*Predator's Game*
1136 Words
Chapter 4
*Predator's Game*
Aurora's POV:
His eyes are open.
That is the first thing that registers. Not the grip on my wrist, not the dagger suspended midair between us — just his eyes. Steel gray. Fully awake. Watching me with the calm of someone who was never asleep to begin with.
My pulse stops.
Then slams back twice as hard.
"Leave my hands," I yell. My voice comes out smaller than I intend.
He does not leave my hands.
"Are you trying to kill me?" he asks again, and this time the voice does not come out shocked, or angry. Just quiet recognition, like he is confirming something he already knew.
I say nothing. Hell, there is nothing to say.
He twists my wrist sharply until I let loose of the dagger. It clatters against the floor between us. Pain shoots up my arm and I bite down on it, refusing to make a sound.
But then I catch it — a tremor in his hand. A slight stagger in his stance. The drug is working. Just not enough to shut him down.
That is all I need.
I wrench my wrist free and drive my fist straight into his jaw.
His head snaps sideways.
I do not wait. I shove him back, snatch the bag of valuables from the floor, and run for the door. My fingers close around the handle.
Then he is behind me.
He crashes into me from behind, slamming the door shut, pinning me against the wood with one arm around my waist and the other clamping my hands. His chest presses into my back, heat and weight and strength that does not budge.
"You're so determined," he says, low against my neck. "I like that. But not today, princess."
I thrash. I growl. Neither does anything.
"No thief has ever stolen from me and gotten away."
He moves fast — faster than a man with drugs in his system has any right to. He flips me, throws me onto the bed, pins both my wrists above my head with one hand. The other reaches for the drawer.
A metallic click.
Cold steel bites my wrist.
A cuff. And then the same cuff circles his own.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"You're supposed to be—"
"Weak?" he finishes, lazy and amused. "Half dead? Don't get the wrong idea, princess. Your drug is working just fine. I just have better resistance."
My limbs are already growing heavy. The room tilts slightly at the edges. I overestimated my advantage and we both know it.
He leans close, his face inches from mine.
"Now. Let's get you a taste of your own medicine."
He reaches for the remainder of his drink. I turn my head. He catches my jaw, gently but firmly, and tips the glass until the liquid slides down my throat.
It is bitter.
My vision swims instantly.
"How stupid do you think I am, Aurora Vale?" he murmurs.
"Let me go," I manage.
His lips brush the curve of my cheek, deliberate and mocking. "You sold yourself out the moment you made it obvious you were targeting me."
I open my mouth.
"Fucker," is all that comes out before the darkness takes me.
---
I wake to sunlight and a pounding head.
And a cuff still locked around my wrist.
Ivar lies beside me, bare-chested, breathing slow and deep. Infuriatingly peaceful. I stare at the ceiling for a moment, then at him, then at the cuff.
My dagger is on the nightstand.
I reach for it carefully, try the lock. Nothing. I try again. My fingers slip and the blade grazes his skin, leaving a small cut.
His hand shoots up and catches mine without him even opening his eyes.
"You're persistent," he says, voice still thick with sleep.
"Let me go or I swear—"
"You'll what?" He opens one eye, smirking. "Kill me? That didn't go so well last night."
I yank at the cuff. "You cannot keep me here."
"I can." He sits up slowly, sheets at his waist. "I can keep you here for attempting to assassinate me."
"I'll flip the story," I snap. "Poor little dancer, drugged and assaulted by a wealthy Caine. The media would love it. It doesn't matter if you're dead."
Something shifts in his expression. Not anger. Something sharper and more calculated.
"I know you came after me on purpose," he says. "The question is why."
I say nothing.
His gaze drops to my wrist, then my neck. The faded mate marking. He is quiet for a moment.
"My nephew must have done something worth avenging," he mutters.
My breath catches. I cover it with a scoff. "And what's it to you?"
"You tried to kill me. Twice," he says simply. "And I heard you have been asking about me since your first week at Maze. Six months ago."
The ground shifts beneath me.
All this time I thought I was hunting him. He knew. He let me find him.
I laugh before I can stop myself. Short and hollow.
"I am a fool," I mutter.
He says nothing to that. He gets up, transfers the cuff from his wrist to the bedpost with smooth efficiency, and disappears into the bathroom. Water runs. I pull against the cuff until my wrist aches, going nowhere.
He comes back with a towel around his waist, lights a cigarette, and looks at me like I am mildly entertaining.
"Want one?"
"I don't smoke."
"Don't be sassy," he says, taking a long drag. "Now. Where were we?"
"The part where you let me go."
"Not quite yet." He exhales slowly. "But I have something for you. A deal. We can both get what we want."
"And what do you think I want?"
"Revenge." He says it plainly, like it is obvious. "Marry me, and I'll help you ruin him."
I stare at him.
Then I laugh. Actually laugh, the sound cracked and disbelieving.
"Marry you? You are insane. I should have slit your throat when I had the chance."
"Maybe," he says, unbothered. "But you didn't. And now you're mine to bargain with."
He crosses to the bed, produces a key, and unlocks the cuff with slow, deliberate ease.
I am off the bed before it hits the mattress.
"You won't see me again," I tell him.
"Don't be so sure," he says, not even turning around. "Fate has a way of pulling little foxes back into the snare."
I slam the door behind me.
My heels hit the corridor fast and hard, rage burning clean through my chest.
The plan failed.
But Mason's face flashes in my mind, sharp as ever, that wound that refuses to close.
My fingers curl slowly into fists.
The next time.
I will not miss.
- Writer
