Chapter 9
The Prey
Ivan: See you in a few hours. ‘grinning emoji.’
Grinning, I typed.
Seraphina: Waiting. ‘blushing’.
After finishing my assignments, I cleared the table and reached for my clothes.
My eyes landed on the sweater I’d been saving for a good day—a chunky beige cardigan with small red bows scattered across the front, fastened neatly with matching buttons.
A gift from my father. After years, wearing it again felt like stepping into a memory I hadn’t realised I still carried.
A bittersweet warmth settled in my chest.
I paired it with boot-cut jeans and a red turtleneck underneath.
Standing in front of the mirror, I ran my fingers through freshly washed hair. For once, it behaved. Still, I hesitated for a moment before deciding on something simple.
I exhaled. Perfect.
Lip gloss next.
I reached for my phone. A new message from Ivan was already waiting.
Ivan: Asian or American?
I teased my bottom lip, feeling all kinds of emotions.
Seraphina: Chinese. ‘Chopsticks emoji.’
I called a cab, grinning to myself like a teenager being asked out for the first time. Ironically, it was my first time.
Through school and my teens, I’d never really shown interest in boys. Because most of them never seemed worth the attention they demanded. It made me keep my distance, somewhere along the way turning into an outright dislike for the idea of them altogether.
There had been exceptions, of course—crushes that stayed harmlessly in my head and nowhere else. But real-life interactions? Those usually ended badly.
Like the time a boy from my class asked me out. I broke his nose.
The next day, his ex-girlfriend broke mine.
The memory made me huff, especially at the way she had looked at me right before I’d headbutted her and taken out two of her teeth.
Anyway. That wasn’t the point.
The point was—I was going on a date. A first date. Potentially.
About forty minutes later, I stood before the mansion’s towering gates. I silently hoped they’d be open this time—I had no intention of climbing over them.
Thankfully, the gates were open.
I let out a small breath and stepped through, walking quickly up the long stone path toward the entrance. My cardigan was pulled tighter around me, but the cold still slipped through, biting at my skin.
The air here always felt different today. Maybe it was the mansion, standing alone at the edge of the forest, cut off from anything warm or familiar. Or maybe it was just the weather, and I was overthinking it again.
Or perhaps… it was him.
Whatever. I just needed to do my work and get the hell out of here.
Frowning, I reached for the door, only to realize it was locked. Just as I raised my fist to knock, it swung open from the other side. My knuckles nearly collided with Kyle’s.
I jerked back, mortified, and cradled my hand awkwardly. “Good evening.”
Kyle didn’t respond. His gaze flicked over me before his brows dipped into a frown. Without a word, he stepped aside, allowing me in.
I sighed in quiet relief at the warmth and hurried toward the stairs, eager to finish my shift and leave.
“Mr. Romanovski’s in the library.”
Kyle’s voice halted me mid-step. I turned slightly, finding him still by the door.
“Next to his office,” he added.
I nodded and took off in that direction.
What the hell was he doing in there?
Then again, men did all sorts of things that made no sense.
Finding the library wasn’t difficult. I was familiar with this floor, though I was strictly forbidden from entering any room except his office or his bedroom—if he wanted me there.
I inhaled deeply, steadying my nerves, then knocked.
No response. I knocked again, yet there was just an unnerving silence that answered me.
Sighing, I twisted the knob, and strangely, the door opened.
Peeking my head in, I found darkness greeting me.
My gaze wavered and my eyes narrowed. I could barely see inside, and a sudden chill settled in my bones. I called out timidly, “Mr. Romanovski?”
I swallowed hard as I forced myself to step inside. I pushed the door open. The dim hallway light spilled in uselessly against the darkness within.
A fleeting shift in my periphery. My breath hitched. Before I could react, my grip slipped, and the door slammed shut behind me with a thud.
I spun, my fingers fumbling for the knob. Cold metal met my palm. Locked.
A bead of sweat traced a slow path down my spine.
“Mr. Romanovski?”
I called out again. For a second, I thought I heard a faint chuckle. I took a step forward anyway, and the cold hit harder, sinking into my skin in a way that didn’t feel normal anymore. The back of my neck prickled.
I stopped—barely enough time to register it before something slammed me hard into the bookshelf. Pain shot through my back; the air knocked clean out of my lungs.
A hand closed around my throat as fingers curled.
Instinct kicked in, and I grabbed at his wrist, but I couldn’t see him—only the shape of him.
I tried to focus, to find his face through the shadows, but all I could feel was the pressure of his grip and the heat of him everywhere at once.
“You smell different, Ptichka.” He spoke in Russian. The hand around my throat loosened its grip, but stayed there, pinning me.
The fear made me froze that I couldn’t even process.
“What do you mean?” I finally managed to stammer.
A twisted smile spread across his face.
Remember when I said he reminded me of the wild beasts in the forest behind my home? No, not the wild beasts. He was the darkness that scared me to enter that forest, the fear of the unknown.
I flinched as he leaned in, his lips found the vein jumping in my throat as he tilted my head back.
His lips found my throat, the stubble along his jaw grazing my sensitive skin with a delicious friction that made my toes curl. A whimper escaped me as he licked a path downward, his tongue tracing the line of my collarbone.
“So sweet,” he growled, the vibration of his voice traveling from his chest directly into mine, and just like that, he let go.
My eyes fluttered open, my vision swimming and blurred. I had to grab the edge of the bookshelf, just to keep from collapsing into a heap on the floor.
My lungs burned; I realized with a jolt of panic that I had been holding my breath, waiting for a touch that was no longer there.
My gaze darted to him with a cocktail of emotions that made my head spin.
I was terrified, yes, but it was a delightful, sickening kind of fear that made my heart hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird.
I was devastated by the sudden distance, shocked by the audacity, and utterly confused by the man standing before me.
He wasn’t even looking at me. His broad, muscular back was turned, and I noticed the robe he wore. It was black as flickers of light fell upon him.
I swallowed hard as I tried to reconcile the man who had just kissed my neck.
He slowly turned around, and I noticed a book in his hands. When did he pick it up?
“Read this to me.”
I inched toward him, every step careful, until my fingers closed around the vase on the table. I stopped an arm’s length away and lifted it over my head, ready to bring it crashing down—to see if he’d finally react like any normal person.
He did not.
My grip faltered. I put the vase back on the table as I let out an unsteady breath. Was he insane... or was I?
My gaze dropped to the book resting in his hands, and I caught the title.
How to make a woman orgasm.
I snapped my head at him, but he was already looking at me. He was looking at me. This blind man was looking at me. His piercing eyes lit up amused, sinfully crafted lips curved, and I noticed, under the dim light and amidst the panic attack I was about to have.
He had a dimple.