He tilted his head and this time, he didn't take any step towards me. "I didn't take you for a critic." He turned around and took a few containers labelled with spices names and sprinkled some on the gravy.
His hands didn't pause, still deftly moving, stirring whatever concoction he was preparing. "But you're welcome to add anything you think is missing, ptichka. Though I might have to taste it off your fingers, to be sure." His eyes flicked up, catching mine for a beat, and there was a heat in them that made my breath hitch.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek, refusing to give him any satisfaction from my reaction. "Or maybe you could just taste it like a normal person."
He tilted his head, considering me with that smirk that seemed permanently etched onto his ethereal yet demonic face. "Where's the fun in normal?"
I huffed and dropped my gaze, not wanting him to see the faint flush I felt creeping up my neck. "How would you even know?" I muttered under my breath.
He seemed to hear it anyway. He laughed, deep and genuine, which somehow made me clench my fists harder. "You wound me," he said, with a glint of amusement in his eyes. "You really think I'm not capable of being… ordinary?" He leaned in, his face mere inches from mine, his voice dropping to a velvet murmur. "Or are you just afraid that you'd miss me too much if I were?"
"Afraid?" I scoffed, wondering did I hit my head somewhere cause this courage, it was dangerous, though every nerve in my body screamed at his proximity. "Don't flatter yourself."
But his gaze held mine, that faint smile never slipping. "Oh, I don't need to. You do it well enough on your own."
I forced myself to hold his gaze, but it was like staring into the eye of a storm-powerful, impossible to look away from, and dark with an intensity that made my heart pound. He leaned closer until I could feel the warmth radiating off him again, and the faint, heady scent of something earthy and masculine.
"Tell me, ptichka," he murmured, his fingers tracing the edge of the counter beside me, drawing invisible patterns on the cold marble, but not touching me. "how long are you going to keep fighting?"
"As long as I have to," I whispered, surprised by how steady my voice sounded. But then his hand was next to mine, his fingers brushing mine with a calculated slowness that made me feel like I'd been struck by lightning.
He hummed thoughtfully. "We'll see," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. And just like that, he drew back, returning his attention to the stove as if he hadn't just unravelled me piece by piece.
I took a shaky breath, grateful for the space, trying to steady the wild beat of my heart.
"Sit," he commanded, nodding toward the table. There was no trace of the taunting in his tone now, only a cool authority that brooked no argument. Reluctantly, I slid onto the chair, crossing my arms again building the defiant wall between us.
He set a plate in front of me-a simple meal, but the savoury smell made my stomach twist with sudden hunger. "Eat," he said. It wasn't a suggestion.
I picked up the fork, shooting him a sidelong glare. "I'd prefer it if you didn't act like you own me."
He gave me a long look with his usual unreadable expression and then he smiled. That wasn't a smile. It was forced. Almost as if it took him effort to curve his lips.
He leaned down, his face so close to mine that I could feel his breath warm against my cheek. His eyes narrowed, and the smile vanished as his gaze turned razor-sharp, slicing right through me.
"Oh, ptichka," he murmured with a rough whisper I was so used to. Something that exclusively belonged to him, "You think I don't own you?" His fingers traced along the edge of my plate, and then his hand slid under my chin, forcing me to look directly into those cold, pale eyes. "You keep putting up these walls like they'll actually keep me out, but let's be honest…" His thumb pressed against my bottom lip, dragging it down just enough to make my breath hitch. "Every time you look at me, you let me in a little deeper."
I swallowed, willing myself to stay steady, but his gaze was all-consuming, his touch sending heat rushing through me in a way that was damn hard to ignore.
"You're so sure of yourself," I whispered, my voice a bit breathier than I intended. "But I'm not some game you get to play with. And I will say this-"
He let out a low laugh shaking his head. "Oh, but you are," he shrugged as his thumb now traced slow circles along my jaw. "You just haven't realized yet how much you crave losing to me."
I bit down on my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But he noticed because he leaned even closer, his mouth hovering near my ear and his voice turned a gravelly whisper.
"You can fight me all you want," he mused. "But we both know exactly where this ends, don't we?" His fingers brushed down my neck, his touch leaving a trail of fire against my skin. "One way or another, little bird, I'll have you right where I want you."
I couldn't stop the shiver that ran through me, and his smirk deepened, infuriatingly smug as he straightened, giving me just enough space to breathe.
"Now eat," he said, his tone rough with a hint of mockery. "Or would you rather I feed you myself?"
