The Predator's Gaze
I know this feeling.
The moment a blade presses against your throat — this is exactly what it feels like.
Gulp.
Killian Knox and I were at least ten paces apart.
Yet the razor-sharp tip of an invisible knife seemed to dig into the soft flesh beneath my chin, sending a chill racing down my spine.
“Stop.”
Damn it.
I clenched my teeth and slowly turned around.
Once again, my eyes met Killian Knox’s.
From the day my entire family was slaughtered, the survival instinct that had protected me for thirteen years within the Wickers identified the man before me as the ultimate predator.
My blood ran cold in an instant, sharpening every sense in my body to an excruciating degree.
The way his damp hair clung to his forehead and swayed gently looked strangely slow.
Plop. Plop.
The sound of him carelessly undoing the blood-soaked buttons of his shirt struck my eardrums like thunder.
When his long, powerful legs shifted and turned the tips of his shoes toward me, the air grew so taut I could feel it against my skin.
“Is there… anything else you require, my lord?”
I forced the words out, bowing my head with meticulous politeness.
Thankfully, my voice came out steady and calm.
A sharp gaze bored into the top of my head for a moment before Killian Knox spoke again, his tone languid.
“Pour the bath oil.”
Are you kidding me?!
If I followed my instincts, I would have sprinted out of the bathroom — no, out of the entire mansion.
“Yes, my lord. Understood.”
I kept my head lowered so our eyes wouldn’t meet again and quietly walked over to the side of the tub.
He… hasn’t noticed, right?
If Killian Knox had suspected me, the moment I stepped into this bathroom I would have ended up like that spy from earlier.
Which meant there was still hope.
I can survive this!
But that relief lasted only a second. The sight of dozens upon dozens of different bath oils left me dizzy.
How the hell was I supposed to know which scent Killian Knox preferred?
During my time with the Wickers, information about Killian Knox had been the most difficult thing to obtain.
No matter how thoroughly I interrogated spies and informants, the only answer I ever received was that he “shows interest in nothing and likes nothing.”
Huh… that one…?
As I chewed on my lip, desperately racking my brain, my eyes landed on a familiar bottle.
The pale green liquid was oil extracted from the geltus plant, usually used for treating muscle pain.
It was the most effective thing for removing the stench of blood that clung to the body, so I had used it often myself.
It wasn’t typically used as bath oil, but here it was.
I poured the geltus oil into the tub with a generous glug-glug, then stirred the water roughly with the large wooden paddle beside it. The milky oil quickly dispersed through the bath.
Fortunately, Killian Knox no longer seemed to be paying any attention to me.
He was completely focused on undressing. The only sounds filling the bathroom were the occasional soft rustle of fabric.
Just then, someone else entered the bathroom without warning.
“Hmm? You’re still here?”
It was Dupont Clancher, the man who had ordered me to prepare the bath.
He glanced between me and Killian Knox, then waved his hand dismissively.
“That’s enough. You may leave now.”
Yes!
Thank you so much, Dupont!
“Understood.”
I gave a quick, deep bow toward Killian and practically fled from the bathroom.
I barely made it back to my room before my legs gave out. I leaned my back against the door and slid slowly to the floor.
I didn’t even have the strength to reach the bed.
“Crazy…”
A groan slipped out between the fingers covering my mouth.
My heart was pounding so violently it actually hurt.
“I almost died back there.”
So this is what it feels like to stick your head inside a beast’s jaws and pull it back out.
I kept rubbing my face with dry hands and let out another deep sigh.
“…I survived.”
For some reason, Killian Knox’s decadent eyes and that smooth, bare skin kept flashing in my mind like the pages of a cheap erotic novel.
But in a situation where I had nearly died, such thoughts were quickly forgotten.
Killian’s gaze clung heavily to the back of the small-framed operative as he scurried out of the room like his tail was on fire.
But only for a moment.
With a flick of his fingertips, he tore away the blood-soaked clothes that clung annoyingly to his body like wet paper. He walked toward the tub, rolling his neck from side to side.
Every time he stretched his long legs and moved with lazy grace, the muscles rippling across his entire body writhed like living things.
There are two kinds of people in this world.
Those who look bigger with their clothes on, and those who look bigger with their clothes off.
Killian Knox, the Duke of Knox and Dupont’s master, was most definitely the latter.
To Killian, clothing was little more than camouflage.
The moment he undid the buttons, he revealed his true nature — like a wild beast freed from its collar.
