“You want to leave so badly?” he asks looking at me, all the darkness in his eyes unleashed. “Then run, little siren. I’ll even give you a head start.”
I consider my options. Running means he’ll chase me. Staying put though, could spell my doom. At least if I run I’ll get a chance. I jump to my feet, walking backwards still taking in his terrifying gaze.
Something in my mind reminds me that I’m valuable collateral. There’s no way he would hurt thelong lost Navarro princess. But the panic in my veins says otherwise. It hard to stand your ground when your would be attacker is six foot three inches of solid muscle and strength.
I decide my best option is to bolt. I run with no sense of direction towards the house, feeling my racing heart swelling in my throat. Rafaelle’s an asshole though. Headstarts should be at least a minute. I get only about five seconds before I hear the sound of his heavy footsteps following behind me.
Panic and exhilaration collide violently inside of me. I shove past corners and paintings and dimly lit corridors. I don’t stand a chance and I have no idea where I’m even headed. I burst through the first door I see once I’m in the house, opening it and then shutting it behind me right before he catches up. The door has a fancy automatic lock which I hurriedly press and then I exhale a sharp breath of relief.
I cannot believe I managed that. He pounds on the door in the next breath and it’s startling enough that I stumble back, breathing hard.
“Open the door, Liliana.”
I smile, sticking out my tongue childishly although he can’t see me. I turn around to take in the room and sight of it steals the breath from my lungs.
Weapons.
Hundreds of them.
Knives line the walls in gleaming displays beneath low amber lighting, each one more beautiful and horrifying than the last. Some are sleek and silver, others dark and vicious looking with jagged edges that belong in nightmares. Guns rest inside glass cases polished to perfection, arranged with obsessive precision beside rifles and blades from what looks like every corner of the world.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
I don’t know whether to be horrified or impressed. Probably both. Of course Rafaelle owns a room like this. It’s pretty typical though. A man like him would collect weapons like art.
A soft click sounds behind me and my blood freezes. I whirl around just as the door swings open. Rafaelle stands there, holding a key between tattooed fingers, chest rising slowly beneath the black shirt stretched across his body. His expression sends something uneasy curling down my spine.
He looks… alive. Like chasing me through the house woke something primal inside him. Dark eyes lock onto mine before sweeping lazily across the room.
“Interesting choice for a hideout,” he murmurs. “But there’s no hiding from me.”
My gaze catches onto one of the knives displayed nearby and before I can think better of it, I snatch it from the wall and point it towards him with shaking fingers. Rafaelle actually smiles. Its predatory, scary.
“Are you going to stab me, little siren?”
“Don’t test me.”
He steps farther into the room and shuts the door behind him with deliberate calm.
“I’m serious, Rafaelle.”
“I know,” his eyes flick toward the knife before returning to my face, “Go ahead.”
I blink. “What?”
“Throw it.” his mouth curves slightly. “You’re going to miss, but I’d still love to see you try.”
The smug bastard. Heat floods my face immediately. He looks so certain of himself standing there all broad, tattooed and entirely unbothered while my pulse rages a riot beneath my skin.
I hate him.
I hate how beautiful he is. I hate the way he looks at me. I hate that a part of me is thrilled by it.
“Don’t smile at me like that,” I snap.
His grin widens. So I throw the knife.
The blade slices through the air with terrifying speed and Rafaelle moves at the last possible second, body shifting smoothly aside before the knife embeds itself into the wooden door behind him with a violent thunk.
