Page 40 of Venomous Desires

I curled my lips into a grin, though sweat beads were rolling down my neck and forehead. I bet he could see. And yet I tried to put on a mask. “I don’t fear him.”

“Says the lamb getting ready to get slaughtered.” He smirked, and I narrowed my eyes. Was he making fun of me? “Don’t make him wait. He’s not a patient man.”

I ignored his remarks, took a deep breath, and stepped in.

This was the last place I should be.

Not to be dramatic, but ever since I ran away from this place last night, I vowed myself not to set foot in this place ever again. Too much for making a vow. A vow I was going to break. A vow he was making me break.

When Kyle and I walked inside, I had to make sure my hands were not trembling and I was breathing.

What I wasn’t expecting was to be welcomed by his presence in the living area. He was sitting there, looking like a replica of the man I ran away from last evening. Same aura. But he was not dressed in his signature robe and minimal clothes, but in a decent, perfectly fitted suit. The deep crimson tie demanded attention against his dark shirt and suit.

He didn’t look at us, simply adjusted the cuffs on his shirt, and I caught a glimpse of his gold watch. My eyes involuntarily took in his lethal frame. He looked as intimidating sitting down as he did towering over me in the library.

His chiselled features were sharp, almost predatory. Raven hair styled back, baring a face that could have belonged to a darkangel. His eyes, cold and piercing, were like shards of ice. Every movement was precise and controlled. Dangerous.

He was a storm in a tailored suit, a riddle cloaked in menace.

But when my eyes found the deadly ones, staring right into my soul, my hands started shaking and I momentarily forgot how to breathe. My tight sweater clung to my sweaty skin, and the jeans I wore provided no comfort either. With one shaky, forced breath, I walked toward the couch. Hell, I should’ve stayed where I was.

I should’ve listened to the warning bells. I should’ve worn more layers today. And I definitely should’ve brought an inhaler because, for crying out loud, I was about to wheeze like a busted trumpet.

The cold brewing, pale blue eyes peered into my soul when I sat on the couch. Hunter. He was looking at me with a smirk and a glint in his eyes as if he had just captured a prey he had been hunting for ages.

For instance, I couldn’t understand him, couldn’t read him, like a snake. He moved with deceptive grace until it was too late. Blind or not, I feared this man.

Though there were moments I doubted him, there were those small moments too where I hated myself for doubting him. His gaze was often distant, like a foggy horizon. He needed assistance, always relying on his cane, a serpent’s tongue feeling the way. He was a riddle wrapped in sin, a silent predator. I knew because there was no way he was a saint.

I read an article about him. He hadn’t been born blind but had met with an accident. There were few details about the incident, only a few loose ends, which fuelled my curiosity. What could have been so powerful to change a man like Judas Romanovski into this?

He wasn’t any less powerful, of course. He was a billionaire, a titan of industry. His mansion, gilded in gold and opulence,was evidence of his wealth and influence.

There were some things I had naturally come to notice about him. The teasing smirk that never left his mouth. The dangerous glint in his eyes, even though his gaze appeared distant. His aura forced me to submit and bow down.

I didn’t know I was so engrossed in my thoughts when I felt something caressing my nostrils, slowly travelling down my throat and burning my lungs. I coughed, bending over as my eyes watered. I blinked. My vision cleared, and through the smoke, I met his amused smirk.

“I told you, Kyle. They always come around.” Voice wrapped in deceit and poison. Lips dragged in a puff of the cigar between his fingers.

His words stung as much as the smoke.

I cleared my throat, the lingering earthy sweetness of the cigar leaving me momentarily frozen before I spoke with my reserved courage. “I’d appreciate it if you-”

“Did I tell you to talk, Ptichka?” His sharp voice cut me off. I raised my head to look at him with furrowed brows. He leaned back, his left foot crossed over his right thigh, left arm draped over the leather couch.

His eyes pierced mine. I shut my mouth instantly.

The silence that followed was suffocating, punctuated only by the soft crackle of the cigar’s ember. He took another drag, his eyes never leaving mine, and exhaled a slow stream of smoke that curled lazily in the air between us.

I was afraid to even move a finger.

He tilted his head slightly, a small, almost unnoticeable smile playing at the corner of his lips. “That’s better,” his voice rumbled. He tapped the ash from his cigar onto the table, just outside the ashtray. It reminded me of our first meeting. And my mind fuzzed. I couldn’t tell If he was looking at me, or if his gaze was just distant.

My heart pounded in my chest. I fought to maintain my composure, my hands clenching into fists beneath the table.

“You see,” he continued, his tone deceptively calm, “power is a currency. One that you seem to be in short supply of.” I sucked in a sharp breath. “And in this world, Ptichka, those who cannot pay the price often find themselves... lacking.”

I swallowed hard, the dryness in my throat making it difficult. “I understand,” I managed to whisper.