PREDATOR

Damien

The night air was cool, still, carrying only the faintest sound of her footsteps over the damp path. I trailed behind her, close enough to feel the tension rolling off her in waves, savoring each shiver that passed through her.

She didn’t know I was there, not at first. But soon, the unmistakable thrill of fear began to stir in her, tightening her shoulders, quickening her pace, a subtle panic radiating from her with each step. She had sensed me — that shadow in the dark, just out of reach. It was beautiful, watching her instincts kick in, like a doe suddenly aware of the hunter in the woods.

I slowed down, just a touch, letting her anticipation build, letting the suspense coil around her like a vice. And then, when she least expected it, I stepped into her path .

The moment her gaze lifted to mine, recognition flaring in her eyes, I saw her mask crack — just for an instant. She looked as though she’d fallen straight into her nightmare.

As I stood there, brushing the dust from her clothes, I felt it again — that pull , that undeniable magnetism that kept me coming back. Fuck . There was something about her that struck a chord deep within me, something twisted and dark, buried beneath all those layers of professional detachment.

She was different. So many people wore their lives like an open book, ready to be dissected with a glance. But Amelia? She was a fucking maze , a series of locked doors, each one leading to something even more intriguing than the last. Beneath that calm exterior was a woman both fierce and fragile, bound by past traumas that lingered just out of sight, waiting for someone willing to unravel them.

And guess who that someone would be?

The thrill of it, the sheer thrill of her — it fucking gnawed at me, consuming every corner of my mind. She had no idea, of course, how much space she occupied in my head, how much of her I saw beyond the walls of that office. She was intoxicating, and the more I studied her, the more I could feel the pieces clicking into place. She was the perfect fit for me. Her cracks and scars mirrored my own in a way that felt almost poetic .

When I watched her falter, trying to hide her fear, I felt my pulse quicken. That push and pull, her hesitance mixed with that dark, unspoken curiosity — it was a game neither of us could walk away from. Not now. Not ever.

She was my obsession, my carefully chosen prey, the one who stirred up something primal in me that no one else could.

Every time she bit her lip, her teeth pressing into that soft skin with anxious tension, it took every ounce of control I had to stay still. She had no damn idea how tightly wound my restraint was, how every small, nervous movement she made pulled at something deep and raw within me. That subtle, almost imperceptible tremor she tried to hide when my hand brushed against her — it was fucking maddening ..

The tiniest details, those were what drove me wild. The way her pulse quickened ever so slightly if I leaned just a bit too close. Or the way her breath hitched when she knew I was watching her, eyes lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Those moments were mine , secret fragments of her that she didn’t even realize she was giving away. And I savored them, tucked each one away like a hunter cataloging every weakness, every vulnerability in his prey.

I had to keep my hands at my sides, had to remind myself not to cross the boundary just yet. Because if I let myself go, if I allowed myself to close that final distance, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop. It was a delicate balance — feeding her curiosity, indulging that flicker of fear, without scaring her off completely.

But I couldn’t help it. Every glance, every tremble, every time she shuddered beneath my touch… she was mine , even if she didn’t know it yet.

As I was savoring those last moments with her, that delicious hint of fear still glinting in her eyes, someone interrupted, calling her name from down the street.

Jake fucking Turner.

He came barreling over like a big, eager Saint Bernard, all broad shoulders and a goofy grin, bounding up to her side like he’d been waiting his whole fucking life for this exact moment .

From the second he looked at her, I knew. His gaze lingered a fraction too long, his smile a touch too wide — it was painfully obvious. He wanted her. Maybe he’d been sniffing around for years, playing the ‘good friend,’ standing guard like some loyal mutt. But I could see the way the fucker looked at her, his eyes tracing over her like she was something fragile and precious. She was, but definitely not to him.

Watching him act as if he had some claim on her was fucking laughable. I kept my face neutral, leaning back a bit, letting the sarcasm color my voice just enough to slip under his skin. “Oh, really? That must have been a fun time.” I flashed a thin smile that probably looked more like baring teeth.

That son of a bitch was looking at something that belonged to me . That much was clear, and he’d be wise to figure it out soon. Because this wasn’t a competition he was going to win, not by a long shot. I wasn’t about to let anyone get in my way — least of all, the friendly neighborhood Saint Bernard.

