Deaths Kiss

Chapter Two

Mystery Man

Awakening to the harsh morning rays the next morning forces a shaky groan past your chapped lips. You raise your hand to the back of your head, running your fingers soothingly along your scalp in an attempt to ease the throbbing pain thats presented itself in the form of a hangover. Unwilling to open your eyes just yet, you roll over onto your stomach and wrap both of your arms around your pillow and hold it tightly against your face, trying desperately to hide from the bright light pouring in and  showering you with its warmth. You'd much rather be back in the darkness of sleep, floating in the recesses of your mind, than being awake and suffering the monstrous headache pounding away and eating at your skull.

Multiple thoughts parade your mind while you're laying there hiding your face from the world. Many of which circle around the night you had at the club, though you remember nothing about leaving or how you even got home, you do remember the tease you got from the stripper, the smouldering kiss he gave you, something of which you were never given even from your own boyfriend, and that of the burn of the whiskey you drank.

You sigh in contempt, releasing a long slow breath of air and grin to yourself, and inhale the same long slow breath you released moments ago. It took your brain and your nose a few lingering beats to realize that the bed you are currently laying in. Isn't your own. The scent is completely foreign, musky and a bit earthy. The lingering smell of cologne sticks to your nose. Your bed smells of vanilla and lavender. Not a man. The more that dawns on you, you also realize that your blankets aren't soft silk. Nor are they burgundy. You'd be lying if you said you didn't take a few more whiffs of the pillow before rolling over and sitting up to glare at the room in confusion.

How hard of a night did I really have last night?

While dragging your eyes around you absentmindedly run your hands along the smooth cool surface of the blanket tucked around your petite body. Whoever's room this is they have good taste in bedspreads. And really enjoy dark colors. The walls are dark, almost slate grey, there lies a black dresser across from where you lay with a big flat screen TV mounted to the wall just above it. There's a closet off to one side it appears and there are two doors connected to the room. One you assume to be a bathroom. The curtains over the large window also match the bedsheets. The black wooden bedside table is clear of everything but an alarm clock, a picture frame of what appears to be three boys and a glass of water with a couple pills sitting beside it. Whoever lives here was kind enough to acknowledge your hangover, you're grateful for that, at least.

You take the pills and down half of the glass quickly, you hadn't realized how parched you were until you drank some. After that you decided now was as good a time as any to get up, so you unwrap yourself and take a ginger step out of the blanket only to hear clear footsteps making their way towards the room. In a panic you wrap yourself back up and cover your entire body with the blanket, only your eyes, top of your head and fingers are visible. You believe that if you are hidden any monster or thing that goes bump in the night can't get to you. But of course that's a ludicrous thought. It's more than likely just a person. Coming to see if you've woken up.

You hear the door handle rattle and brace yourself to die, your heartbeat drops into your stomach as you watch in dismay, the door slowly opening to reveal a shadow. A man follows suit. You can feel his dark gaze on you almost instantly, boring into you with an intensity you've never quite felt before. The air turns cold, and your breaths become shallow.

Part of him wishes he had just left you laying there defenseless on the sidewalk but who knows what would have happened to you if he hadn't have brought you home. He heard some of the thoughts those other men were thinking, and while he's the same way, they made him sick to his stomach. He should have left you but part of him felt compelled not to. So here you are, in his bed, under his sheets with a panicked glint in your eye that leaves him smirking down at you. Normally if he had seen you fall he would have walked away without a second glance back. But your smell had his senses riled up and he knew, knew right then and there that he had to have you. Taste you and if that were to happen you needed to be kept safe, and stripped of the alcohol in your system.