Still, I forge on, finding the following two rooms completely empty as well.
There are only two more rooms and a bathroom left in this hallway. And lastly, a door at the very end of the hall that leads to the attic.
If he’s up there, he can stay there. There’s no way I’m going up in the fucking attic to find him. I will gladly admit defeat.
Sucking in a deep breath, I face my bedroom. Aside from the attic, it’s the only room left in this hallway with a closed door.
What is he feeling right now? Standing on the other side, waiting for me to enter. Our roles are reversed, this time with me lingering outside the door. Still, I’m the one left terrified while he calmly awaits me. Anticipating all the things he’s going to say to me. Do to me.
How he’s going to hurt me. Punish me.
Steeling my spine, I turn the knob and push open the door. When it swings open, a scream climbs up my throat.
He didn’t even try to hide.
My balcony doors are wide open, the moonlight spilling in. And there, a dark figure shrouded in white light, is my shadow. Staring at me with a wicked smile on his face and a blade in his hand.
Chapter 15
The Manipulator
I
’m completely immobilized beneath his stare. I can only imagine the look on my face when I see him standing there, waiting for me.
The sconces behind my bed are lit, offering dim lighting. Enough for me to get a clear view of him. He’s clad in all black. Leather boots, jeans that wrap tightly around broad thighs, and a matching hoodie that looks a size too small with the way he fills it out.
Still, I can’t see much of his face—that damn hood.
My tongue darts out, wetting my dry lips.
“Take off your hood,” I say, a slight tremor in my voice. He doesn’t. Nor does he speak.
Anger begins to build beneath the fear.
“You wanted me to come find you, kitty cat. I did. So take off your fucking hood and show me your face,” I demand, my voice rising alongside my anger.
A sinful smirk tugs at his lips when he hears his new nickname. He thinks this is a game of cat and mouse. If he wants to debase me with a nickname, it’s only fair I return the favor.
Slowly, he reaches up and slides the hood off his head, the knife glinting as if to mock me. I have my own knife, too.
Any triumph I felt over my little jab dissipates like butter in a hot skillet.
And all the fear I’ve been feeling triples. His face is… unlike anything I’ve seen. But that’s the thing—I have seen him before. The mismatched eyes give him away.
In the bookstore, I only saw portions of his face. At the time, he seemed mildly attractive. But now that I see those pieces as a whole, he’s devastating.
His right eye darker than the midnight sky, and the other the exact opposite. His left eye is so bleached of color, it’s nearly white. The scar starting from the middle of his forehead, slashing straight down through his white eye and to the middle of his cheek, is something I haven’t been able to forget since I saw him in the bookstore.
Despite the ugly scar, it only serves to heighten his utter beauty. A jawline so sharp, he could cut diamonds with it. A straight, aristocratic nose. Full lips. And short black hair, just long enough to run your hands through.
This is wrong. So wrong.
I shouldn’t be attracted to a stalker.
His presence is so overwhelming, it feels as if he’s ten feet tall with a shadow crawling up the ceiling, slithering toward me. This room feels tiny with him in it. I feel tiny with him in it.
He takes a step toward me, a hint of that smirk remaining on his face—just the slightest curl in his lips.
I take a step back. Finally, my instincts aren’t completely jacked sideways, and I make my first smart move of the night.
“Cat got your tongue, little mouse?”
Briefly, I close my eyes. His voice washes over me, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The sound is as deep as his black eye.
I swallow again, nearly choking on the very muscle. It feels like my tongue has swollen to double its size.
“What do you want from me?” I choke out.
He prowls towards me. My spine tightens, and despite the gallons of fear pumping through my heart valves, I stay still. When he gets close enough, I’ll stab him.
Aim for the throat, Addie.
My eyes lock with his, and all thought escapes me. He presses the entirety of his body against mine. No shame. No shyness. No, let me buy you a drink first before I press my man pecs into you.
The boldness of it has me nearly biting my tongue in surprise.
It takes several seconds for my body to unlock. Before I can think about what I’m doing, I swing my knife towards him, but meet resistance when I attempt to lift it.
I look down in confusion, just to see his bare hand wrapped around the blade. Blood pools in his hand, a small trail heading straight towards my own.
I gasp, my eyes widening and snapping back to his. Not a single iota of pain shines in his eyes. Not even a glimmer.
He jerks on the blade once, ripping it from my weak hold, blindly tossing it behind him.
The knife clatters loudly against something before toppling to the floor, the sound reverberating in the otherwise quiet room. Nothing but my heavy panting breaks the static of silence surrounding us. His presence is a vortex, steadily depleting the oxygen from the room—and even from my brain.
Because I cannot think straight with his body so close to mine. With the fear coiled tightly around me, the force of it turning my body to stone. I’m useless. Powerless. The inability to fight rages in my head, my survival instincts tell me to just move, yet my body refuses to.
And then his bloody hand is wrapping around the back of my neck and bringing my body flush with his once more. I cringe at the feel of his life’s essence dripping from his hand. The blood feels like menacing fingers crawling down my spine, staining my skin as if to mark me.
To my horror, he lifts his other hand—the one still gripping a much more wicked-looking knife than mine—and brings the tip of the blade to the underside of my chin.
He applies enough pressure to force my chin up further, the metal biting into my skin. The slightest curl to his lips stalls the breath in my lungs. The act speaks of something daunting. Something condemning.
“You’re even more beautiful up close,” he murmurs, his sinful eyes devouring my face.
I scowl and plant my hands on his chest, ignoring the pure steel beneath his flesh, and attempt to push him away. But he resists the force, his lip curling into a snarl.
Tears rim my lids as frustration grows.
“Please, just leave. I-I don’t want you here. I don’t want you. Just leave me alone,” I beg. It feels like reaching a hand inside my chest, yanking out my pride and throwing it onto the floor. But I don’t give a fuck about my pride in this moment.
I just want this man to fucking leave.
He presses in closer. “Are you going to cry, Addie?” he taunts. My hands are still pressed firmly against his chest. His heart is racing beneath my palms, giving me pause. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s not as unaffected as he’s appearing to be.
“No,” I lie.
I will absolutely have no problems crying my eyes out after he leaves. But I refuse to show him any more weakness.
He flashes me a feral, toothy smile, pulling the blade from my chin and dropping his hand from behind my neck.