I turned away, letting them have their little reunion, and strolled back to where my car was parked, each step deliberate, my pulse thrumming with all the things I’d like to do to her — and him, if he dared cross me again. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I took a moment, gripping the steering wheel, imagining her face, that blend of defiance and vulnerability that I’d carved out in her. She was still blissfully unaware of how deep she’d already fallen, but I’d make sure she felt it soon enough.

Millie. Or should I say Dr. Harper? So controlled, so careful, all buttoned-up and professional in the daylight. But she had no idea what was coming, what I had planned. I’d seen her walls crumble in those late hours, watched her falter and stutter under my gaze. She’d start to unravel soon, piece by piece. I wanted her every shudder, every glance over her shoulder, every bit of that fear she tried so hard to hide.

And as I sped through the night, my mind wandered to those moments yet to come. She’d be mine , every thought and every breath. The more she tried to resist, the tighter I’d pull her in, until she had nowhere else to turn.

This wasn’t a game she’d win, but watching her try was going to be half the fun.

I pulled into the driveway, stepping out of the car with a slight smirk still lingering on my face. The night was cool, shadows stretching across the ground as I locked up and headed inside. Millie’s old friend Jake Turner, with his too-casual smile and familiar touch. He didn’t fool me. Men like him were easy to read, and something about his presence had already grated against me. He wasn’t the innocent type, not by a long shot. And I had a feeling his past would confirm that suspicion.

Sitting down at my desk, I pulled out my laptop and began to dig, methodical and precise. The traces of the bastard’s life unfolded in bits and pieces—his resume, his professional history, and the gaps he probably thought no one would notice. But when you’re looking for dirt, you know exactly where to dig. It wasn’t long before I found it.

Turner had been involved in some serious dealings during his time at the hospital. Shady connections with wealthy clients, money exchanged under the table for treatments that didn’t show up on any official record. Medical favors, private sessions off the books, bending the rules for patients with the right price tag. The deeper I went, the darker it got. He had a knack for keeping things clean on the surface, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t left behind loose threads.

So he wasn’t just the good-natured, harmless guy he pretended to be. No, Jake Turner had secrets, and the kind of past that could be exploited. I leaned back, smiling to myself. This was going to be easier than I thought.

I closed the laptop with a satisfying click, feeling the pulse of anticipation beneath the surface. My gaze shifted to the other screen on my desk, the one that gave me a direct line to Millie’s world. Setting up those cameras had been almost too easy; she never even noticed. Quiet, hidden, positioned in places she wouldn’t suspect. Each angle allowed me to see her every movement, every expression, every small vulnerability that she thought no one else could see.

As the feed came to life, the screen flickered before settling into a crystal-clear view of her living room. There she was, moving through her home, oblivious to the eyes on her. She was pacing, her brow furrowed, clearly agitated. Probably still shaken from our little encounter in the park. I leaned forward, watching her in that oversized sweater and bare feet, biting her lip as she ran a hand through her hair—small habits I had learned to recognize and savor.

A part of me almost wanted her to sense it, to feel the chill of being watched , but she didn’t. She simply moved through her space, unguarded, vulnerable, and mine to observe . I could see every emotion play across her face—the lingering confusion, the frustration, the hints of fear she tried to suppress. It was intoxicating to know that, even if she didn’t realize it yet, I was everywhere around her.

She finally settled on the couch, her fingers tracing aimless patterns on her knee as she stared blankly ahead, lost in thought. I could practically see the gears turning in her mind, her attempts to piece together what was happening. But she had no damn idea, did she?

The corner of my mouth lifted as I watched. There was a twisted satisfaction in knowing I was creating this constant, creeping presence in her life. She was beginning to unravel, thread by thread, and she didn’t even know who was pulling the strings.

Then her phone buzzed. She picked it up, a flicker of something crossing her face. Her brother, probably, or Jake . My fingers tightened slightly as I thought of him, lingering in her life, thinking he had some claim to her.

But he was nothing . Just a distraction, a remnant from her past. I had done my research, unearthed his connections and weaknesses. He had his own skeletons—things he likely thought he’d hidden well. I’d be more than happy to help him remember exactly who he was dealing with.

