Page 9 of Mourning Wings (Whitmore Legacy #1)

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VALERIA

I ’m too stunned to respond.

I back away instinctively, but she steps forward, her gloved hand reaching out as if to reclaim what she believes is hers.

My fingers find the familiar shape of my pink, pointed kubotan in the waistband of my skirt, and I grip it discreetly for reassurance. I assumed they wouldn’t allow the guests to come in with actual weapons, so this was the next best thing. I tighten my hold on the stick, ready to defend myself, if necessary, but the masked woman doesn’t budge.

Just when I begin to contemplate my next move, she surprises me. In one swift motion, she whips out a knife and presses it against my throat, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint.

For a moment, I freeze, caught off guard by her suddenness, but anger surges within me.

I pivot, twisting her around and pinning her against the wall.

My weapon is now at her neck, mirroring her threat. We’re locked in a deadly dance, each holding the other at bay.

“ What do you want from me?” I manage to choke out.

I meet her gaze head-on, searching for any hint of weakness, but instead, I find a glimmer of amusement in her dark eyes, as if she’s relishing the confrontation.

“ You picked the wrong person to mess with,” I hiss.

She doesn’t answer, but her eyes crinkle with a smile.

Finally , she speaks again, her voice steady despite the stick at her throat. “ You’re more cunning than I thought” she admits, a hint of admiration in her tone. “ But you still have nothing on me.”

The stranger’s leg sweeps under mine with a grace that almost makes me miss what’s happening. The ground slips away beneath my feet, and there’s a rush of air as I tilt backward, my heart leaping into my throat. But before panic can even set in, I’m caught.

Her arm is there like it knows exactly where I’ll land. She guides me down as if we’re in some kind of twisted dance, her grip firm but not bruising.

I blink up at her, half in shock, half in awe.

Before I can do anything more, the cold steel of her knife presses against my chest, poking a hole through the fabric of my top. I gasp, my skin erupting in goosebumps.

Her eyes bore into mine and the edge of her blade rests against my skin.

My chest heaves with rapid breaths, the rush of fear mingling inexplicably with a surge of something else entirely.

I’m not supposed to feel this way—pinned beneath a knife, my life hanging in the balance. But beneath the fear, there’s a dangerous thrill that courses through me like electricity.

The tension between us crackles like static in the air.

I should be terrified, fighting for my life against a masked assailant. Instead , a part of me wants to challenge her further, to see just how far she’ll go.

She leans in closer, the blade pressing lightly against my skin.

I inhale sharply. “ You don’t scare me.”

Her breath warms my ear despite the fabric of her thin mask. “ What are you really afraid of then, Valeria ?” she taunts, her voice a seductive lure, and I freeze at the mention of my name.

She knows who I am .

In that moment, the line between fear and arousal blurs.

She fixes her gaze on me, and slowly, almost reluctantly, removes the mask.

I’m momentarily stunned into silence.

The dim light of the passageway accentuates her features.

Her beauty is disarming, almost hypnotic. I find myself unable to look away.

Her nose is perfectly sculpted, her lips plump and inviting. I’m drawn to the subtle curve of her mouth, the way they part ever so slightly as she smirks at me. The smile, both mocking and enticing.

A glint of metal catches my eye—a tongue piercing—and I lick my own lips subconsciously as my gaze lingers on hers.

My whole body shivers involuntarily.

How can I be so entranced by someone who’s holding a knife to my throat? I’m truly questioning my sanity.

“ You’re not what I expected,” she remarks casually, her voice a velvet whisper. “ You’re even better.”

Her fingers toy with the handle of the knife as I struggle to find my voice, torn between the urge to retreat and the inexplicable desire to get closer.

“ Who are you?” I swallow hard, my pulse racing as I search for words that elude me.

She leans in, her breath brushing against my cheek. “ Does it matter?”

“ Yes ,” I breathe out.

She shakes her head. “ Just follow me.”

“ Why should I trust you?” I manage to ask, turmoil rising within me.

“ Because you’re in danger,” she replies simply. “ And I’m the only one who can help you.”

I weigh her words carefully, assessing the sincerity in her eyes. The Whitmores and Camila loom in the back of my mind. She could hold the key to unraveling their secrets. Or is she merely another player in this dangerous game?

I guess I’ll have to find out.