Kissed by the Killer

Chapter Ten : Shadows of Seduction. Violet Virgilson. The first rays of dawn painted the skyline in muted gold, but inside Vincent's loft, there was no light. Not really. Just shadows-heavy, suffocating shadows clinging to broken glass, streaks of blood, and six bodies that had dropped at Vincent's hands. No. Six reminders. Six proofs that the man standing across the room wasn't just human. He was death in a tailored shirt, whiskey in hand, shoulders tight like a predator who wasn't finished hunting. And me? I was the idiot who had stayed. I could've run. I should've run. But my feet hadn't moved-not when the glass shattered, not when the screams turned to silence, not even when the metallic stench of blood filled my lungs. What was wrong with me? Why was I still here? Maybe because the world outside felt more dangerous than the devil I already knew. Or maybe... maybe because part of me didn't want to leave him. Pathetic. I hugged myself on his couch, my wrist still burning where one of them had grabbed me. I could still hear the wet gurgle of the one Vincent stabbed, could still see blood spraying across glass. And his words haunted me: "You'll burn with me." Well, congratulations, Devil. I was already burning. He moved then-bending to pick up shards of glass, tugging a knife free from a corpse without flinching, washing his hands like the blood was dust. Bile rose in my throat. "Does this... not affect you at all?" He dried his hands slowly. "It can't. Not if I want to live." That answer chilled me more than the bodies ever could. "So this is your idea of a normal night?" He didn't turn. "Only the interesting ones." I scowled. "You think this is funny?" Finally, his gaze met mine. Dark. Unreadable. "I think it's reality. You don't like it? Door's unlocked." My gut twisted. Because the truth was-the door wasn't unlocked. Not really. Not with killers outside. Not with him between me and the world. Not with the invisible leash he'd wrapped around me the second I stepped into this nightmare. "God, you're insufferable." "And yet here you are." His voice was low, almost soft. Damn him. Damn that quiet voice that always found the cracks in my armor. I stood too quickly, glass slicing my palm. Before I could recoil, Vincent caught my hand-gentle, startlingly gentle. Heat shot up my arm, his rough fingers brushing my skin. His jaw tightened when he saw the cut, then he turned away, grabbing a cloth like nothing had happened. But it had. God, it had. "So what now?" I snapped, my heart hammering. "Do we just sit here and wait for more assassins to drop through the windows? Should I make popcorn? Or faint dramatically so you can play hero again?" His smirk was wicked. "Careful, princess. You're one more sarcastic comment away from me tying you to that couch after all." Heat flushed my face-half fury, half something worse. "You wouldn't dare." "Wouldn't I?" His eyes gleamed. "You underestimate how creative I can be with rope." "You-you absolute devil." He laughed, low and dangerous. The kind of laugh that made my stomach flip. And I hated that it did. "Why me?" I blurted. His brow furrowed. "What?" "Why me?" My voice cracked. "Why drag me into this? Why protect me, why fight for me, why act like you care when all you do is destroy everything in your path?" For a heartbeat, I saw it-hesitation. Vulnerability. Then gone. Replaced by that damn smirk. "You're entertainment," he said flatly. "I like watching you squirm." The words sliced deeper than bullets. I laughed bitterly. "Right. Because nothing says entertainment like blood and bullets." He shrugged. "You'd be surprised." Fury burned my throat. But under it, something darker pulsed. Something I didn't want to name. "You'll be the death of me, Vincent." And then he was behind me-close enough that I felt his breath on my neck, hot, dangerous. "No, Violet," he murmured. "I'll be the reason you live." A shiver wracked me, traitorous and undeniable. I hated him. God help me, I wanted him. Shadows of seduction. That was what he was. And I was already lost in them. --- Vincent Virenson The city was waking. I wasn't. Six bodies gone. Whiskey gone. Patience gone. But Violet-she was still here. Curled on my couch like she didn't know whether to slap me, kiss me, or run screaming into daylight. Hell, I didn't know which one I wanted either. She thought I was a monster. Maybe she was right. But what she didn't see was monsters don't get haunted. And she haunted the hell out of me. Her bitter laugh replayed in my skull: "Surviving with you? That's not surviving. That's waiting to die." Maybe she was right. Maybe I should've dumped her somewhere safe. But every time I pictured her walking out that door, something primal in me rebelled. She was mine. Even if she hated me for it. I turned. She was watching me-eyes darting from the bloodied towel to the shards littering the floor. Fragile glass herself, cracked but unbroken. And for reasons I'd never admit, I wanted to keep her that way. "You're staring again," she said suddenly. I smirked. "Maybe I like the view." Her eyes flashed. "Unbelievable. Six men dead, your loft looks like a crime scene, and you're flirting?" "Correction," I said, stepping closer. "I don't flirt. I warn." Her breath caught when I crouched in front of her, bracing a bloodied hand on the couch beside her thigh. Our knees brushed-barely-but it was enough. "Warn?" she whispered. "That every time you look at me like that-like you hate me, like you want me-I get closer to forgetting why I should stay away." Her breath hitched. Music to my ears. "You're insane." "Probably." My smirk curved slow, deliberate. "But so are you if you think you're leaving." Her lips parted, trembling. Silence hummed between us-thicker, heavier than smoke. I leaned closer, voice low, dangerous. "Shadows don't seduce, Violet. People do. And right now? You're the one dragging me under." Her cheeks flushed. She didn't move. Didn't push me away. And for the first time, I realized-if I kissed her, I wouldn't stop. The world outside could burn. But inside this bloodstained loft, the real question wasn't if the killers would come back. It was this: Would she resist me? Or would she let me destroy her?! -