I choke, the words stuck somewhere between my throat and my brain.
My What?!
The woman lets out a breathless giggle, nuzzling into his shoulder. "Oh, handsome, I think you've got the wrong room," she whispers, her forefinger trailing his cheek, though she's clearly too drunk—or too amused—to actually care.
He ignores her, eyes still locked on mine, studying me with a lazy, almost predatory fascination.
"Wrong room?" he murmurs, tilting his head, that smirk deepening. "Or maybe I just got lucky."
He gives me a once-over, one eyebrow raised, and my grip on the poker tightens even more. "So, what'll it be?" he asks, as though this is the most natural question in the world. "Well, it doesn't matter. You can strip."
I inhale sharply, summoning every ounce of patience I have left. Do not murder this idiot, I tell myself. You cannot afford to draw attention right now.
"Get Out." I keep my voice low, cold and laced with as much threat as I can muster.
The woman gasps looking at me with a widened and shocked face, as if I really do what I am intending to do.
"How dare you talk to him like that?" She screeches.
His smirk only widens when I look at her with absurdity. He sways slightly, And I step back. His gaze never leaves mine, and I can see that spark of mischief in his eyes, a glint of something that says he's very used to getting his way—and very used to annoying people who tell him no.
"Feisty, " He glances back at the woman, who's starting to look a little uncomfortable now. "Maybe I've got room for two tonight," he says as if he's actually debating it. "Or is that… beneath you?" He turns back to me, his grin equal parts amusement and arrogance.
The fire poker feels solid in my hands, and I'm this close to swinging it straight at his pretty face. "Last chance. Leave now, or I'll make you"
"How dare-" She starts with way more strength than the first time, but I cut her off.
"Yes, you asked that,"
She gasps again.
He blinks, plotting something as if processing the threat, but instead of backing down, he just laughs—a deep, velvety sound that feels like it's wrapping around the room, coiling tight and suffocating.
The woman hanging off him lets out a breathless giggle, though it's tinged with something nervous. But he pays her no mind, not really. He's too busy watching me, his eyes flick back to me, gleaming with something wicked. It's almost as if he's daring me to swing.
Then, with a sudden, fluid motion, he turns back to her. His hand grips the back of her neck, and he pulls her into him, crushing his lips against hers.
"Oh my god!" I breathe, fury coiling in my throat and hands. I scoff not believing this madness.
The kiss is nothing short of ravenous—teeth, tongue, and pure hunger. Her moan fills the air, high-pitched and needy, as if the entire world has disappeared except for his mouth on hers. His free hand snakes down her back, squeezing, making her gasp and arch into him, her body molding to his like she can't get close enough.
My pulse pounds in my ears, disbelief, and something darker I don't want to acknowledge. Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I can't look away. It's like I'm rooted to the spot, staring at this unashamed display of lust.
What the hell am I even witnessing? He's pretending completely forgotten I'm here, devouring her like he's starving, and she's the sweetest sin he's tasted all night. I can't decide if I'm more tempted to bash his head in with this poker or… No. I bite down on that thought, hard.
Her fingers claw at his shirt, lips parted as if she's drunk on his touch, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He pulls her even closer, his grip turning possessive, fingers threading into her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her whimper.
Then without a warning, he parts her from him. There's a wet, loud, obscene sound as their mouths part, the air between them charged with a heat that's practically suffocating.
I freeze.
He grabs her by the shoulders. "Sorry to cut things short, darling," he says, voice dripping with mock sweetness and pretend seriousness. "But it seems we're not welcome here tonight. I won't do it unless it's this room,"
And then, as quickly as he pulled her in, he let go.
"... What?" She stumbles, her legs like jelly, eyes unfocused and glazed over as if he's drained every last coherent thought from her mind. He brushes a stray lock of hair away from the woman's face, not even bothering to help her up as she stumbles to find her footing.
My heart slams in my chest. Is this really happening? Every instinct I have is screaming to get him out of this room, to rid myself of the chaos he's dragged in with him, but I can't quite shake the knot of heat low in my stomach. He has a way of pulling every ounce of control out of the room, sucking the air from my lungs until there's nothing left but that damned smirk.
He fixes his shirt with an almost casual grace, bony, long, ringed fingers raking through his dark, disheveled hair. Then, he turns to me with a slow, deliberate grin, like he's just remembered I'm still here—watching, trembling, fire poker clutched in my hands.
"Well then," He says confidently. "Have a fine night, ladies," With that, he shoots me a final, taunting glance, before striding out of the room.
As he disappears into the hall, the weight of it all crashes down on me.
What the hell just happened?
When I turn back, I hear the woman's soft whimpers behind me, cursing me through her tears. She is breathless, staring up at me with wide, accusing eyes.
"You… You ruined it," she stammers, tears welling up, her voice breaking as she looks at him for reassurance.
I frown and do not think twice to lift the fire poker.
Gathering her dress around herself, she stumbles to her feet and throws a final curse my way. "I… I hope you end up with the worst man in here, with no coin and no mercy. Just ruin!" Her voice echoes like an omen.
As if I lack any of that.
I slam the door in her face before she can say anything else, my heart still pounding as the silence finally settles back over the room, heavy and thick.
I let out a shaky breath, lowering the poker, my pulse refusing to slow. Pushing my inner cheek with my tongue, I glare at my reflection in the cracked mirror, half-expecting the word whore to be stamped on my forehead.
There are too many candidates in this place who could be the demon with the pretty lips. I can't exactly rip their shirts open to see if any of them have the mark I'm looking for.
But whoever he was, he was trouble. Arrogant, reckless, and carrying the kind of dangerous confidence that says he knows exactly what he sees.
I grit my teeth, shoving the poker back beside the bed. One night in the undercity, I've already encountered the exact kind of person I was hoping to avoid.
And Mr. Leonhart is genuinely happy about me.
"Fucking hell," He is beaming, laughing out loud when I drag my suitcase down the staircase. "You survived!" He throws his hands in the air.