The hunt.
I had a taste of another world where magic met witchcraft, where addiction met ecstasy, where my own obsession infused in my body in a terrifying elixir. I couldn’t escape Radcliff; his image was impregnated in each of my chills.
My sore body straightened before something slid off my shoulders. My eyes flickered over the jet-black jacket set down on my legs. I grazed the material with my nails. It looked expensive. I brought it closer to my nose, picking up the notes.Sandalwood.With a hint of a leather scent coming from tobacco. My throat dried, remembering to whom this essence belonged.
Radcliff.
Radcliff had been here. A cloud of steam escaped my lips, the realization of it sweltering my insides despite the iciness of my frightened body.
I blanched, hearing a barking. Turning around, I took sight of a little black dog standing behind me. Probably a female, judging by her feminine, brown, shimmering eyes filled with kindness that would appease any human’s soul. She was hiding in the crushed flowers, mingling with them, her tail moving joyfully.
“Come here.” I bent down, crouching in front of her to invite her into my arms.
When she rushed toward me with enthusiasm, my heart broke and shattered into pieces. She was a stray dog, with one of her front legs missing. And yet, she ran fiercely, ignoring her handicap. She snuggled against my legs, and I scooped the little warrior into my arms.
“What’s your name? You’re so pretty.”
The dog licked my face, making me giggle. She was one of the happiest animals I’d ever met, not having one ounce of aggression inside of her.
“Her name’s Cerba. She’s Radcliff’s dog,” a masculine voice echoed.
Feeling startled, I whirled around to stare at the man behind me. I recognized him instantly. He was the one who’d acted as host at Radcliff’s party. The man wrinkled his nose, not fully stepping inside the greenhouse—probably repulsed by the corpse flower’s odor.
He was dressed in an emerald velvet suit that screamed of formality, a smug smile painted on his face when I shifted my gaze between Cerba and him, not believing that inhuman Radcliff had a dog.
“Oh—it’s a beautiful name.” I stood up, folding my arms on my chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep here.” Someone had locked me inside—deliberately or not—and here I was apologizing for a fate I wished I had never experienced.
I became aware of the massacre I had done inside the greenhouse in a glance that squeezed my heart. “Nor do all that.”
“I’m not the one you should apologize to,” he sneered.
“Who are you?”
“I’m here on behalf of Mr. Radcliff.” His name shot through me like a massive flood of adrenaline, my wild heart galloping like a fleeing horse. “Looks like you made quite an impression on him,” he joked, his gaze homing in on my soiled dress.
“I don’t understand.” If there was any impression I’d have made on that man, I didn’t think it would be him pitying me. “Why didn’t he bother to come to me, then? I know he was here. That’s his jacket, right?” I gunned my eyes at the man, but he didn’t seem slightly deterred by it.
“I like you.” My interlocutor didn’t bother to hide his amusement. He gave me a sinful smirk as if he had bet on my reaction. “I’m the person he sends to represent him during public events, social interactions etc.—you get the drill. He’s a busy man. And as for the other why, I assume you heard the rumors.”
What was behind the Devil’s mask? This question circled my mind. I had to ask. “Is it true?”
“That’s not my story to tell,doudou.”
I snapped my brows together, and facing my incomprehension, he added, “It means darling in Creole.”
At this point,doudoucouldn’t be worse than my other pet names. His eyes shined with mirth, and I decided it was best if I went straight to the point. I suppressed a shiver and demanded, “I would like to go home, but I don’t have my phone, and my ride probably left last night.”
“Your uncle should arrive soon.” He paused. “But you should brace yourself.”
“What do you mean?” My eyes went round, and my face was blank.
The man ignored my reaction and was on his way to leave until I called him out. “Wait! What’s your name?” Like that seemed a relevant time to ask.
“Hugo.”
I bored my eyes into his. Where I grew up, I learned how to differentiate the good from the bad, the lies from the truth. “Hugo, tell me… What kind of man is Radcliff?” He remained silent under my forceful stare. “Would you advise someone you love to get involved with him?”
Truth was, I had no idea why I had such a morbid fascination for him. He screamed of corruption and of the darkest shades of danger. He was nothing I aspired to be—but he had what I aspired to create. Maybe that was all it was about.
