121. Her Very Bare Legs

Third Person's POV:

The hazy fog of light headedness and total bliss of weightlessness blurs away slightly as soon as Aria mentions the creepy stalker.

Oh no! It's late he must have appeared by now.

And here she was all drugged up. Rose shouldn't care, she was inside and the windows were all shut, drapes all drawn, he cant see her and so can't she.

She should relax and settle back down besides Aria who has begun eyeing the cross in her hands very salaciously.

Ugh! I do not want to stay here for that.

And besides it must be the drugs messing up her brain wiring or something far stupid and coercive that is influencing her idea of going downstairs and see for herself whether he has come or not.

What is with her and her curiosity to check if he showed up. It's like she wants him to come.

She could just check and then come right back up and smack that cross out of Aria's hands before she does something totally unholy with it.

Yes, sounds like a plan, a damn good one actually. What brilliant mind came up with it? Oh yeah, that's right, me! I am the genius one here.

Feeling unwinding confidence, Rose gets off the bed leaving Aria in the room and made her way down.

Just a peek from behind the curtains.

She barely registered her own feet moving as she padded down the stairs, her mind still hazy, her body light as air.

She was floating, wasn't she? Maybe she was still upstairs in Aria's room, tucked in and giggling at her friend's insane antics. Maybe she never actually left.

But no.

The sharp chill from the floor beneath her feet reminded her she was here, very much in the living room, and very much out of her damn mind.

Because she was standing in front of the massive glass panes.

With no curtains.

And she wasn't alone.

Her body seized up, every nerve sparking to life as her gaze lifted from the floor to the world outside her home. And there he was. Watching her.

She sucked in a breath so sharply it burned her throat.

The figure wasn't adhered at the tree line anymore. No.

He was within the meadow now, far closer than before. Standing there, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, like he was out for a evening stroll in his casual attire.

Like he wasn't some creepy, silent menace who had been haunting her nights. The hood of his dark sweatshirt was pulled over his head, but it didn't obscure his gaze.

Those damn glowing orbs were fixated on her, unblinking, like a wolf studying its prey.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world around them held its breath.

Rose felt like prey caught in a hunter's sights, frozen, heartbeat thundering in her ears.

Why weren't the curtains drawn? Did she forget that most important task of the day?

Is it the drugs that made her forget that she forgot and stepped down into the open view?

On a more crucial note; he wasn't supposed to be this close. He wasn't supposed to move from his usual spot.

Was the house's protection failing? Was the warding radius not as big as she initially thought?

Rose's gaze flitted to the door to make sure it was locked since it has a mind of it's own.

The relief of seeing the locks in place was short lived as soon as she noticed the missing large cross hanging on it.

And then his head tilted slightly catching her attention irrevocably.

A slow, languid motion, as if he were studying something new. Something interesting. His gaze roamed—deliberate, unhurried—starting at her face, then dragging down her body.

Rose frowned, then followed his gaze, and—

Oh.

Oh no.

A mortified gasp tore from her lips as she realized what he was looking at.

Her legs. Her very bare legs. And her tiny, absolutely inadequate pajama shorts.

Oh god.

A full-body flush surged up her neck, her arms, burning every inch of her skin. And suddenly, she was hyperaware of everything.

How her tank top was also embarrassingly short, how a sliver of her stomach and belly button was exposed.

The darned summer heat of the day made her dress like a hooker.

She was basically putting on a free show like a stripper for a man who did not need any encouragement to keep watching her.

His head tilted a little more, the movement glacial, as if he was *thoroughly enjoying* whatever thoughts were running through his mind.

Then, his hands slipped from his pockets, and he shifted his stance slightly, as though he were getting more comfortable for the view.

Oh, hell no.

Rose snapped out of her paralysis, frantically looking around for something—anything—to cover herself up.

Her gaze landed on the fleece blanket draped over the couch, and she lunged for it, yanking it around herself like a shield.

Her fingers clenched around the fabric, her pulse erratic, her breath shaky as she stole another glance outside.

He hadn't moved.

But he had noticed.

Something flickered in those eerie golden eyes—amusement, maybe? A dark glint of something unreadable, something unsettling. 

In Rose's evaluation of her shadowed visitor, she also noticed a crucial fact; Where has that cross gone? The one on the door, the biggest one.

And then, as if this situation wasn't already humiliating enough—

"Are you looking for this?"