Page 10 of The Invite (The Massacre Ball #1)

Augustus

She and I both seem to have an addiction to the dark.

Because even in the upstairs hallway, pitch blackness greets me.

I’m sure her habits will soon change.

However, I can hear her tinkering around in her room, guiding me toward her. I’m quiet on my feet. People always put their guard down in their homes, forgetting it’s not Fort Knox that can’t be raided.

A mirror at the end of the hall gives me an unobstructed view of her bedroom.

The lights are on and spilling into the hall.

Her back is turned to me as she unpacks her things.

Dirt is caked on the wheels and it looks slightly damaged.

She doesn’t seem to mind because her full attention is on the clothes she’s carefully pulling out.

Little Miss Nessa doesn’t come off as the type of girl overly attached to her wardrobe. Like every other teenage girl these days.

A second later, she proves me correct by pulling out a photo frame from beneath the piles of garments. A deep breath rattles her spine as she gazes at it, her fingers tracing whoever it is.

Leaning against the wall, I study her with my arms crossed over my chest.

Who could it be? Her parents? Siblings? Relatives? Ex-boyfriend?

Because in my search into her background, it was too boring and clean-cut. What I’m seeing here is telling a different story.

Just who are you, Nessa Davenport?

Several minutes pass before she recovers enough to put the picture face down on the bed. Carrying a bunch of her clothes, she disappears and I hear the telltale sound of a cupboard opening and closing. She repeats the trip once more, putting away the last of her garments.

When she returns, a plain white robe hangs off her arm.

My senses sharpen as she throws it on the bed.

I gaze at her hands grabbing the hem of her shirt and pull it over.

Her breasts, in a plain pink bra and as perfect as I imagined, bounce under the force.

Silken hair flies everywhere before falling in messy waves.

I straighten from the wall and step forward, drawn to her milky flesh.

Her nipples poke like diamonds against the thin material of her bra. I tear my gaze away from them and follow her palms roaming down her flat belly to the top of her low-waisted jeans.

Unbuttoning them, she pushes it over her curvy and more-than-a-handful ass. Matching pink panties leading down to a set of long legs are revealed as she lowers the denim to her feet.

A sensual sight to behold.

Her skin is a canvas that I want to paint in blue marks with my teeth, red imprints from my hand, pink welts from the lash of my belt, and black from my charcoal-darkened fingers.

Until her body is a vivid kaleidoscope.

Until everyone stares at her and knows she’s my muse.

Leaving the tee discarded on the bed and her jeans on the floor, she grabs the robe and goes into the adjoined bathroom. I don’t hear the lock click.

You should lock your doors, little prey.

The whooshing noise of the sliding shower door echoes, followed by the spray of water hitting the tiled floor.

I enter the bedroom, the rug concealing my steps, and I pick up the frame. Turning it over, I stare at the well-dressed power couple and a shy, smiling little girl in the middle standing in front of a large vintage painting on the wall behind them.

Huh, so Little Miss Nessa comes from money.

Why is she lying about it, though? And why would she take a low-paying school teacher’s job in a small town, even if it is at an elite private school?

The man wearing a gray suit in the picture has his lips pressed together in a firm line while the woman is smiling reservedly but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

Perhaps my little prey is more interesting than I initially thought.

Instead of placing the picture where she left it, I place it on her nightstand. On the bed, I leave the gift I brought for her.

She showers, heedless of my presence, while I fold the clothes she took off and place them neatly on the armchair in the corner.

I leave the room just as the water shuts off, a grin playing on my lips.

A few seconds later, she reenters the room, a cloud of steam billowing around her ankles. She doesn’t immediately notice the small changes in the room as she dries her wet hair with a towel, humming a tune.

Two more steps in and the towel drops from her hand.

My grin grows into a full-blown smile.

Remaining glued to the same spot, a full-body shudder racks her frame as her gaze lands on her cracked but still working phone which I found in the woods.

Her neck twists toward the picture frame in its new place, and she staggers back a step.

Slowly, her eyes sweep around the room and freeze on her neatly folded tee and jeans.

Before your fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, paralysis is what cripples one’s body, making you defenseless. One always assumes the former will occur first.

They’re wrong.

My beautiful prey’s breathing picks up speed, almost going into a full-fledged panic attack. Her mind is telling her to run, a predator is circling her, but her limbs aren’t working. They’ve malfunctioned.

One second passes .

She’s still panting.

Two.

She swallows, trembling.

Three.

The instinct kicks in and she stumbles back.

“No. No. No,” Nessa chants to herself, looking around the space as if I’ll emerge from the shadows.

Not so fast, little prey .

I enter the second bedroom across from hers just as she exits the room. Her timid footsteps, along with her rapid pants, reach my ears.

“I know you’re here,” she yells bravely.

