— Where did you get that skirt? — a cold voice behind my back makes me flinch.
I turn around.
Sandr stands opposite me, slowly loosening the knot of his tie and keeping his gaze on me—one in which the predator is no longer hiding. Besides, why would he need to hide? We’re the only ones here.
— I bought it… — my weak voice echoes around the room. Almost like in a tomb.
— Where? Never mind.
Sandr removes a narrow dark ribbon from his neck, winds it around his fist, unbuttons his shirt, baring his sun-brown chest, and takes a step closer:
— Take it off.
My father sheltered me from threats in the house of his friend. Only he could not have imagined that the most terrible danger would be right there—inside the beast’s den, in his hands.