untouched; ink swallowed his back whole. There was a large serpent tattoo that slithered down his back and extended to his neck.
The fabric slid from his shoulder fully and fell to the floor.
My cheeks burned as I quickly averted my eyes, a rush of heat flooding my face. Despite my best efforts to give him space, he seemed utterly shameless, standing tall and unbothered by his exposed state.
With confidence he might have borrowed from Satan himself, he beckoned me over with his fingers, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
“Lead me, Ptichka,” he muttered.
I swallowed hard, the dryness in my mouth making it difficult to speak or even breathe properly. My feet moved almost of their own, drawing me closer to him despite the whirlwind of emotions raging inside me.
He extended his hand and hovered over me for a few moments and then he found me.
His hand gripped my arm tightly, and he moved it up to my shoulder before draping his huge arm around my shoulder, and I realised how tall he was.
I could barely reach his collar bone and this man thought it was convenient to use me as a crutch.
His fingers brushed against the thin fabric of my sweater, and I could feel his touch seeping through the cloth and settling into my bones.
“Sir,” I began, my voice trembling slightly.
He tilted his head, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made it hard to look away.
“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, his tone softening ever so slightly. The tattoos on his body shifted and danced.
I grabbed his bicep with both of my hands and frowned when it still didn’t fit.
He reached for my hand with his other one.
I carefully led him through the steam, squinting my eyes when he didn’t budge.
If he were pretending, he would’ve shown some kind of reaction.
Maybe a subtle twitch of his jaw, or a stiffening of his body.
But he looked oblivious as he unconsciously took a step towards the tub as if he knew where that was through his memory.
I swallowed hard, slowly loosening my grip and stepping back.
Judas took a step forward, his arms extended as he reached for something and then stopped. His wide broad back rippled with muscles.
He stood there and then turned his head to the side, his unfocused gaze slithering on the mirror, but he wasn’t looking at anything.
I held my breath as his lips curled. From the side, he looked so sinister as he hooked his fingers into the band of his boxers, and before I could react, he pulled them down his thighs and then legs.
He had tattoos on his tailbone too, down the back of his thighs.
But as he turned, my breath completely trapped itself in my throat.
Jesus.
I couldn’t look away, even if my life depended on it. Every protective instinct I had instantly short-circuited when my eyes landed on his semi-erect penis.
He took another step forward, and I shouted.
“Wait!” My heart leapt in my chest violently as I gulped. “The water is hot.” I barely managed to get the words out and rushed to the tub, turning the cold tap on and watched it fill the tub, daring not looking at the man standing naked behind me.
I would’ve burned him, hurt him. What was I thinking?
When the temperature balanced, I cleared my throat.
“You can get in,” My voice was somehow calm.
I heard the splash of water and then another.
Looking over my shoulder, I opened my right eye and looked through the slit.
And sighed in relief, finding him nestled in the tub, which looked smaller for his larger-than-life body.
To be honest, I would’ve drowned in that tub if it were me.
I laced body wash near him and was about to walk out when he stopped me.
“Wash me.”
“What?”
“Did I stutter, little bird?” A wicked smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, as he submerged himself more into the water, groaning blissfully. “Come here. Get your hands dirty.”
Well, fuck my life.