The Prey: A Dark Enemies to Lovers Romance (Oakmount Elite Book 3)

One chance.

Her little throat bobs, and I know I’ve caught her. Trapped her. I can practically see the panic bubbling to the surface, and she tries to look away, but I pinch her chin a little harder, stopping her.

“Now, tell me, Prey. What has caused you to start sleeping in the closet versus the bedroom I provided you in the staff quarters?”

“I….” Her lips tremble, and I’m tempted to bite them just to see if she tastes as pure and sweet as she looks at this very moment. When I look back into her eyes, I see ice-filled lakes of fear, and that makes me pause. My stomach churns, the whiskey I drank threatening to climb up my throat. My thoughts go to the worst.

Something happened. Something bad. Something she doesn’t trust me enough to tell me. And of course not, why should she trust me?

As much as I love seeing her vulnerable, all her hard layers peeled back to expose her softness, I’m the only one allowed to break her down. I’m the only one allowed to taste her fear.

“Tell me. Now,” I grit out, trying my best to keep my voice soft.

She looks at me defiantly. “It’s not your problem. I’m just the maid. Remember?”

That stings, but I deserve it. I’m an asshole.

The longer we stare at one another, the more I see how much my words hurt her. How could she ever believe she is merely the maid?

Oh, I don’t know, idiot. You treat her like it.

I could kick myself in the ass right now as I search my mind for the right words to say. I didn’t think I’d be put on the spot to apologize, but I find it admirable that she expects me to and holds me accountable.

She remains staring, exuding beauty and patience.

I exhale. “Okay, I’m not good at this, but well… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it badly. You know, what you heard me say to Bel. I don’t think you’re just the maid.”

“I would believe you, but I don’t think you even believe yourself,” she challenges me.

What the fuck? Are we even still talking about the apology, or is this something else?

“You don’t get to tell me what I do or don’t believe. I’m apologizing to you, and instead of accepting my apology, you’re critiquing it.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “Don’t apologize unless you mean what you’re saying. I don’t accept half-hearted apologies.”

“Then don’t accept it. I don’t really give a shit.”

“Sure, whatever.” She frowns, then schools her expression. “Apology done; you can leave, conscience free of any wrongdoing.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I growl, surprised by her change in attitude and response. I won’t lie. I kind of expected her to accept the apology and move on. Instead, she’s throwing it in my face, and I don’t like it.

“Nothing is wrong with me. I’m just done letting you believe that I don’t see things for what they are. I’m tired of pretending since we both know you didn’t come out here to apologize or make sure I’m okay. Since we know ‘maid’ status doesn’t get that kind of treatment, I figure what’s the point.”

“Look, I said I was sorry. You misinterpreted what you heard.”

“And I told you I don’t accept your apology, so let’s move on.”

I shake my head because my only other option is to grab her by the throat and kiss the fuck out of her, and that’s not going to help either of us right now.

“Outside of apologizing, I came out here because security sent me an alert that someone was in the cottage. I figured it was you, so I told them I’d come and check it out myself.”

“Great, well, you checked, and all is well. As you can see.” She gestures at herself.

“Yeah, I don’t really believe that, and if you’re trying to evade the question I asked earlier, I’m not leaving until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

There’s no witty comeback or immediate response, and my heart sinks into my stomach as the seconds drag. Her gaze darts from mine, and I see raw shame filling her blue eyes. She can hide from everyone else, but she can’t hide from me.

“Elyse,” I warn. “I’m trying really fucking hard to let you tell me what happened and not force it out of you, but my patience only goes so far.”

“I know.” Her voice wobbles.

“Then tell me what happened so I can try to help.”

She releases a harsh breath, her body sagging. “Fine, but I’m only telling you because you’re making me and not because I want you to do anything.”

I nod in agreement, and she speaks again. “When we returned from the trip, a couple of days after or something like that, I came home from classes and found my room trashed. I thought maybe it was you trying to get even with me.”

“What? Why would I?” I pause, and then it dawns on me. The suits. She thought I would be getting revenge on her. “Sorry, continue…”

She exhales slowly. “I was going to find you and give you a piece of my mind, but I decided instead to clean up the room first. Cool off a little. Then I found a note.”

Her entire body quivers at the confession, her gaze far away.

“A note from who?” I have a sneaking suspicion, but I need her to say it just to be sure. To make it real.

