Page 65 of Monsters Wear Crowns
I inhaled sharply. My gaze flicked to the far edge of theliving room, where shadows bled into glass. A figure stood there. Still. Waiting.
A man.
Masked.
His face was completely hidden beneath the black fabric, his posture deceptively relaxed–like a predator waiting for its prey to panic. Ice poured down my spine. Every muscle in my body locked up, but Iforcedmyself to hold his gaze. He wore a black leather jacket and black jeans.
“Get out,” I said, my voice a quiet, lethal command.
He didn’t move. Didn’tbreathe.
I narrowed my eyes. “You think you scare me?” My voice was steady, but my fingers twitched toward my purse. My gun was inside. If I could just–
He took a smooth and unhurried step forward, and I instinctively moved away and into the kitchen. A gloved hand slipped into his jacket. My stomach clenched. Then, with a flick of his wrist, steel caught the dim light. A knife. Long. Sharp. Deadly.
I swallowed hard, my fingers brushing the cool edge of my phone in my bag. The man saw. His head tilted, slow and intentional like he waswarningme.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Get out of my fucking house, you low-life asshole. You’renothing,” I sneered. “I’ll give you my expensive watch. But that’s it. If you leave now, I won’t shove the barrel of my gun down your fucking throat and shoot.”
He said nothing. The knife twirled effortlessly between his fingers. Then, he reached out. And with terrifying ease, he flicked the lock on my door. Theclickwas deafening. My stomach turned to stone.
Within the next moment, he lunged. Instinct roared through me, sharp and unforgiving. I didn’t hesitate. My fingers curled around the knife tucked beneath the side table, the cool steel grounding me as I turned, slicing upward in a single, fluid motion–
And met resistance.
A hand.
His fingers closed over the blade, stopping it inches from his chest. I choked on my sharp inhale, my heart pounding as I stared at the impossible sight before me–blood, deep and crimson, sliding in slow, deliberate drops onto my floor.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t so much asreact.A man should pull back. A man should curse,recoil, and clutch his wound with pain-widened eyes.
But he wasn’t just a man, was he?
I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling around the hilt as he squeezed, the slick warmth of his own blood coating his palm. Slowly, purposefully, he pried my grip open, forcing the knife from my grasp until the steelclatteredto the floor. A breath, a blur, and suddenly,I wasn’t standing anymore.My back hit something solid. A broad chest. An arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me against him.
His other hand clamped over my mouth before my scream could tear free.
Panic exploded in my chest.
Ifought.
I twisted and kicked back, but he was solid as a wall.Indestructible.My heels scraped against the marble floor as he dragged me, forcing me against the cold glass.
“Shhh,” he whispered. The voice was distorted and rough.
My blood turned to ice.
His blade appeared again, gleaming in the dim light. He trailed it down my throat, slowly and deliberately, the metal cold against my skin. I went still. Not because I was giving in. But because I neededtime.
Think. Think.
My gun was too far. And my knife was on the floor.
His grip shifted. In a swift, practiced motion, he pulled black rope from his pocket and bound my wrists together.
I gritted my teeth, fury surging beneath the terror. “You havenoidea who you’re dealing with,” I hissed.
