Miha immediately jumped down from Constantine's hold after she heard the door shut. This hell of a monster looked somewhat entertained as she landed swiftly on the carpet like a frightened cat as she wished him only hell for the days to come. She didn't mind if she sounded like a murderer blinded by revenge. It irked her to even think that she had little to no upper hand at him, and that with any means she had, she wouldn't get ahead of him anytime sooner.
"Feeling any better?" he didn't bother to glance at Miha as she stayed rooted on the door, her hand braced on the door knob just in case she needed to escape.
Silence met them, the air thick with a foreboding tension that loomed over their heads. Despite the calm, demeanor of the man in front of her, Miha's mind was already occupied with various ways on how to escape him, and that didn't stop her from thinking what in the world did she get herself into in the first place?
Constantine looked as if he was still waiting for her answer, his mouth curving into what appeared to be amusement from her silence.
Miha refused to engage in conversation with a murderer, especially when they were the only people inside the room. But then, his words had electrified a wire in her she'd yet to cease. She couldn't quite place a finger on it, because somehow, regardless of his looks, she had felt an extreme feeling on wanting to know more of him—what was it about him and the way he looked at her like she was a rare feast that he wanted all to himself? It was melting her into a puddle of water, his vivid, striking eyes boring into her very soul as it roamed up and down her trembling body.
The very question that left his mouth made Miha think beyond normal, and for her, that wasn't the least bit okay. She could only glare at him from afar. He was making her overthink things that could simply be answered by a single word.
'Feeling any better?' she repeated in her mind with mocking indignation. 'What did he think I'd tell him? That I was overjoyed to be stuck here with him?'
Of course, she wasn't fine. Earlier on, she thought she'd already died from the huge rubbles that piled on top of her and sandwiched her will to live. And when she had finally found hope in the people that appeared to be a rescue party, they turned out to be a hunting party instead! They were searching for Constantine, who, apparently, became the very reason why she had almost died that night.
Almost.
A spark beamed at the top of her head as her brows furrowed. She suddenly recalled how the guards genuinely insisted that she was already dead by the time Constantine was done with her—
Her hands shot to her neck. Yes, she remembered it so clearly; the way his bony fingers had enclosed around her frail neck as the velvet feeling of his tongue coursed through her already slick skin. It roamed in one particular place before his sharp teeth penetrated her the second she wished her misery would end. She remembered the awful sound of his soft lips as he sucked her skin, his tongue dipping into the blood that poured out of her punctured wound. Constantine drank it to no end, savoring her taste, moaning in the last seconds of her breathing—completely devouring her life in mere minutes.
The color drained from Miha's face, and that was enough of an answer to have him open the door again and call for a housemaid to bring him a pitcher of water and leftover food from breakfast.
Miha's mind was in chaos as she began to move her fingers, checked her feet, and inhaled-exhaled as many times as she could to reduce the turmoil that had made her panic instead of relieved. Hot fury clouded her mind, but as much as she wanted to feel more of it than the latter, Miha knew it was just a displacement of feelings of fear in the situation at hand.
The truth was, she was indeed fine. Better than ever if anyone would ask her agan. Even better than the moments she had when she remained on her damned couch back home.
Her hands trembled as his words crashed upon her like an unstoppable tide. It was finally making sense, and Miha disliked it as much as the contempt she felt for him.
She was, indeed, feeling better.
Just a few moments ago, she could've sworn she couldn't even specify which part of her was sore. The excruciating pain in her chest, the ostensible injury with the potential to be fatal, had been the most agonizing sensation she had ever experienced. But now, she couldn't feel a single pain that pointed to it. The intensity of the agony seemed to have vanished, leaving her in a state of bewilderment and relief.
Constantine nodded in acknowledgment upon watching a few feet away. "I see you are. Now then," he gestured to an empty couch nearby. "Have a seat, kitten."
Miha fiercely shook her head, her trembling mixed with disgust that increased upon Constantine's choice of nickname for her.
She was about to tell him to go and flip himself when all of a sudden, a quiet knock came from behind her.
