Ravenous Revenge

Chapter Twelve- Lyssa

"You said you wanted to play a game?" I ask cautiously, a hint of defiance threading my voice, though I can't fully mask the unease beneath it.

He releases my hair, and I bite back a sigh of relief. Then he lies down on my bed, facing me, so we are eye to eye. His gaze remains calm, measured, calculating—like a predator studying its prey. My pulse hammers in my ears, but I force myself to meet his eyes, keeping a facade of composure despite the chaos curling inside my chest. His lips lift into that familiar smirk, the one that both infuriates and unnerves me. My body tenses, every nerve on edge, caught between irritation and that undeniable, unwelcome reaction I can't entirely control.

Fuck that smirk.

I look down to distract myself, but my eyes catch the blood—my blood—trickling steadily, not onto the mattress, but onto him. It seeps into the fabric of his Armani pants, staining the pristine material. And for some godforsaken reason, it does something to me. The sight of my blood marking him, of his perfect suit ruined, sparks a strange, unsettling heat in my chest. It's not fear—the sharp, paralyzing kind I'm used to. No, this is something else entirely. Something dark. Something dangerous.

"Yes, I did," he replies, voice dark and smooth. "What are you trying to say, little fox?"

Little fox. The words slice through my concentration like a blade. What the f**k is up with that?

"Question for question." I tilt my head, keeping my gaze locked on his. "You asked a question, I answered. Now it's my turn, and you'll answer. We keep going until we're both satisfied."

His eyes flicker with amusement, a dangerous glint hiding behind that calm, indifferent mask. He hums, deliberate, considering my words. I stay still, silently calculating, watching him process my challenge like a predator weighing its next strike.

"What is your question, little fox?" His voice drips with mockery, but his eyes remain steady, sharp, searching.

I tilt my head, forcing my defiance to show. "Why do you call me little fox?" The words slip out before I can stop them, but I need to know. There's something about the way he says it, a weight I can't ignore.

He laughs—harsh, dark, unrestrained. "You don't know? It's because you remind me of one." His tone drops lower, sending a thrill I can't name crawling through me. "Cunning. Small but deadly. And oh, so pretty when you snarl."

I feel a pull at his words, but I shove it aside. This is a game. Just a game.

But his laughter lingers, echoing in my ears long after it's gone. It seeps into me, curling deep inside where I don't want it to reach. A twisted part of me doesn't want to play anymore. The blood on his suit, the way he watches me—it all starts to make too much sense, unsettling me in ways I can't show.

I clear my throat, forcing composure I don't fully feel. "Your turn," I say, steady despite the chaos clawing through my mind.

He studies me intently, that dark smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It's like he's seeing something I haven't yet realized about myself. The silence between us stretches thin until he leans closer, just enough that I can feel his breath warm against my ear.

"Tell me, little fox," he murmurs, voice low and rough—a dark rasp that sends a shiver down my spine. "Does it excite you—the way I mark you? The power I have over you, even now?"

His gaze flickers down to the blood staining his suit before snapping back to mine, sharp and unyielding, reading me like an open page. "Because I can see it," he murmurs, voice low and predatory. "Your body betrays you, no matter how hard you try to hide it."

I barely have time to process the weight of his words before he moves, deliberate and fluid, closer. A low, rumbling growl vibrates from his chest, resonating through me with unnerving intensity.

"Remember to be honest, little fox," he warns, menace lacing each syllable. "Or I'll punish you again." His lips curl into a feral grin, the quiet promise in his tone sending a chill down my spine. "Oh, and I must add... I can smell your arousal from here."

I'm reeling, my mind spinning in jagged circles. If I admit the truth, I hand him the power he's so clearly craving. If I deny it, he'll know I'm lying—and he'll cut me again. I'm not afraid of the pain; I've endured worse. That's not the point. He's trying to crawl inside my head, twist my thoughts, make me feel small. Helpless. And the worst part? It's working.

What terrifies me most is that he's right. This whole twisted game—the blade, the blood, the control—it's doing something to me I can't rationalize. Something dark, primal, and wrong in all the ways that still make my pulse race.

No. I won't let him win. I won't let him see the effect he's having on me. I have to flip this—make him doubt himself, throw him off balance. But how?

His voice snaps me out of the spiral.

"Tick‑tock, little fox," he drawls, amusement flashing in his eyes, daring me to play.