Page 10 of Stalked & Bred by the BRATVA
My steps are slow as I walk away, knowing she’s still listening. She’ll count them without meaning to. She’ll remember exactly how far I got before the sound faded. Tomorrow, when she sees me in the hall or catches sight of me from across the room, she’ll wonder if I’m the one who stood outside her door.
And she’ll be right.
At the end of the corridor, I pause and look back at the door. In this whole building, this is the only one that matters. The rest could burn, and as long as she was behind that wood, breathing, untouched, I would call it a victory.
Still, I don’t like the thought of her being in there alone. I know this wing is locked at night, the staff quarters secured from the rest of the house, but locks can be broken.
And there’s still her brother.
I’ve seen his file. I know the kind of man he is. I know what he’s done to her. If he tried to reach her here, it would be the last thing he ever did.
But she doesn’t know that yet. She’s still looking for him in every shadow. Still wondering if the fear that keeps her awake is wearing his face.
That’s fine.
Let her think it’s him. Let her cling to the idea that she knows her hunter. It will make the moment she realises the truth even sharper.
Sarah
I don’t expect to see him.
The morning starts like any other. The smell of coffee and baking bread drifts from the kitchen as I pass, my arms full of folded tablecloths for the dining room. The early sunlight filters through the tall windows in long golden beams, catching the dust motes in the air. It’s almost peaceful.
Until it isn’t.
I step into the main corridor that leads toward the library and feel it before I see him, that strange heaviness, the quiet that settles like the air before a storm. My feet slow, my grip on the linen tightening until my knuckles ache.
He’s standing at the far end of the hall.
This time, there’s no shadow to blur the edges of him. The morning light is merciless, spilling over broad shoulders and a suit so sharply cut it looks like it could slice through the air. His hair is dark, neatly combed back, the kind of style that makes you notice the lines of his face.
And what a face. Strong, stark angles. Eyes that don’t waver from mine for a second. There’s no smile, no nod, no sign of anything but an unbroken stare.
I should look away. I should keep walking. But something about the way he stands there, still, rooted, as if this entire hallway belongs to him, pins me in place.
It’s him.
I know it in my bones, the same way I know when someone is standing too close behind me. The man from the hallway the other night. The one who didn’t move until I saw him. The one who turned and walked away without a word.
He takes a step forward.
It’s not loud, but the sound seems to echo anyway. His gaze never leaves mine. Another step. My heart is thudding so hard it’s all I can hear.
I want to back up, to put space between us, but my feet won’t move. I’m rooted to the spot, every muscle in my body caught between the urge to run and the need to stand my ground.
When he’s halfway down the hall, someone calls my name from the dining room. The sound breaks whatever strange hold was between us. I turn my head toward the voice, just for a second, and when I look back…He’s gone.
The hallway is empty.
The tablecloths feel heavier in my arms now, my chest tight with something I can’t name. Fear. Curiosity. Maybe both.
I keep walking, but the air feels different. As if I’ve stepped out of something and into something else entirely, and for the rest of the day, I can still feel his eyes on me.
Mikhail
The moment in the hallway this morning was the last time I will let her walk away without feeling me.
For weeks I have let her keep her space, feeding her the smallest crumbs of my presence. A shadow in her periphery. The brush of my scent in an empty corridor. A gift where she sleeps. It has been enough to build the tension, to teach her mind to search for me.