She looks away. “Yanov.”

Fuck. I release her with a snarl and shove to my feet. How did he get in the house? I thrust a hand through my hair and start pacing the small room so I don’t return to my bedroom, grab my gun, and hunt the fucker down myself.

My thoughts are going a million miles an hour. How did this happen? Why didn’t my security tell me?

I should’ve anticipated this, should’ve been prepared.

“And this is why I didn’t want to say anything to begin with. I’m not looking for sympathy or help. I have it figured out already; in fact, I’m going to handle it myself,” Elyse tells me almost proudly. Or fucking stubbornly.

I let out a dark, humorless chuckle. “You’re going to handle it? By doing what? Waiting in the trap he set for you? By offering to suck my cock again? By begging him pretty please to let you go?”

Stupid, stupid girl.

She wrinkles her nose at me. “There’s no need to be mean. I said I’m going to deal with it, and I will. I’m not some princess in need of rescuing.”

I snort. “Good, because this isn’t a Disney movie, Elyse. This is real life. Real fucking life. Life-and-death.”

“You say that like I don’t know what it’s like to be on the fringes of death. News flash, Sebastian, but I’ve been dealing with Yanov for the better portion of my life. I’ll take care of it.”

The more she tries to push me away and dismiss her own safety, the more pissed off I become. No, she doesn’t need to be rescued, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stand by and let her get hurt either.

I shake my head. “I don’t care what happened in the past. I don’t give a fuck if you dealt with him by yourself or with an army of people. You aren’t alone now. You’re protected.” I let out a sigh of frustration. “Why didn’t you think to tell me?”

She stares at me like I’m stupid. “What good would telling you have done?”

“A lot of things.”

“What? Like what you’re doing now? No, thank you, and I don’t really want a replay of what happened in London.” Color climbs into her cheeks. “Sorry, but I don’t need to be reminded that I’m only here to satisfy my father’s debt either. You’ve told me many times over. I’d much rather just deal with it on my own. And it doesn’t really matter anyway; nothing else has happened.”

“Yet,” I hiss. “Nothing’s happened yet.”

She corrects me. “Nothing would’ve happened anyway. I’ve been careful. Secretive. Did you forget I survived all this time without your protection? I’d rather have no protection than have you offer me safety out of pity.”

Pity? I wish I could show her that the last thing I see when I look at her is pity. I don’t pity her. I envy her because she’s so much stronger than me. Stronger than a lot of people.

“It’s my job to protect you, Ely, and I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

The possessive need to protect and claim her in every way possible eats away at my crumbling resolve. Mine. She is fucking mine. Yet only mine because of a debt her piece-of-shit father owes. Not because she actually belongs to me in any real sense of the word.

“It’s not your job to protect me. It’s your job to make sure I’m capable of repaying my father’s debt to you.”

The anger in my veins boils over. Elyse might not be mine in the true sense of the word, but she’s not his, either, and I’ll be damned if I stand by and let her protect herself. That’s my job, as her owner, as her boss. As a fucking human. And I’ll start by making sure I can keep an eye on her at all times.

Crossing the space separating us, I reach down and wrap my arms around her middle. Her expression turns wary, and she tries to squirm out of my grasp.

“What are you doing?” She squeaks as I secure my grip and pluck her off the floor, tossing her over my shoulder. Shoving at my back with her hands, she tries to get me to release her and starts cursing at me.

“Keep cursing at me, and I’ll fill that mouth with something you won’t be able to talk around.” I swat her hard on the ass, and she releases a whimper. “Your own safety might mean jack shit to you, but it means something to me, so shut up and let me do what I’m going to do.”

“Safety?” her voice is lower now but still full of indignation. “As nice as it is for you to show even a morsel of concern about me, I think it’s clear that your security standards and capacity for keeping me safe need revisiting. Then again, what do I know? It’s not like he already got into the house, destroyed my bedroom, and ruined my belongings.”

Touché. It stings, but I let it slide because she’s not wrong.

“I don’t really care about your opinion right now. You’re still safer inside my house than you ever would be in the cottage where no one could hear your helpless screams if he got to you. Do I really need to explain in detail what he could do to you if he got his hands on you? How no one would be able to stop him because no one would even know he’s here. Out here, you’re as good as dead, Little Prey.”

