Page 3 of A Very Killer Christmas
I creep up the stairs, placing my feet right by the wall to prevent creaking. Whatever that sound was, it doesn’t repeat. The house is completely still. My hope flares up just in time to take a brutal hit when I see a thin line of cool light under the door opposite the stairs.
“Fuck you, Santa,” I mouth silently, taking out the knife.
This is it, then. This is where I compromise all my principles.
I open the door with so much force, it bangs on the wall. I’m ready to take down whoever that is without letting them make a sound.
But when a dainty, pale face turns away from an enormous computer screen, the large eyes curious and not afraid, I pause.
Just for a second.
Chapter 2
Prudence
I stare at the man filling the doorway, a knife in his hand, his muscular legs bent at the knees in effortless balance. The light from my screen sizzles down the reflective surface of his black motorcycle helmet. For a moment, I wonder if I fell asleep and started dreaming about a game, but I haven’t played anything similar recently.
This looks cyberpunk-ish. The sharp contours of his body coupled with the contrastive play of light make for a striking image. I’d play this game for visuals alone.
Again, I look at the knife. Not my preferred choice of weapon. I’m usually a sniper, not a melee fighter. Still, I have to admire his grip. He holds the knife like a pro, his fist wrapped tightly around the handle, the blade pointing straight down.
“InThe Rookie, John Nolan said once that if an attacker holds the knife the wrong way, you have a chance. You seem to be holding it the right way.”
My voice is oddly soft as I look up at the faceless man who barged into my gaming room with the obvious intent to kill me. It’s eerie how little that matters. I should be terrified, shocked,something.Instead… I just want to know who he is. Because who would even bother with me? Did EchoWitch714 finally get the guts to face me in the real world? She uses feminine pronouns, so that’s unlikely.
This is very clearly a man.
A small shiver goes down his frame. He shifts until his pose is a tad less violent. The helmet cocks to the side.
“What?”
I flinch at the harsh, low sound. He is very, very angry or very, very stressed. If I wanted to calm him down in a game, I’d have to use charisma. Not my biggest strength.
“John Nolan,” I say, not even trying to soothe him since I’d fail anyway. “From that police procedural show,The Rookie? I watched all seasons. It’s very entertaining.”
“Police?”
He takes a jerky step forward, and suddenly, the man with the knife is inside the room with me. My gut tightens. When hestood in the doorway, it felt less immediate. Kind of liminal. But now? The room fills with the scent of blood and male sweat, and something else, something primal. A thick, choking aura of danger.
The silence is eerie. In a game, fight music would play.
“No calling the police,” he rasps, his free palm curling into a big fist. “Where’s your phone? Hand it over.”
I reach slowly to where it rests on the desk. My phone is in its new, fluffy case with cat ears. I have three of these in various colors. This one is purple.
Not moving from my gaming chair, where I sit cross-legged in the wide seat, I stretch my hand with the phone. The man leaps forward and snatches it, knocking my hand aside.
“Ow,” I say automatically, my fingers throbbing.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “Fuck. Oh, fuck.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my eyes drawn to the knife, as if hypnotized. He lowers it enough to be less threatening, but my body is still alert, buzzing from his proximity. This room is my inner sanctum. I’ve never let a man inside.
“Everything,” he says in a low, angry voice, putting my phone in the pocket of his black pants. They rustle as he moves. His entire outfit is matte black and kind of angular.
“Are these skiing clothes?”
The man groans and raises his head, looking at the window. It’s covered by thick blackout curtains.
