''Come closer and I will scream!'' His prey whimpered.
''Scream. I dare you.'' He growled.
Twenty-three-year-old Ilona Bukowski has always been fascinated by the supernatural, even when she shouldn't. This fascination takes her to Romania, where she...
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The silence after his ridiculous speech was suffocating. Ilona sat on the sofa, barely comprehending what he had just ordered her to do. It was well past her usual bedtime, and she was tired from her travels, this could have been the only radical explanation for what she did next. She laughed. Hard. Until tears were streaming down her face and the notebook had fallen on the ground. Throughout all this Vlad stared at her with a blank expression, his already sharp jaw jutting out, indicating on how hard he must be clenching his jaws.
″I am so sorry,″ Ilona hiccupped in between laughs, ″but who do you even think you are?″ That star-struck moment she had had when he had approached her in the hallway, had quickly disappeared when she had seen no fangs in his mouth whatsoever. From that moment on she was ready to leave this place, so for him to demand her undevoted attention was certainly amusing.
″I am the man you begged to interview Miss Bukowski, but I am under the assumption that you do not agree.″ Vlad stood up from the sofa and slowly approached her hunched over figure. Ilona wiped her eyes, which had begun to tear with the merriment she had felt and reached to pick up the notebook. However, before she could pick it up, her wrist was engulfed by a large hand, nails digging into her flesh making her wince. His hand was big, big enough that with one large squeeze he would be able to break the bones if he wished to. When her eyes met his, all amusement left her body. His eyes promised danger, a sinister twinkle slowly growing. Even though this man might not be Vlad Țepeș, he had the intimidating aura down to a tee.
Ilona was not made to bow and held his stare, uneasiness growing in her stomach but refusing to relent to his penetrating gaze.
″You are a strong woman, Ilona Bukowski, and that is something I respect. What I will never respect is you ridiculing me in my own house.″ Vlad stated, his eyes seemed to burn with an underlining promise Ilona did not understand. Yet. He let go of her wrist and she cradled it with her other hand, checking for bruises. Vlad rose from his crouched position and moved back to the sofa, reoccupying his previous position. His eyes were fixed on Ilona but the smile that he previously sent her way, did never return.
She knew she should get the Hell out of here, but his gaze kept her locked in place. It almost seemed as if he controlled her every move, and it became hard to breathe. She had laughed at Amy's text when she had asked Ilona not to get murdered, maybe she had unknowingly thwarted fate and it had decided to give her a piece of its mind by luring her into this lion's den. A very attractive albeit slightly psychotic lion that is.
The quiet was so thick one could cut it with a knife and when neither of them spoke, Ilona felt that whatever she would say next would decide her fate. Vlad cocked his head to the side in a predatory way and opened his mouth to speak but before he could do so, a sharp knock sounded on the door, interrupting him in whatever he had to say. A soft growl left his lips and he turned away; Ilona kept watching his back when he opened the door. Riff-Raff stood on the threshold, whispering into Vlad's ear while his yellowed-eyes shifted to Ilona's form on the couch. Ilona wanted to disappear into the soft cushions of the sofa, clutching her hands together. Riff-Raff had stopped whispering and Vlad slightly turned his face, glancing at Ilona from his periphery. He gave a slight nod at whatever Riff-Raff had said and with one last lingering look at Ilona the butler walked away.
