Chapter 320: Chapter 320: So, Aren’t You Going to Run?
Ann Vaughn’s nerves, which had been tense the whole time, gradually relaxed. As she took a few more steps forward, she inevitably saw the mottled and frightening bloodstains on the carpet by his feet, and her steps suddenly froze.
The strong, pungent smell of blood in the room continuously invaded her breathing, and there was a woman, with a face covered in blood, lying on the woolen carpet, wearing only a short, thin bath towel.
And there stood Cyrus Hawthorne, tall and imposing amidst the blood, his aura chilling and terrifying. In his right hand, he still held a black, blood-dripping dagger, like an Asura who had crawled up from hell, inducing fear in others.
In just an instant, Ann Vaughn seemed somewhat stunned by his cold aura, and the worry on her small face slightly froze.
The fleeting fear in her eyes was caught by Cyrus, who happened to glance at her. He swallowed hard twice, his narrow eyes dim.
It took Ann Vaughn a long time to regain her senses, wanting to walk toward Cyrus Hawthorne.
"Don’t come over!"
The sharp command suddenly forced her to stop, her eyes wide with surprise as she looked at the cold expression of Cyrus, his thin lips tightly pressed into a line.
Why wouldn’t he let her come over?
Cyrus Hawthorne shifted his tall, strong body slightly, unobtrusively blocking Ann Vaughn’s view, and said in a hoarse voice, "Get out."
His hands were stained with too much blood; he would scare her.
And—
He casually lifted his eyes and glanced at Cynthia Vaughn, passed out on the floor with a bloodied face, his restrained scarlet narrow eyes gleaming with a bloodthirsty chill, like a sharp blade about to unsheath.
Suddenly, the hand holding the black dagger was enveloped by a soft, warm little hand. That clear voice, like a ray of sunlight, dispelled all the dark clouds and bloodthirst from around him.
"Your hand is injured," Ann Vaughn said, frowning as she looked at his still-bleeding palm, taking out some topical medicine she carried with her and gently applying it.
All along, she seemed not to notice the woman passed out on the ground, her pretty face earnest, without the slightest hint of abnormality.
"Aren’t you afraid?" Cyrus Hawthorne’s already deep narrow eyes grew even darker, his handsome face calm and unperturbed, but his temples bulged as if suppressing something.
Upon hearing this, Ann Vaughn raised her eyes in confusion, only to unexpectedly meet a pair of fierce black eyes like a hawk’s, causing her to shiver involuntarily.
Her long eyelashes quivered slightly as she lowered her gaze to continue applying medicine to his wound, "Don’t underestimate me, I’m not that timid."
Saying she wasn’t afraid would be a lie. At this moment, the Cyrus Hawthorne before her was vastly different from his usual self, that seemingly tangible sharp aura daunting anyone who dared approach.
Yet somehow, she just wanted to get close.
Cyrus’s thin lips pursed slightly, the hostility between his brows eased slightly, especially where she touched him, igniting dark flames that surged down to his lower abdomen.
His jawline tightened slightly as he withdrew his hand from Ann Vaughn’s grip, saying in a deep voice, "You go out first and let Mark Joyce come in to clean up."
"The medicine hasn’t been applied properly!" Ann Vaughn pouted slightly, stubbornly trying to grab his hand to finish applying the medicine. Unexpectedly, as soon as she touched him, he mercilessly waved her off!
"Don’t touch me." His voice was extremely cold and suppressed, impossible to discern whether it was because he was holding back anger or something else, his back exuding an air of cold aloofness.
Ann Vaughn’s bright eyes shrank, looking at her slightly reddened hand back, her lips parted slightly, and for a moment she was somewhat incredulous.
When she finally came to her senses, an inexplicable grievance suddenly burst from her heart, choking her throat with a bitter intensity.
She fiercely hurled the medicine ointment in her hand against Cyrus’s straight back, her tone decisive and angry, "If you want me to go, I’ll go! No need for you to chase me out!"
Having said that, Ann Vaughn almost immediately turned and walked out.
Fickle, unreasonable, things had been utterly misunderstood!
She just wanted to help him apply medicine to his wound. Since he clearly didn’t appreciate it, why should she stick around, trying to warm up to someone who treated her coldly?!
Better to never meet again in this lifetime!
But just as Ann Vaughn reached the door and angrily yanked the handle open, her soft waist was unexpectedly encircled by strong arms, pinning her against the door!
"Let me go!" Ann Vaughn struggled in resistance as if electrocuted, but he forcibly pinned her hands above her head, pressing down slightly, leaving no gap between their bodies.
The scorching breath enveloped her like being in a furnace, causing Ann Vaughn’s eyes to widen as she tried to break free of his iron grip.
Cyrus looked down, just obscuring the desire and redness about to spill from his eyes, gazing into Ann Vaughn’s misty eyes and blushing nose tip, then suddenly smiled.
The tremor from his chest pressed tightly against her sped Ann Vaughn’s heartbeat for a moment, prompting her to try attacking him with her knee.
In the next moment, however, he pinned her knees, leaving her utterly immobile.
"Whenever I see you," Cyrus’s voice was deep, his gaze on Ann Vaughn scorching and intense, "I want to tear your clothes off and do everything I want to you, even if you cry and beg, I don’t want to let you go."
"So, aren’t you going to run?"
His voice seemed to carry flames capable of burning skin, spraying across Ann Vaughn’s neck through his increasingly restrained and heavy breaths, inducing her to shiver.
She was like a lamb driven to the edge, trapped in the lion’s hug, easily manipulated and bullied, wanting to speak but unable to utter a sound.
In her hazy consciousness, Ann Vaughn seemed to smell the faint scent of desire amidst the blood, and she instantly froze.
Why was there a scent of desire in this room?!
Before she could figure it out, a wave of an unbearably soft and sour feeling suddenly spread through her body, eliciting a soft moan and instantly widening her tear-filled eyes, "You—"
"Do you still want to stay?" Cyrus’s narrow eyes were dark with unabashed desire, staring directly at Ann Vaughn, his grip around her waist tightening ever so slightly.
This Cyrus frightened her somewhat.
Like a beast ready to disassemble and devour her whole, not even spitting out the bones.
Yet somehow, Ann Vaughn had an instinct that he wanted to scare her away, not wanting her to linger here longer.
To avoid...hurting her.
Otherwise, he could completely disregard her feelings and have his way; she had no room for resistance.
Ann Vaughn pursed her soft lips, looking at Cyrus’s increasingly tense face due to restraint, her heart softened.
She rose on tiptoe and lightly kissed the stiff line of the man’s jaw, then quickly shrank away, pretending to be annoyed, "No, I don’t want to!"
Taking advantage of his moment of distraction, Ann Vaughn slipped under his arm, ready to run out.
Sparking then fleeing, truly exhilarating!