I swallowed hard noticing the hint of madness in his eyes. He had tried to mask this insanity. He had been controlling himself ever since I woke up and as much as I tried not to panic, I knew his thread would break loose. Judas wasn't someone who had practised self-control. He was the one to take what he wanted, consequences be damned. The glint in his eyes-the barely concealed hunger, that dark intensity-was more dangerous than anything else in the room. My stomach twisted with a mix of fear and something I refused to name.
"Are you going to keep staring, or are you going to eat?" he asked putting his fork down and leaning closer as his hand braced on the table beside me, trapping me between his body and the chair. The flicker of amusement in his gaze made my heart pound.
"Judas," I warned, but my voice came out a shaky whisper. He only grinned, as if the sound fed his need, as if he revelled in watching me struggle. His hand slid to my shoulder, fingers brushing against my skin through the thin fabric of the robe, leaving a tingling trail in their wake. I resisted the urge to slap his hand away and gathered another dose of courage before asking. "Where are we?"
I expected him to laugh at my face and call me stupid fro even entertaining the idea that he'd tell me. But what I wasn't expecting was for him to look at me and then continue eating his food. "Severnaya Zemlya." He chewed. "A private island my father gifted me on my fifteenth birthday."
The fork slid through my fingers and landed on the ground with a clatter as I stared at him in disbelief. "W-what?"
He looked up at me and his gaze turned colder as if gauging my reaction. "You heard me," he said, his voice as smooth as silk, but with an underlying edge that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. "We're miles from the nearest civilization. Nothing but snow and ice for miles. No one's coming little bird."
My stomach twisted and a mixture of fear and disbelief clawed at me. How… How could he… "You… you brought me to an island in the middle of nowhere?"
He smirked, leaning back in his chair, watching me with that dark gaze. "It's quiet here. Peaceful. No distractions, no interruptions. Just you and me." His fingers drummed against the table, and he grabbed another fork from the counter and handed it to me. "Figured it was the best place to… get to know each other."
Get to know each other? Was he even listening to himself? After ruining my life, forcing me to sleep with him, killing Ivan and kidnapping me he was saying he wanted to know me?
A shiver ran down my spine, but I forced myself to stay calm. "What do you want from me?"
His eyes darkened and a flicker of something dangerous crossed his face. "What do you have to give me, ptichka?" he murmured, leaning forward until his face was inches from mine. "You do not have anything. Don't even think for a second I have forgotten what you did. I have special place for traitors in my basement and you… happen to be on top of that list."
"I did not-"
"Mean it? Right. But you did cross that line, didn't you? You have no idea how you fucked over my plan, haven't you? Two years… and I forgot all that just because that bastard that a gun pressed against you. Do you understand what that means?"
I swallowed hard fighting to keep my composure as his gaze bore into me losing all the amusement. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't-not with his face so close, his intensity like a vice around me.
"You betrayed me, ptichka. Lied to my face, teamed up with my enemies, tried to ruin everything I've worked for-and now you sit here, looking at me like I'm the monster?"
My breath hitched as his fingers found my chin, tilting my face up so I had no choice but to meet his stormy gaze. "I was desperate… I-I didn't mean to-" The words felt pathetic the second they left my mouth, but it was all I had. "Judas, please…"
He laughed. "Desperate? Desperate?" He leaned closer, his breath warm against my skin. "You have no idea what desperation is, sweetheart. You haven't looked death in the eye and begged for someone else's life, haven't you? But don't worry." His fingers trailed from my chin to my throat, lingering there, his thumb pressing lightly, enough to make me aware of just how little control I had. "I'll make sure you do."
My heart pounded so loudly that I was sure he could hear it. He was close enough that every inch of my body was hyper-aware of him-his scent, the heat radiating from him, the intensity in his gaze. I was trapped, and he was savouring every second of it.
"What… what do you want from me?" I whispered again, barely able to get the words out as his thumb slid slowly down to my collarbone, his touch searing through the fabric.
"I told you, didn't I?" He smiled, but there was nothing warm in it. "I want you broken, your everything. Every. Single. Piece. I don't care how much you hate me, or what you think you're holding on to. In the end, it's mine." His eyes glinted with something dark.
"You're insane," I breathed, unable to keep the tremor out of my voice.
"Maybe," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his touch deceptively gentle. "But now I know what I want." His hand trailed lower, stopping just above my heart under the bathrobe against my naked skin and his fingers pressed down as if he could feel the frantic rhythm beneath. "And I always get what I want."
I didn't know if it was fear or anger that burned through me, but I couldn't understand this man. He was complicated and unpredictable. So him acting human was a façade?
"And… what will you do to me?"
He chuckled. And the amusement returned as he raked his eyes over my face. "Mess you up."