I’m impressed. A unique prey that retaliates when they’re trapped with their back against the wall. I keep quiet as she goes past the room I am in. I wait until I know she’s descended the stairs before stalking after her.

She’s turned on all the lights as if that will protect her. But her house, though small, is built like a maze with so many dark corners that it could take days to find me.

“You don’t scare me,” she shouts, her quivering voice coming from the kitchen.

What a beautiful liar.

“I see you drank my water.”

So, so sassy.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, I switch off the light and she comes barreling toward my direction. I cross into the living room and plunge it into darkness. I’ve never had as much fun toying with someone as I do her.

“Stop hiding!” she yells. “Come out!”

Not so soon.

She stays near the stairs, while I remain in the room near the front door. The only light pouring in is from the kitchen, where I can see one of the knives in the holder missing. Her weapon of choice neither scares me nor is it going to stop me.

“What do you want?” Frustration bleeds into her words. “I signed the NDA. Leave me alone… Please .”

The defeat and resignation in her voice give me pause as I study her shadowed figure through the open doorway. She can’t see me but I can see her. That’s why I don’t miss her shoulders slumping as her gaze hits the floor.

The inkling I had that she was carrying a hidden burden inside her smacks me again right now.

Minutes pass as neither of us speak nor move.

I’m curious what she’ll do next.

She slowly turns around and I narrow my gaze as she enters the kitchen. I walk in the direction of the staircase to keep her in my line of sight. I’m amazed when she puts the knife back in the holder.

Is she waving the proverbial white flag?

In all of our interactions, I know she isn’t the type to relinquish so easily.

“You know what, do whatever you want,” she says after exiting the kitchen and standing with her hand on the banister at the bottom step. “I’m done with your games and I’m going back to my room.”

With that, she disappears upstairs.

That’s disappointing. I didn’t think it’d be that easy to break her.

Or is it a trap?

Shutting off the light in the kitchen, I climb up to the first floor. The door to her bedroom is ajar, the glow from the room spilling into the hall. Just as I’m about to reach it, something hard knocks over to the floor behind me.

I turn around in time to catch her sprinting toward the staircase.

Now that , I didn’t see coming.

I smirk as I chase after her.

Stupidly, she looks back over her shoulder and screams at my masked face and all-black attire as I eat the space between us with long steps. Her speed doubles, taking two steps at a time, and she almost trips as she reaches the landing.

Clad in only her robe, she dashes for the front door, trying to escape. Despite running at full speed, I’m faster than her. She has barely wrapped her fist around the knob before I’m yanking her back against my chest with my arm around her tiny waist.

She kicks, punches, and struggles in my arms like a banshee. Doing everything in her arsenal of defense tricks.

It’s fruitless.

My dick hardens at the aggression in her lithe body. The same electric rush coursing through my veins as it did in the woods.

It’s hedonistic, delightful, and addictive.

“I won’t let you get away with this,” she threatens, huffing and puffing.

Putting her down, facing me, I wedge my right shoulder against her stomach and hike her over my shoulder. Her fists pummel my back, scratching my neck with her nails like a feral cat.

Except she forgets she’s only protected by thin material, underneath which she’s completely and gorgeously naked. One wrong move and it’ll come undone. The last thing she wants is to be more vulnerable than she already is.

To remind her, I lift the hem and dip my finger between her ass cheeks. She stills instantly when I rub my finger against her crack. A stunned gasp leaves her mouth and she squirms when I repeat the teasing motion.

“S-stop!” she stammers.

I do, keeping my palm on her ass as I ascend the flight of stairs. My unspoken warning is received by her and she doesn’t hit me all the way to her bedroom. Once inside, I kick it shut behind me and throw her on the bed, which takes up most of the space in her tiny room.

She scrambles backward toward the headboard.

Her robe gapes open, revealing a tempting view of her cleavage, and rides up her thighs. Hair still wet from her shower frames her fearful face in a tangled mess. I’m riveted by her dark cherry-red lips as she bites them nervously.

She assesses me under her long lashes and brings a pillow to her front as a shield.

I tilt my head tauntingly.

Her arms tighten around it.

“Leave and I won’t call the cops,” she says, like we’re negotiating.

I know it’s nothing but a bluff. Because when we were in the principal’s office, it was apparent she didn’t want to involve the police. I don’t know the reason, but I will eventually get her to spill.

When I don’t acknowledge her threat, she squirms.

I smile behind my mask.

My silence is already unnerving her.

“Well, say something,” she spits out angrily. Fire replaces the helplessness in her amber eyes, sharpening them brighter, and she cries out, “ Augustus !”

My name on her lips freezes us both.

She blinks rapidly, regretting and itching to take it back.

It’s too late.

In a flash, I’m on her and yanking her ankle until she’s flat on her back. “No!”

Never.