Page 20 of Felix (4 Seats #2)
Chapter Twenty
Aurora Henry
I ’m kneeling on the floor, my body trembling, still reeling from the night’s events. Blood—not mine—pools around me in a macabre halo. I can’t tear my eyes away until Felix’s shadow looms over me, his presence a force that grounds me even now.
“Up you go, darling,” he growls out, his voice a low timbre that resonates with something dark and protective. He bends and slips off his blood-soaked shoes without a second thought, and suddenly, his arms are steel bands lifting me from the cold floor.
He navigates the carnage with an eerie grace, sidestepping crimson puddles like they’re nothing but spilt wine.
My head rests against his chest, the thud of his heartbeat a steady drum in this chaos.
The scar at the base of his throat brushes against my forehead, a stark reminder of his dance with death.
We reach the stairs, and he ascends with measured steps. Each one creaks under the weight of our combined sins. I cling to him, my personal ferryman guiding me through the hellfire.
“Shower first,” Felix announces as he sets me down in the stark white bathroom. “Can’t have you covered in this shit.”
The water scorches the filth from my skin, but it’s his hands that really cleanse me. They’re firm yet tender, erasing the night’s evidence with practised movements. When he’s satisfied, he wraps me in a towel, his touch lingering a second too long.
“Here.” He hands me a set of his tracksuit pants and top, the fabric soft and smelling of him—cedar and blood. I slip them on, the clothes hanging loose on my frame.
“Get some rest,” he murmurs, tucking me into bed as if I’m something precious, not broken. I watch through half-lidded eyes as he leans in, his lips brushing mine in a surprisingly gentle kiss. “Gotta deal with the mess downstairs. Then I’ll text for cleanup to come and pick him up in the morning.”
The darkness calls to him, and he answers without hesitation, leaving me cocooned in the safety he’s crafted.
I’m enveloped in silence, the kind that presses against your eardrums and fills the room. But below, I know Felix moves with purpose, his actions precise and methodical. The thought should terrify me, but it doesn’t.
The clink of metal and the rustle of plastic seeps through the open door. He’s cutting up the body, dismembering it, and packing it into bags.
He’s efficient, the sounds stopping sooner than I’d have imagined.
A chill shivers down my spine, not from fear but the realisation of how much power he wields and how easily he navigates this world of darkness.
Then, the house falls quiet again, save for the thud of his footsteps on the stairs. He’s coming back—to me. My chest tightens half in anticipation, half something else—something warm that coils in my belly.
The door creaks open, and there he is, his frame filling the doorway, his eyes finding mine in the dark.
He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. His presence says everything.
He strides to the bathroom and showers again.
Drying himself, he slides into bed beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight, completely naked while I’m encased in his clothes.
His arms wrap around me, a steel band of protection, and I melt against him. “You’re safe,” he rumbles against my hair, and I believe him.
“Thank you,” I breathe out, the words catching in my throat. Because despite the horror, blood, and violence, he’s given me this—a haven in his arms.
“Always, Aurora.” His lips press against my temple, a silent vow. “Now sleep. I’ve got you.”
Water slices around my body, a sharp contrast to the sluggish warmth of sleep. I slice through the pool’s surface, each lap an attempt to scrub clean the lingering darkness from last night. The chill bites at my muscles, but I push harder, relishing the burn.
“Morning,” Felix says, his voice echoing against the water as he steps onto the patio, a plate in hand. His features are cast in the soft light of dawn, dark and unreadable.
“Hey,” I grunt out between breaths, pausing to tread water and glance at him. “What’s that?”
“Breakfast,” he replies, setting it on a poolside table. He watches me with those intense eyes like he can see right through the ripples I create. “I’ve got a job tonight. Won’t be back till late.”
“Another mess for you to clean up?” I can’t help but notice the acerbic twist in my words as I pull myself out of the pool, droplets cascading off my skin.
“Something like that.” A shadow passes over his face, so fleeting I almost miss it. “I could have Angel swing by and keep you company. Make sure you’re safe.”
“Safe,” I scoff, wrapping a towel around myself and ignoring the breakfast. “I spent all day alone yesterday, Felix. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Fine,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips, but I notice the tension in his jaw. Protective bastard. “Besides,” he continues, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I’ll be here during the day. Thought I’d read your first book.”
“Good luck finding it,” I retort, my guard up. “I don’t keep copies lying around.”
“Already found them.” He seems pleased with himself, and irritation flares within me. “Bought your whole book list after I met you. They’re in a box in the garage.”
“Stalker much?” I quip, but inside, my stomach twists. He’s going to read my words, my secrets. He owns a piece of me without even realising it .
“Only for the things I care about,” he replies, his tone low and dangerous. “So, which one should I start with?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I turn away, hiding the sudden heat in my cheeks. “They’re all lies, anyway.”
“Are they now?” He steps closer, the predator in him never quite at rest. “Guess we’ll see about that.”
He walks away, the weight of his attention leaving my skin prickling.
I’m not sure if I’m more afraid of what he’ll find in those pages or what he’ll do with the knowledge.
But one thing’s for sure—Felix Greyson is a man who gets what he wants.
And right now, he wants to peel back the layers of Aurora Henry.
The garage door groans as Felix heaves it open, the sound echoing through the stillness inside the house. I stand in the kitchen’s doorway, arms folded over my chest, a knot of anticipation coiling in my gut.
“Got ‘em,” he calls out, a note of triumph in his voice.
He swaggers back into view, a cardboard box cradled in his inked arms. The muscles of his biceps flex beneath the dark artwork etched into his skin. He sets the box on the kitchen bench with a thud that seems to echo my racing heart.
“Eight of them,” he says, flipping through the books like he’s shuffling a deck of cards. “Which one’s first?”
“Start with All Lies ,” I mumble, feeling heat swarm my cheeks. It’s an involuntary reaction, and I hate it.
He plucks the book from the stack and looks at me, his gaze sharp enough to cut. With a gentle touch that belies his savage nature, he kisses my forehead—a brief, soft press of lips that feels like a brand .
“Let’s see what we have,” he murmurs.
With a fresh coffee in hand, he strides to the living room and collapses on the couch, the old leather creaking under his weight.
He opens the book, and I can’t help but watch him from across the room—this man, this enigma who kills without flinching, now thumbing through my soul laid bare on paper.
I lean against the kitchen bench, trying to appear nonchalant, but I’m hyperaware of every shift and adjustment he makes. He squirms, rearranges himself, and a low grunt escapes his lips. I swallow hard, knowing exactly which scenes are making him uncomfortable—or maybe it’s not discomfort at all.
“Damn, Aurora.” He breaks the silence, his eyes never leaving the page. “You wrote all these beautiful filthy words?”
“Guilty,” I say, trying to sound indifferent, but there’s a tremor in my voice.
“Is any of this… drawn from your own life?” His dark eyes flick up to meet mine, probing, seeking truths I’ve buried deep.
“Horror parts, yeah. Real as they come.” I force the words out. “Steamy bits? Pure fantasy.”
“Fantasy, huh?” A wicked grin spreads across his face. He stands abruptly, the book forgotten as he stalks towards me.
“Everyone I read…” He’s close now, too close, the heat from his body mingling with mine, “… I’ll bring to life for you.”
I want to scoff, to shove him away, but instead, I’m frozen, caught in the intensity of his gaze. His laughter is a dark melody that fills the space between us, promising pleasure laced with pain.
“Guess I’ve got my work cut out for me then,” he purrs out before pouncing, pinning me beneath the weight of his desire.
The book lies discarded on the couch, a silent witness to the twisted game we’re about to play.