Ravenous Revenge

Chapter Nine- The Protector

It feels so good to be free.

Ares, that naïve fool, thought he could cage me with pills and therapy. Suppress me. Destroy me. Doesn't he realize I'm the only thing keeping him alive? I am his protector.

Lucky for me, he slipped up—forgot his precious pills two days ago. That was all I needed. A crack in the armor. I wormed my way in, whispering sweet truths into his ear, convincing him they were useless. He listened. Like the obedient little sheep he is, he flushed them down the drain.

And now?

Now, it's my turn to play.

The moment his eyes landed on her, I felt it—a visceral pull, raw and undeniable. She's my little fox. When I first saw her through Ares's weak, pathetic gaze, I assumed she was just another lamb. A forgettable, doe-eyed creature like the rest of the fools he drags into his bed.

But then I saw her up close—those eyes, sharp and calculating. That wasn't prey staring back at me. That was a predator. A killer. I know my own kind when I see them. We're cut from the same cloth, stained with the same blood.

The fight between us only confirmed it. She earned her nickname that night—my little fox.

I pull up to the building where her penthouse lies, the sleek lines of her fortress teasing me, calling me closer. Excitement courses through me—sharp, electric, setting every nerve on fire. She doesn't know what she's unleashed.

This is going to be so much fun.

I pull the phone from my pocket and dial Ares's loyal little minion, Enzo. He's a good lapdog—efficient, obedient, and, most importantly, silent.

"I need you to bypass the security and find me a way into the penthouse," I growl into the receiver, my voice edged with impatience.

He doesn't ask questions. He knows better.

Minutes crawl by, each one simmering with anticipation as I lean against the hood of my car, letting the plan take shape in my mind. My little fox thinks she can outsmart me, outmaneuver me. Foolish. She's clever, I'll give her that—but clever isn't enough when you're up against the force of nature that I am.

The phone vibrates in my hand. A text from Enzo:

Done.

Good. Efficient as always. I glance at the message, a slow, satisfied smirk spreading across my face. I like this one. Not chatty, but damn good at his job. I should leave a note for Ares—tell him to give Enzo a raise. He's earned it.

No more stalling. The time for planning is over.

I make my way toward the building, each step deliberate, echoing with purpose. Let's see if she's still as cunning, as calculated, when she's face to face with me.

Enzo proves his worth yet again. Not only did he bypass the building's pathetic excuse for security, but he made my life infinitely easier by hacking the elevator, granting me access without a single keystroke from me. Efficient. Silent. Effective. A rare breed in this world of mediocrity. Maybe I'll reward him for this—or not. Depends on my mood when this is over.

The elevator dings, announcing my arrival, and the doors slide open to reveal a private lobby. Minimalist. Sterile. Her scent lingers faintly in the air—subtle, but enough to stir the fire in my chest. Clever fox. She's claimed this space as her own. No distractions. No neighbors to interfere when she plays her little games.

Her penthouse is the only door here, standing between me and her. The barrier is laughable. Just a door. Wood, metal, and a lock. Did she think this could stop me? A predator doesn't knock; it doesn't ask permission. It takes.

I step forward, fingers brushing the edges of the door. Anticipation tightens in my chest. My little fox has no idea what's coming.

I may be a creature of primal urges, but even I understand the value of stealth—especially with someone like her. My little fox doesn't hesitate. She'd shoot first and ask questions only if it suits her. No, bursting in like some rabid fool would only amuse her, and I refuse to give her the upper hand.

This requires precision. I must move like death itself—silent, deliberate, inevitable. Not a ghost. Ghosts are bound by choice, by regret. I'm no ghost. I'm a demon in the night. And demons take what they want.

I pull out my lockpicking tools, fingers brushing over the cool metal with a sense of anticipation. A lock is a fragile thing, though it pretends otherwise. I trail my fingers along its edges, savoring the promise of resistance. Delicate. Obstinate. Beautiful.

I slip the pick inside—careful, deliberate. The resistance excites me. Futile defiance against the inevitable. Of course the lock fights back. But that only makes the conquest sweeter. My patience is unrelenting. I apply the right amount of pressure—a whisper of force that demands obedience.

And then, it yields. The final tumbler clicks into place, and the lock sighs softly in surrender. That sound—it's intoxicating. Proof that even the most guarded barriers can be breached with the right hands.

I smirk, easing the door open as a thrill races through me. My little fox thought her den was impenetrable. Foolish. She underestimated me. They always do.

But now the hunt truly begins—

and I'm inside her world.