Even Dupont, who had been born into the Clancher family — loyal vassals of the Knox bloodline — and had served at his side for years, would occasionally flinch at the sight.
When stripped of clothing, Killian was ferocious. Dangerous.
His body, perfectly proportioned without a single wasted inch, moved with the flawless precision of a meticulously engineered machine.
And Dupont knew all too well the monstrous strength that body possessed — strength that surpassed human limits.
Crushing a man like an overripe tomato, as he had done earlier, was as effortless for Killian as lifting an empty teacup.
“Dupont.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Killian, who had been reclining in the enormous tub with his eyes closed so that his long lashes cast shadows across his face, spoke quietly.
“How many times has this been now?”
Dupont’s body stiffened.
“…The third time, Your Grace.”
Lately, spies had been popping up inside the organization with alarming frequency.
The intelligence division had done its best to weed them out, but three had been discovered directly by the boss himself.
The order to identify their origins and patch the security breaches had fallen to Grayer Knox, head of the intelligence division.
Yet he continued to fail.
Dupont lowered his head, thinking, Is today the day Grayer Knox dies?
The fact that he shared blood with the Duke meant nothing.
Under the name of Knox, everyone knelt at Killian’s feet.
“……”
But no matter how long he waited, the order condemning Grayer Knox never came.
Splash.
With the sound of flowing water, Killian lazily swept his hair back.
It was hard to believe this was the same man who had torn a spy in half with his bare hands moments ago. He looked more like a seductive work of art.
Dupont realized that Grayer Knox had already vanished without a trace from Killian’s mind.
I thought he wouldn’t let it slide this time.
Though inwardly puzzled, Dupont stopped trying to read his master’s thoughts.
Even he, who had grown up alongside Killian like a brother, could never truly understand what went on inside that head.
In moments like these, the wisest course was simply to assume He must have a plan and wait for orders.
“What about the matter I asked you to investigate?”
“Ah, you mean Helena Morton, Your Grace?”
“Yes.”
Killian’s golden eyes, half-lidded, shimmered hazily through the steam.
“That woman is no ordinary person.”
Dupont shook his head as he answered.
“Who would have thought a survivor of the Morton family had been hiding inside the Wickers all this time.”
It had happened roughly a year ago — an unprecedented incident within the Wickers, who had long coveted the seat of the Knox Duchy.
The protagonist of that incident was Helena, who had gained fame as the adjutant to Viscount Edward Wickers.
An orphan who began as a street pickpocket in the Wickers’ territory, she had climbed the complex, tightly woven organizational ladder at breakneck speed.
After making a name for herself as an assassin, she soon gathered the information she obtained during missions and established her own intelligence unit within the Wickers.
Three years.
That was all it took for her to completely disrupt the Knox intelligence division with her newly formed unit and establish herself as a new power within the Wickers.
Rumors even circulated that Edward Wickers cherished her so much he kept her constantly at his side — that their relationship went far beyond that of successor and closest aide.
Then, a year ago, Helena suddenly murdered Count Benedict Wickers and vanished.
“She was apparently just one step away from being granted the family name.”
The Wickers had a unique tradition: those recognized by the organization were bestowed with the surname “Wickers,” the same as the ruling family.
It was both a mark of solid authority and a warning that anyone who touched that person would become the target of the Wickers’ infamous “blood revenge.”
“She hid so perfectly that we couldn’t find a single trace. It may be… beyond my capabilities, Your Grace.”
Dupont sighed, pressing his fingers against the deep furrow between his brows.
Helena of the Wickers had been disgustingly competent.
Many within the Knox, especially Grayer Knox — who had suffered utter defeat in the intelligence war — would grind their teeth at the mere mention of her name.
When news spread that she had suddenly killed Benedict Wickers and fled, Grayer Knox’s household held celebratory feasts for days on end.
The reason was simple: now that she was being hunted by the Wickers’ wolves, Helena was as good as dead.
But that was all.
Until urgent reports began flying into the Knox intelligence division.
The surname Morton carried special meaning within the Knox Duchy.
“Isn’t she the woman who spent thirteen years sharpening her blade for revenge against her own family? When the Morton household was massacred, Helena Morton was only ten years old. The fact that she began moving for revenge at such a young age…”
It was honestly terrifying.
What kind of eyes would a human with that much venom possess?
However—
“Find her.”
It was a single command.
“Find Helena Morton and bring her before me.”