Page 62 of The Devil's Thorn

Page List

Font Size:

But it lingerslike smoke in my chest, burning in a place I can’t reach. I shift slightly in my seat, as if my body knows something my mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

Rafael studies me in that way he always does—head slightly tilted, eyes sharp but unreadable. He hasn’t looked away from me once since I sat down, and somehow, that unnerves me more than the faint sound in the hallway.

Then he speaks—voice low, smooth, unsettling in how casual it sounds.

“Does what I do scare you?”

The question lands like a blade pressed gently to the skin—no pressure yet, but the threat is there.

He doesn’t mean his job title. He meanseverything.The silence. The power. The blood beneath the suits and crystal glasses.

I breathe in slowly. My thoughts flicker like match tips.

Does it scare me?

Should it?

No.

But I know what answer he wants.

“What exactly is it that you do?” I ask, voice calm.

His lips twitch. “You’ve been standing beside my table long enough to know.”

My fingers curl slightly against the armrest. And still—my voice doesn’t waver.

“No,” I say. “I’m not scared of you.”

He leans forward again, resting his elbows on his knees. The drink is still in his hand, but he doesn’t touch it.

He just watches me.

“You should be.”

His voice isn’t a threat. It’s a fact.

The kind of truth that settles low in your bones and stays there. But I’ve heard worse. From monsters with softer smiles and less control.

I meet his gaze. “Then you should try harder.”

His eyes darken—just slightly.

That tension between us stretches thinner. Like piano wire.

He tilts his head a fraction.

“You think I’m not trying?”

I don’t answer. Because I don’t know what game we’re playing anymore. And maybe that’s the most dangerous part.

I glance toward the windows, my heartbeat steady but shallow, trying to pace itself under the weight of something I can’t name.

His voice cuts through the silence again.

“What do you think this place is built on, Natasha?”

He rarely says my name. But when he does, it sounds like a secret. A threat. A prayer.