Serpentine Desires

The prey (New Scene)

He was looking at me. At least that's what it seemed like.

Unshielded hunter's eyes, staring right through my soul and piercing me as if he could demolish me whole. Finish me whole. Shifting unconsciously, trying to ignore the sensation of my wet jeans clinging to my legs and the damp sweater plastered against my skin. The cold I felt seeped deeper than the fabric or the snow that had snuck into my jacket. It was his gaze that truly chilled me to the bone.

That unbothered, unfocused, hollow gaze.

I wondered what was happening in his head, and the icy draft slipping in from the slightly open window didn't help either. I had forced myself to shut it, sealing out the storm outside-but I could still feel it. Just like I could still feel his stare.

And wasn't he cold? He was only wearing a robe, like yesterday. At least this time, he had the modesty to tie it up.

I, on the other hand, had to jump the wall and eat the snow. Just great. He didn't even have the damn modesty to hire a gatekeeper. Twenty freaking minutes I had stood there, yelling like a madwoman. And for what? To be left soaked and freezing?

I shivered, cursing under my breath. Kyle, noticing, had tossed me a big, warm and soft sweater. "Change into this before you catch pneumonia," he'd said, already turning away, leaving me to deal with my predicament.

I didn't exactly have options. The nearest bathroom was down the hall, but that meant walking past him and through a maze of unfamiliar corridors. The idea of getting lost in this house, dripping wet and shivering, didn't appeal to me. And I sure as hell wasn't about to wear this clingy, freezing sweater a second longer.

He's blind.

That single thought gave me just enough reassurance to peel the wet sweater off over my head, shaking my hair free from the icy fabric. My breath hitched as the cold air rushed over my bare arms and stomach, pebbling my skin. At least my bra was still saved.

I hurried to pull on the dry one Kyle had given me, the inside fleece lining instantly soothing against my chilled skin.

I exhaled in relief, running my hands over the warm fabric.

When I felt it, I froze mid-motion, my fingers curling into the sweater as I slowly turned my head toward him. He was still sitting there, his posture relaxed, his head tilted ever so slightly in my direction. His eyes-those haunting turquoise eyes-were locked on me, unblinking.

A shiver, different from the cold, trailed down my spine.

He's blind.

He's blind, right?

Blind eyes shouldn't have power to flay me open, to unravel me thread by thread, yet Judas Romanovski seemed to possess that kind of aura.

I swallowed hard. "What?" My voice was sharper than I intended.

He didn't answer, but a faint smirk kissed his lips before it was gone as he inhaled the smoke into his lungs and let out a ring of smoke.

I hastily pulled the hem of the sweater down as a strange kind of sensation crawled down my spine, my pulse hammering in my ears. Maybe it was just my imagination. Maybe I was still rattled from the cold, from the day, from everything in general.

When I was warm and fuzzy, I placed the drenched sweater on the ground making a mental note to retrieve it later and looked around.

The room was spacious and even larger than the office we were in yesterday. The high ceilings, adorned with a grand crystal and gold chandelier, mirror the ceiling like an endless black hole. The dark marbled floors veneered with gold marbled designs and covered with plush Persian rugs, felt luxurious under my dirty shoes.