Constantine didn't bother to excuse himself as he reached from behind her and opened the door in haste. He took a glass of water and dried bread from a bowing maid that seemed to have ignored Miha's presence before she closed the door herself. Constantine proceeded to hand all the contents of the tray to her in a second.
Miha stared at it for the longest time, unsure of what to do with it, even though it looked incredibly appetizing.
"Go on," the demon urged.
She willed her face in indifference. Constantine's words don't deserve trust, so Miha refused them with all her might. She's not dying tonight, and if they've contrived with each other to have her killed with a piece of appetizing bread, then she will do her best to try and cheat death.
"No one's killing you this time," he said thoughtfully.
Miha almost gaped at his confession, but forced herself to close her mouth.
Constantine proceeded to point at her face. "It's written all over how you looked between the food and my face. No one's going to believe you if you tell them you're not hungry."
She grimaced then and there, and she made sure to express her repulsion against him in a manner he'd easily understand; through never-ending glares.
"No, thank you." She made an effort to sound courteous.
"You need to eat," he insisted and motioned again for the glass of water in his hands. "At least drink. We have a lot to discuss, and I don't want to guess everything you're about to say."
Her scowl deepened upon sensing the solemnity in his tone. The man wasn't messing around when he said he wanted to discuss things with her, but what made him think that she would willingly participate in it?
Constantine tucked one hand beneath his chin. "You seem to not believe me." He crossed his leg. "Would you like me to guess what you have in mind again?"
Miha's glare remained, but her eyes never shifted from the drink in his hand. He was stubborn as a rock, and she was willing to match it. And now that he was offering her this bland-looking food, she couldn't believe, for the life of her, that she was now a madman to be craving water and dry bread like her life depended on it.
She hadn't felt this hungry for what seemed like the longest time. But then, her stomach was a traitor as it let out a sound that howled like starving wolves.
Just damn it all to hell.
If she decided that she'd die from this, so be it.
She snatched the glass of water from Constantine's hand and drank all of its contents, the bread immediately arriving into her mouth as she gobbled it with little to no chewing. Her lips quivered as she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt after she finished.
Constantine had a triumphant look, one side of his mouth quirking upwards.
"You sit right there," Miha finally replied, coughing a little when she accidentally tried speaking after chugging down another glass of water like it was her own fuel. "I prefer standing," she clarified while waiting for the poison's effect.
None came, and she hadn't expected the relief that flooded through her.
"I see you're well enough to eat," Constantine smiled as he reclined on the velvet sofa, his eyes filled with delight.
"Why am I alive?" she blurted out before she could even reconsider her decision to escape. It was good that she had eaten. Her mind had settled down, and she was positive she could communicate things to him more clearly now. "I know I've died…" Her voice trailed off, the memory sending shivers up her spine. "You owe me an explanation."
"I'm Constantine de Dampiere," he chimed in, dismissing her questions with a playful introduction.
His voice then drifted from behind her like a whisper on the wind.
The familiar scent of musk enveloped her, mingling with the alluring fragrance of a tempting man. The aroma wrapped around her like an invisible embrace, evoking memories of encounters she couldn't forget, whether it was of fear, or the thrill of him being close by.
Miha yelped, the pitch of her voice coming higher than she had hoped as she sidestepped when she felt his mouth on her neck once again.
He didn't laugh as she had expected him to. Instead, he grabbed her by the waist and amassed her hair on one side.
"Good," the word slipped from his lips, carrying an unexpected sensuality that sent a delightful shiver down her skin. His low voice murmured softly, vibrating against her stiffened shoulders as he gently pressed his head onto her skin.
Her heart quickened its pace as the insufferable monster traced the tip of his perfect nose across her shoulder, then along the swelling hollows of her neck. With every mark he left behind, her world ignited in unexpected ways. Each place his hand touched seemed to turn hot, leaving her in a bewildering state of arousal and confusion. The conflicting emotions swirled within her, torn between fear and an inexplicable desire that she struggled to comprehend.
"Not yet healed, I see," he whispered in the curve of her now sensitive ear, perhaps pertaining to the holes he had been the cause of.