She sucks in a ragged breath I can hear over the quiet sounds of the night. “Out here, I don’t have to pretend I’m okay. Out here, I don’t have to avoid anyone. I haven’t had a full night of sleep in days, and I’m hanging on by sheer willpower at this point.”

It’s impossible to miss the anguish clogging her throat. I recognize the terrible emotion that’s developing in my mind. Guilt. I loathe it. Despise it. Yet it’s all I feel as I play her response back in my mind.

I haven’t had a full night of sleep in days…

Even if I’m not fully responsible for what happened, I’m partially to blame, and like a damn rash, the guilt spreads across my skin, reminding me of my mistakes. I slip out of the cottage and jog up the small hill, trekking across the grass toward the patio door. My toes grow wet from the dew on the grass through my sneakers, but I don’t give a shit. I can’t be bothered by such trivial things when I know I failed her. In my effort to avoid her, I nearly delivered her right into the hands of that sick bastard.

It won’t happen again. Elyse is mine, and I protect what is mine. She lets out a frustrated growl as I jog up the porch, not even trying to be careful of her bouncing body.

The ballroom is dark, but I know my way around this mausoleum like the back of my hand. I climb the stairs quickly, her small body bouncing with each step. When I reach the first spare bedroom, I realize it’s right across the hall from my own.

Fuck me. This is such a fucking bad idea, but I was already on my way here before I considered my actions. I want to keep her close, but not next-door-close. Not where I can so easily access her.

Shit. What do I do?

I’m already grappling for control, and now I’m making the choice to keep her across the hall, within easy reach. I’m losing my fucking mind. Might as well toss my control out the fucking window along with it. Is there any other option? No. I have to keep her close if I want to keep her safe.

Knowing I’m going to hell anyway, I shove the door open, cross the room, and toss the bundle of her and the sleeping bag onto the bed. She scrambles to sit up and kick the bag off her feet. I wait, watching like the predator I am.

If she even thinks about running, her ass will wear my handprints.

The length of her bare legs catches my attention, and I drag my gaze down and then back up to the snow-white patch of lace that’s merely a tease, then up and over the very worn gray T-shirt she’s wearing. A T-shirt covered in both dust and dirt.

Have I been so oblivious to her needs? Or have I just been suppressing my desires so deeply that I’m just now noticing all these little details? It doesn’t matter.

I squeeze my hands into fists and twist on my heels, stalking back to my room. I can’t leave her to sleep in that shirt. Not when she has a clean bed and a safe room. I find the nearest clean shirt and return to her with it in hand. Then I shove the material at her face, but instead of taking it, she bats it away like an annoying fly.

“Stop. I don’t want your clothes.”

“You stop. You’re the one who’s being stubborn.”

She recoils like she’s stunned I would make such an accusation. “Stubborn? Because I don’t want to wear your clothes?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”

“I’ve always thought something was wrong with you, but now I’m certain of it.”

She has a habit of making me smile, and that shit needs to stop, but how can I not smile when verbally sparring with her is the highlight of my day?

“You act like that’s new. There’s a lot wrong with me, Prey. Maybe you should put more effort into doing what I tell you to do instead of trying to figure me out.”

“Maybe you should stop being so bossy, and I will.”

I suppress a smile. “We aren’t negotiating, Ely.”

“I didn’t say we were.” She pauses, looking down at the shirt I gave her. “Why do you keep trying to dress me?”

I ignore her question and reach for the neck of her T-shirt, deciding that if she won’t change her clothes then I’ll do it for her. My intention is to jerk it off her so she can see the dirt and dust, but I miscalculate how threadbare it is, and it rips under my grip.

“I could ask you the same ridiculous questions. Like why do you keep fighting me on every single little thing? If I ask you to breathe, will you fight me on that, too?”

She lets out a small gasp and clutches the ripped shirt to her chest while glaring at me. “Yes, in fact, I will.” A tiny growl escapes her, and the sound is sexy as fuck. “Sometimes I wonder if a kind bone exists in your body.”

“Kindness isn’t going to make you listen any better. You live to piss me off. It doesn’t matter what I say to you; you’re predisposed to defy me.”

She stares, refusing to back down. “And you live to make my life hell, so we’re even.”

The knot of tension between us tightens. I should’ve known the night I saved her life that she would be my undoing. “We aren’t anywhere close to being even, Little Prey.”

