Alya
He was still not dead. Fuck. Now I was in big trouble.
The blood on my hands was sinking into the cracks of my nails, warm and sticky, a stark contrast to the cold sweat beading along my spine. My breath came in ragged gulps as I turned my gaze back to the man I had vowed to kill—the man who was supposed to be lying lifeless at my feet. Instead, he was on his knees getting up slowly, his chest rising and falling in sharp, furious pants. His eyes locked onto mine, dark and seething, a storm brewing in their depths.
It was a hell of a way to die, I had to agree. If I were him, I'd be angry too. Furious.
Yet, despite the blood smeared across his face, the bruises blooming along his jaw, and the sheer rage contorting his features, I caught myself tilting my head, mesmerized. Why does he look kind of attractive like this? The thought slithered into my mind unbidden, a whisper of insanity, a testament to how fucked up the human brain really is. My own included. Instead of thinking of an escape plan, I was admiring the sharp cut of his cheekbones under the dim light, the way his lips curled in an almost predatory snarl. God, what the hell was wrong with me? "Oops?" The word slipped from my lips before I could stop it. I shrugged, chuckling nervously, like I hadn't just tried and failed to murder him.
"Alya." His voice was a low, menacing growl. A warning.
I stiffened as he stepped closer. My body reacted before my mind did, I shot out a finger pointing at him like a scolding mother to a misbehaving child.
"Stay right there," I said, voice higher than I'd like, laced with forced bravado. He didn't listen. Of course, he didn't.
His steps quickened, the sound of his boots hitting the floor sending a jolt of panic straight to my chest. My heart slammed against my ribs, adrenaline coursing through me like wildfire. I swallowed hard, pulse hammering in my throat. Move, Alya, move! His gaze burned into mine, an unreadable glint flashing across his face. Was it amusement? Resentment? Or something far more dangerous? My stomach twisted as his lips parted, about to say something—
Nope. Not waiting to find out.
I bolted.
The air rushed against my skin as I pumped my legs, the dull ache in my muscles screaming at me to keep going. Behind me, his footsteps thundered, relentless and determined. He was faster than I anticipated. I cursed myself for my carelessness, for not making sure the knife was plunged deep in his heart. A mistake. A stupid, foolish mistake that could cost me everything. I glanced around frantically, searching for an escape route. The warehouse was vast, filled with rusting machinery and looming steel beams. My breath came in sharp gasps as I darted between crates, my fingers brushing against their splintered edges.
But then a hand coiled tight around my wrist.
I barely had time to react before it snatched my wrist, yanking me back with a force that sent me stumbling. A gasp tore from my throat as I crashed against something solid—his chest.
"Going somewhere?" His voice was a low rasp, breath warm against my ear.
Shit. Shit.
I wriggled, twisted, but his grip was iron-clad, his fingers digging into my skin.
"You tried to kill me." His voice was eerily calm, but there was an edge to it, a dangerous undercurrent that made my stomach tighten.
I forced a smile despite my predicament. "Yeah, well. You weren't supposed to get back up."
His lips curled into a… smirk? Was that a smirk? Was he enjoying this?