Millie shifted on the couch, rubbing her temples, looking exhausted. My fingers brushed over the trackpad, zooming in slightly. Every line of stress etched on her face, every weary sigh—I drank it all in.

As she finally leaned back, letting her head fall against the cushion, her eyes slowly drifting closed, I found myself leaning in, feeling that familiar rush of power. This was my design, my world, and soon enough, she’d understand that there was no escape.

The night was deep and still, cloaking the world in a velvet darkness that matched the creeping thrill inside me. I parked my car a few blocks away, shrouded in the shadows of the trees, and made my way to Millie’s house. The path was well-trodden now, each step a dark promise of what was to come.

Her two-story home stood quietly, the lights dimmed, a soft glow emanating from the living room windows. I lingered just out of sight, savoring the moment. The familiar thrill of anticipation prickled at my skin as I imagined her sprawled on that couch, the remnants of her day etched into her features. The place felt more like mine with each visit, like a sinister inheritance I was destined to claim.

I slipped around to the back, the slight creak of the fence barely registering over the thrum of my heart. With practiced ease, I pushed open the sliding glass door, its familiar resistance yielding to my will. The scent of her home enveloped me— comforting , yet tinged with something raw and electric that was uniquely hers .

As I entered, the soft sound of her breathing drew me in. She was there, just beyond the wall, draped across the couch like a delicate doll, her hair cascading over the armrest. A blanket half-covered her, a few stray tendrils of hair dancing across her face. I paused for a moment, taking her in, allowing the sight to wash over me.

There she was— my Millie . Vulnerable, unguarded, blissfully unaware of the darkness hovering just outside her dreams. I moved closer, each step quiet, deliberate, as if I were approaching something sacred. My eyes drank in every detail: the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips parted slightly as she slept.

I positioned myself just out of her line of sight, watching the serenity of her face. A small, twisted part of me reveled in the idea that she would not know I was here, that she was at my mercy. The thrill of it all sent shivers down my spine.

I fought the urge to reach out, to stroke her hair or trace the curve of her jaw. But no, patience was key.

As the minutes stretched on, I allowed myself to indulge in the darker fantasies swirling in my mind. I envisioned what it would be like to wake her gently, to pull her from her slumber into a world crafted by my hands. I wanted to hear her voice, feel the confusion and fear ripple through her as she realized she wasn’t alone, that I was here— always here .

Time slipped away as I stood there, watching her sleep, plotting my next move. In this moment, I was the puppet master, and she was the unwitting marionette, and I could not wait to see how she would dance .

The thrill coiled tightly within me, a live wire buzzing with potential as I stood there in the dim light. It was a rush unlike any other, a heady mix of power and desire that coursed through my veins like adrenaline. Watching Millie, the way her chest rose and fell softly, I felt the edges of my control tighten, my focus sharpening on her every delicate feature.

This was what I craved —the intoxicating blend of fear and fascination that radiated from her. Each breath she took was a reminder of how close I was, how easily I could step into her world and reshape it to my liking. The idea of her waking up to find me there, looming in the shadows, sent an electric thrill surging through me. What would her eyes betray? Fear? Confusion? Or maybe, excitement ? I relished the thought.

Every inch of her was a canvas, and I was the fucking artist, ready to paint her with my intentions. I could imagine the way she would shudder if I brushed my fingers against her skin, how her body would react to my presence. The thrill wasn’t just in the act of watching; it was in the possibility of what was to come—the plans I’d crafted, the moments I could orchestrate that would leave her breathless and aching for more .

With each passing second, the desire to break through that thin veneer of peace she clung to intensified. But the thrill lay in the challenge: to see how far I could push her, how deeply I could etch myself into her psyche.

I envisioned a world where she belonged to me— completely and utterly . A world where I could touch her, mold her, and make her understand the depths of my obsession. The thrill of the hunt was delicious, and I savored it like a fine wine, allowing it to linger on my palate.

Tonight, the thrill was everything. I was a predator in the dark, and she was my prey. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of us suspended in this charged silence, waiting for the moment to break. I leaned closer, inhaling the scent of her hair, a mixture of shampoo and something uniquely hers, and smiled to myself. Soon, she would know exactly who was in control.