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That means… he knows.
“I can see them right now, trying to fight an unspoken decision you made.” His head moves from side to side, his gaze switching between each of my eyes. I shut them involuntarily and one hand flies from under my hoodie to my throat, gripping possessively.
“I can see what you crave. I can see what your soul looks like now, tainted in blood and lust. I can hear the heathen song your demons dance to…”
I feel his breath getting closer, his tongue swipes along my jaw slowly, then moves to the edge of my ear and finally behind it, leaving a trail of fire on my skin.
“And I can sing it too…” he whispers.
My eyes dart open, and I know he sees fear in them, because his grin is yelling the words at me.
“And they willingly dance to my melody, because, Suki, this is what they crave, what you crave.”
He knows…
“Sometimes Suki, sometimes the hunt is unnecessary. Sometimes you don’t even need to set the traps. Sometimes… prey wants to be prey.”
He has me. He knows he does and knows that I know too. Suddenly, I learn a rule to his game.Never underestimate your opponent’s knowledge.Always assume he knows everything you do… maybe even more.
I squirm under his painful grip, moving my hands that hold me steady and claw at his covered forearms. There is a faint spark in his eyes, and his hold loosens momentarily, enough for me to get out and scramble to my feet. I know the woods will not aid me, not in the daylight with the whole scenery bathed in sunlight. So I run inside the house, through the kitchen, grabbing the biggest knife I see and run up the stairs to the first room that I can reach.
I do not hear him behind me, and I shut the door slowly, looking around frantically until I see the chair with some clothes draped over it. I push them down and prop it under the door handle. I am not entirely sure what this does, but everyone seems to do it in movies and it seems to work. It might have been a bad idea, but then again, I am not sure what my options are. I cannot run through the woods again, not now, not dressed like this and I am hoping by the time he comes upstairs and finds me, he will be calmer, more rational. But then my demons laugh, and I know they know I crave the complete opposite.
I’m shaking, watching the door, taking careful steps backwards. I hear his footsteps on the other side, I hear him trying a door, but it’s not this one. I breathe out.
Then another door and my heart sinks. It’s not this one. I breathe out.
Then one more, and I hold my breath, expecting him to try this one next, but he does not, and I wonder why. The next step backwards makes me hit something cold, and I quickly turn, almost dropping the knife from my hand at the marvel.
Big glass windows and doors, floor to ceiling, cover an entire wall. They lead to a terrace aimed at the most marvelous view I have seen, better than any from all the other windows in the house. Maybe not better than the view from the bathtub, but equally as beautiful. Bathed in sunshine, the peaks of the mountains, the trees, everything sparkles, full of life and joy. Birds are flying everywhere, and I’m lost in wonder at what kind of birds are awake this time of year. The pines are looming proudly, the sun rays dancing through the landscape and it almost makes me cry, the sheer beauty of it all, right here on his doorstep.
The beauty of this image resembles a hallucination, my gaze travels through the valleys in the distance, dips and mounds, so crisp and saturated… I lose myself.
My spine turns cold. I feel him… the electric jolt traveling up and down my body wherever his gaze hits. I see his reflection in the window now, standing behind me and I react, but he is so much quicker. One hand traps the one I hold the knife in, the other circles my throat and presses me into his body.
He bends over as the hand that holds my throat pulls me up, until his breath tickles my ear and my neck threatens to snap from the sheer force. Holding me there, at breaking point, I see his grin reflecting in the window that separates us from that beautiful, wild scenery and I realize that it all fits—his violence, my chaos, my frail throat in his big hand, the knife in mine… somehow it all fits.
Sometimes prey wants to be prey…his words echo in my head.
