Bittersweet Expectations (Hate at First Flight #0.5)

6. Building X's Master

In the wild there are two players in the circle of life, the prey and the predator. The prey was the hunted, the predator the hunter. The prey the weaker, miniscule half whereas the predator the intimidating, stronger one.

They say that in the wild, the prey can sense the predator even before it makes itself known. That the very scent and rushing blood in the predator's veins at the prospect of a meal can be sensed by the prey.

There were various reasons why I wouldn't survive in the wild.

I was undoubtedly the weaker miniscule party in this war, and I had the senses of a deprived idiot. I hadn't even sensed the predator that had been behind me in my search for food.

Because it was a definite conclusion.

I was the prey. And Ethan Clarke was the predator.

And this was the hunt.

° ° °

My heart was pounding so hard that I worried it would rip out of my ribcage and tear apart my body. I felt fear, anger and confusion all in one.

What was he doing here in the main house? He hadn't stepped a foot in here since that day.

Why didn't he let me know he was in the room?

What was he going to do?

"So I guess this was yours, eh?" His deep voice bristled loud in the kitchen.

I took a deep breath before I turned around and faced him.

He had looked well kept and put together every time I'd seen him, but right now he wasn't as imposing as before.

He had on his prescription expensive shirt, no suit. His tie hung loosely around his neck and his styled hair was messy. His shirt sleeves rolled up to his arms. He was by the island, sitting on the high chairs that didn't really match him.

Ethan Clarke looked out of place.

"What?" I asked after my quick appraisal.

His face, a neutral mask, eyed me for a second before he nodded towards the china in front of him.

On it was a half-eaten medium rare steak, a side of salad and gravy.

"This was your dinner then," He said as if he was stating that I was wearing a blue turtle neck sweater.

My stomach growled as it noted that that must have been my dinner.

"If you saw the note, why'd you take it?" The words slipped out crudely.

He cocked a brow. "Because I was hungry." His words lacked a hint of amusement or laughter.

"And that gives you the right to take what you want?"

"Yes."

I scoffed. The nerve of him! "Well, I'm sorry Mr Clarke, but in the real world there is this thing called 'consideration', and you can't just take what you want." Yes, ladies and gentleman. My hunger was definitely talking here.

"But in my world, Ms Bishop," he paused giving me a once over, "I can." Then he grabbed the glass of whiskey on the counter in front of him and downed the entire contents. In the next second he poured himself another glass full and downed it.

I never took him to be a drunk.

Considering that I was just going to have to wait for breakfast, I glared at him momentarily before closing the refrigerator door.

"Have you considered my words from the other day?" His deep voice stops me from exiting the kitchen.

I turn back to him. "What words?" I asked despite already knowing what he meant.