“Oh yes, how could I ever forget my debt to you?” She rolls her eyes, then unfolds the T-shirt. “Could I have some privacy, please?”

I cross my arms over my chest and sink onto the side of the bed. “Could you? Certainly. Will I give it to you? Not today.”

She huffs and tugs the ripped shirt off her head, revealing a lacy white bra. It suits her. White. Innocent. Pure. But while she’s mostly an angel, I know a part of her clings to darkness. Light cannot exist without darkness, or darkness without light. We all carry fragments of the darkness that threaten to snuff out our light. She drags my football shirt over her head, her slim body disappearing beneath the material.

I feel a sudden surge of relief now that she’s wearing something clean, something that’s mine. Giving her one more quick glance, I check to make sure there isn’t any more dirt on her shirt, but honestly, I just want an excuse to look at her.

The longer I stare, the more I see a sleepy, pissed-off, porcelain doll. My shirt is far too big for her and drowns her small frame, but I can’t ignore the profound warmth that fills my chest at seeing her wear my number. Lucky number seven. I didn’t intentionally give her one of my jerseys, but now that she’s wearing it, I’m not sure I want it on anyone else.

Ever.

Dammit. That’s such a stupid thought.

I cannot fuck her. I cannot cross that line.

With that reminder fresh in my head, I shove off the bed, needing to put some distance between us. I risk glancing over at her and notice her watching me.

Can she feel it? The tension? The desire?

Of course, she can. I try to moderate my tone when I open my mouth again, then realize I don’t even know what I was about to say.

I’m not ready to leave her presence yet, but I don’t have anything else to talk to her about right now. I filter through my thoughts and circle back to her little charity cases. I can’t tell you how many of them she’s nursed back to health since she arrived here.

“Why do you do it? Why do you care for those fleabags?”

She adjusts the shirt, frowning at it as she shoves it around her thighs to make sure she’s covered. “What do you mean?”

“Your pets. They aren’t your responsibility, but you’ve made them your responsibility. You care for them, using what little money you have to buy them food and pay their vet bills.”

Her blue eyes find mine in the dim light from the hallway. “It doesn’t take much effort to be a good person. They didn’t ask to be born into the situation they’re born into, no more than you or I did. In my mind, they’re innocent, a casualty to someone else’s wrongdoing, and if I can ease a little bit of their discomfort, then I will.”

As shitty as the situation is with Elyse, somehow she manages to be a good fucking person. The kind of person who deserves way more from life than what she’s been given.

“And what do you get in return? The satisfaction of doing something good?”

She nods. “I could ask you the same thing. Why care about me? Make me your responsibility? You don’t owe me anything.” She narrows her eyes. “Or maybe you do? What happened that night, Sebastian?”

“What are you talking about?” The abrupt change of subject catches me off guard.

“The night my father brought me here,” she replies without blinking, awareness flickering in her gaze. “You say I owe you, but lately, the way you’ve been acting has been anything but an indication of that. It’s almost like you care what happens to me. Almost like you owe me. So you tell me. What happened that night?”

I sputter, then stop and blink, wide-eyed, at her. I can’t hide my shock. Like a knife to the chest, she’s killed me with her words, watching as I bleed out. She’s too close, too deep. All I can think to do is lash out.

I let a lazy smile spread across my face. The mask I learned to perfect in my grandfather’s presence as a teenager slips into place. “Careful, Ely. I wouldn’t call fucking your face caring for you. Caring for myself, yes.”

She’s not the least bit fazed by my response. “Maybe the act itself wasn’t proof that you care, but you didn’t have to offer to prove that I was yours. You didn’t have to be gentle with me or help me through it. You had a choice in all of this, and no matter how you try to paint yourself to me, I know there are good parts to who you are.”

The bitter taste of denial sits on my tongue. She’s not wrong, and she knows I know it too. That makes her far more dangerous than even she realizes.

“Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. Just because I show you compassion doesn’t mean I won’t choke you with my cock and leave you begging for your next breath the next time you offer yourself to me. You’re my property, and that means the only person who gets to hurt you, scare you, or make you cry is me.”

This time she’s the one sputtering, and I leave her that way, pissed off and mad as I head for the door. My fingers twist the lock into place on the handle. I’ll use any means necessary to ensure I don’t cross the fucking line.

“Go to sleep, and keep this door locked at night.” I pause with my hand on the doorknob. “Yanov isn’t the only monster hunting you.”