Vow of the Predator

Chapter 6: The Leash

The silence in the hallway thickened, heavy enough to suffocate. Sera didn’t break eye contact. She let his words hang in the cold air, watching the way his chest rose and fell in jagged, shallow increments. He was entirely at her mercy, terrified that he had just crossed an invisible line by speaking the truth.

She didn’t step back. Instead, she finally reached into her pocket, pulled out the cold brass key, and slid it into the lock of her bedroom door. It turned with a heavy, protesting click.

Sera pushed the door open and stepped into the dimly lit room. She walked past her luggage, stopping near the edge of the mahogany desk. When she turned around, Kael was still standing in the hallway, his massive frame filling the doorway. He looked like a creature chained to the threshold, forbidding himself from crossing into the light of her private space.

"Close the door behind you," Sera said.

Kael’s jaw clenched. He stepped inside, his heavy boots completely silent on the thick Persian rug, and pushed the door shut. The click of the latch echoed loudly in the quiet room. He immediately planted himself with his back against the heavy wood, his hands returning to their strict position behind his back, locking himself at attention.

"You look like you're bracing for a firing squad," Sera noted, leaning back against the edge of the desk.

"It is inappropriate for me to remain in here while you rest," he rasped, keeping his eyes fixed rigidly on the wall just above her head.

"I didn't say I was going to rest." Sera crossed her arms, studying the rigid, unyielding lines of his posture. "And I don't care what's appropriate. Take off your jacket."

Kael blinked, his gaze snapping down to her face. Confusion warred with deeply ingrained discipline. The tailored suit jacket was his armor; it concealed his weapons, his knives, the tools of his trade. To strip it off was to willingly dismantle his defenses in front of her.

"Sera—"

"Take it off, Kael." Her voice was soft, devoid of any anger, but laced with absolute, undeniable authority.

He swallowed hard, the sharp movement of his throat stark in the low light. Slowly, his hands came forward. He unbuttoned the dark suit jacket and shrugged it off his broad shoulders, moving with careful, deliberate restraint. He folded it neatly, hanging it over the back of a nearby reading chair, never turning his back to her.

Without the jacket, the sheer physical mass of him was overwhelming. His black button-down shirt clung tightly to the heavy planes of his chest and shoulders. Over the shirt, a worn leather shoulder holster strapped snugly across his torso, holding a matte-black pistol securely under his left arm. The dark straps sharply contrasted with the way his chest expanded and contracted as his breathing subtly accelerated.

Sera pushed off the desk and walked slowly toward him. Kael didn't retreat, but she saw his large hands twitch against his thighs, his fingers curling inward as he fought the instinct to step back from her approach.

She stopped right in front of him. She didn't look up at his face. Instead, she kept her eyes on his chest and slowly lifted her right hand.

Kael stopped breathing entirely.

Sera pressed her index and middle finger lightly against the leather strap of his holster, right over his collarbone. Beneath the thick leather and the thin fabric of his shirt, his skin was scorching hot. She could feel the wild, erratic thumping of his pulse hammering frantically against her fingertips.

"Julian thinks you're a mad dog on a leash," Sera murmured, dragging her fingers downward by a mere inch.

Kael shuddered. It was a full-body tremor that rippled through his massive frame before he brutally suppressed it, his muscles locking up like stone.

"He thinks Father holds it," she continued, her voice a quiet hum in the space between them.

She traced the strap further, sliding her hand to the center of his chest, resting her palm flat over his racing heart. Kael’s eyes fluttered shut for a fraction of a second, his head tilting back ever so slightly, as if enduring an agonizing, exquisite torture. He was a man who dealt in blood and broken bones, completely unraveled by the light pressure of a woman's hand.

"Who holds the leash, Kael?" she asked softly, finally looking up to study his face.

Kael opened his eyes. They were pitch black, consumed by a desperate, suffocating hunger that he was barely keeping caged. He looked down at her pale hand resting against his dark chest, then dragged his heavy gaze back up to her eyes.

"You do," he whispered, his rough voice cracking on the words. "Only you."