Rags To Royals (Royal #1: Book 1) | ✔

62

-• do you like me? •-

"If I scream, you'll find seven men ready to bury you alive."

He drops his arm to the side and shakes his head slightly. I see his eyes smile in amusement. Does he hide his face so people don't see what he feels? Because if that is so, it isn't helping him much. His eyes are expressive like colors, existing in darker shades of each, but still so vivid and different.

Then he lifts his gaze and fixes it on me, draining me of the leftover courage. I take a step back in alarm, my hand locating the knob on the door and I grip it tightly for physical support. A cruel glint flashes through his ebony chasms, depth of an ocean in them, holding endless possibilities and dangers, lurking in the darkness with an enchanting surface that shines under the moonlight, a hypnotising blanket webbed with calm threads. His body reeks of dishonesty and deceptions, as though the beautiful vessel is made with perfection to distract you from what exists inside. A soul built to be a weapon, inherently destructive.

I've never seen a man so calmly dangerous. He's rarely violent, his voice never goes above yours, yet you find yourself obeying him. And I hate that. I hate the effect he has on me. It's not healthy. Feeling this way, as though I'm compelled to keep him close despite the threat he's to my mind, a walking hazard that poisons my thoughts, pollutes my soul.

"Don't," I warn him when he takes a step forward.

He is not the one to obey. He's one to rebel. And he does that, he defies me, my warning, as though he's the master of his own world, and it's not him stepping into mine, but me crossing it to enter his.

His proximity steals my breath. I plaster myself to the doorframe, his body hovering over mine, like a dark cloud that's waiting to explode. Then he slowly brings my key to the scanner, taps it once and encloses my hand with his over the knob. The coldness from his touch sends zaps of currents throughout my body and I flinch.

"What are you doing?" I gather enough courage to look into his eyes.

"I don't know," is his reply.

And the knob clicks in place, unlocking the door. It's pushed ajar because of my body, and as I step back, he enters inside, slamming the door shut with his foot.

The room is completely dark, but I stand out against the backdrop because of my shiny dress. He, however, becomes one with the night.

"The- the lights are on the right of the door." I tell him and wait patiently.

A few seconds pass but the lights don't turn on. "Rudra?"

"That's not my name."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"Whatever you want it to be," he steps closer and I feel his breath on the side of my head. I quickly stumble back in shock, not having expected the sudden intimacy.

"Wha-whatever. Turn on the lights." I grit out.

"No," he states.

I let out a troubled sigh. "Why are you doing this?" I rake a frustrated hand through my hair. "Are you a sadist? Do you enjoy the thrill you feel after scaring me? What do you even want from me, Rudra!?"

"That's not my name!"

"I don't give a flying fuck!" I snap back. "I don't care who you are, what your identity is, and why you hide so much! I just don't! And will you please turn on the lights!? I know you can see me but I can't! Stop playing games with me! I'm not your fucking toy!"

He yanks me close by my waist. I gasp, my hands flying to hold his shoulders in seek of something stable to cling on. "There you go, now you know where I am."