The Drunk Intruder

Anya ended the phone call and let her smartphone drop onto the passenger seat. She sat in the silent parking garage for a few minutes longer, her hands gripping the leather steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. The adrenaline crash left her exhausted and hollow. She threw the sedan into gear and drove the rest of the way home in a numb daze, desperate to put as much distance as possible between herself and the corporate building.

By the time she unlocked the door to her third-floor apartment and locked the deadbolt behind her, the microwave clock flashed past one in the morning. She dropped her keys onto the kitchen island with a sharp clatter. She kicked off her heels and changed into a silk nightgown, hoping the familiar comfort of her own space would calm her racing heart.

With a deep yawn, Anya reclined back in her living room desk chair and glanced at the time on her laptop screen. 1:10 A.M. She pressed the heels of her palms against her tired eyes, rubbing them hard before reaching for the mug on the edge of the desk. She took a generous sip of hot chamomile tea, letting the soothing liquid coat her throat, and set the half-filled cup down on the table next to the sofa.

She needed a distraction. She tried to drain the anxiety from her system and decided to pull an all-nighter. She opened the procurement document for Nolan and created a blank page for notes on her laptop. She stared at the blinking cursor.

Nothing happened. She could not focus.

The graphic images of what she had witnessed in Dare’s office were burned permanently into her mind. Every time she blinked, she saw Dare’s massive, naked body. She saw the raw, unrestrained power in his hips as his rigid, thick cock plunged deep into the woman's wet pussy. She could still hear the wet, slick sounds of flesh slapping against flesh. She remembered the sight of his balls swinging with every brutal, animalistic thrust, and the guttural grunts escaping his throat. It was obscene. It was a hardcore pornographic scene playing on a loop in her brain.

"Shit!" Anya hissed.

She slammed the laptop shut after a few more minutes of useless staring. She gave up on the procurement document. The dead silence in her apartment only made the intrusive memories louder. She grabbed her smartphone and tapped open her favorite true-crime podcast, needing the host's familiar, gritty voice to provide some company and drown out her own thoughts.

The podcaster's voice filled the living room, detailing the breaking news about a John Doe found floating in the river near Anya's neighborhood.

According to the host, the authorities pulled the unidentified male from the muddy banks just hours ago. The state of the body was grotesque. The victim was mauled beyond recognition, the torso shredded into ribbons of flesh. Deep, jagged gnaw marks covered the ribcage and shoulders. The police were already issuing public warnings about a rogue animal attack—perhaps a massive bear or a displaced mountain lion.

The most disturbing detail was the head. It was missing. Ripped clean from the neck, leaving a ragged stump of spinal cord and torn arteries. No positive identification could be made.

The podcaster pivoted away from the animal attack theory and leaned into a more sinister angle. He speculated about a psychotic serial killer on the loose. Anya nodded to herself in the empty room. Only an insane, deranged human being could butcher someone like that and take the head as a trophy.

But then the podcast host launched into a bizarre historical tangent. He discussed medieval folklore and the ancient methods used to execute suspected werewolves. He described how paranoid villagers would decapitate the accused shifters, believing that separating the brain from the heart was the only way to sever the cursed bloodline and kill the beast for good.

Anya shook her head in disbelief. She scoffed at the foolish idea of werewolves roaming the modern city.

Her stomach let out a loud, hollow growl. The adrenaline had burned through her dinner, leaving her starved. She left her laptop on the coffee table and walked barefoot into the kitchen. She pulled the refrigerator door open, letting the cold, yellow light wash over her face. She rummaged through the shelves, trying to decide between a leftover turkey sandwich or her housemate Piper’s half-eaten box of pepperoni pizza.

A heavy thud echoed from down the hallway.

Anya gasped. The sound came directly from her bedroom. It sounded like someone heavy had sneaked in through the window, tripped over a piece of furniture, and landed hard on the hardwood floor.

More muffled thuds followed in quick succession.

Anya froze. She stood rigid with the fridge door wide open. Could it be Piper? Why would her roommate be digging around in her bedroom at one in the morning?

She shook her head, trying to rationalize the creeping dread in her chest. She must have left her window open before leaving for work. The autumn wind must have knocked a heavy stack of books or a lamp onto the floor.

She gently pushed the fridge door shut. The kitchen plunged back into shadows. She crept slowly down the hallway, her bare feet making no sound on the floorboards. She glanced to her left and noticed Piper’s door was shut tight. She stopped in front of her own bedroom. She reached out with a trembling hand, turned the cold brass doorknob, and pushed the door inward inch by inch.

She strained her ears, desperately praying to hear the rustle of wind. She prayed it was just her overactive imagination toying with her, fueled by the podcast about the sadistic killer who ripped off John Doe’s head.

"Hello?" she called out into the darkness.

She felt incredibly stupid the second the word left her lips. Calling out meant admitting that a lethal intruder might actually be standing in the shadows of her room. How could anyone even get up here? Her apartment was on the third floor.

Anya reached around the doorframe and flicked the light switch. The room was empty.

She exhaled a shaky breath and stepped inside. Her bedroom window was pushed wide open. The delicate lace curtains billowed inward, carried by a sudden, chilling breeze.

The wind brought something else into the room. A thick, overwhelming scent.

"What the hell is that smell?" she murmured.

It was an indescribable, heavy musk. It smelled of pine needles, damp earth, and raw, feral male sweat. It coated the back of her throat and made the hairs on her arms stand up. There was no mistaking the raw masculinity of the odor. She walked over to the window, pushed the lace curtains aside, and peeked out. She looked down at the deserted, moonlit street below. Nothing moved. There were no ladders, no ropes, no signs of anyone scaling the brick exterior.

Another loud crash shattered the quiet.

This time, the noise came from the living room.

Anya shuddered. She spun around, grabbed the heavy aluminum baseball bat leaning against her bedside table, and charged out of her bedroom.

The sprint down the hallway felt like a marathon. She burst into the living room, her vision adjusting to the dim light. She saw a dark, broad-shouldered silhouette standing near the sofa. Panic took over. She raised the bat high over her shoulder.

"Die, monster! Die!" Anya screamed at the top of her lungs.

She squeezed her eyes shut and swung the metal bat blindly through the air with all her might.

"Anya! Stop, it's me!"

The familiar, panicked voice snapped her out of her frenzy. She opened her eyes and stopped her swing just inches from the intruder's head. There was no monster. It was just her boss. Nolan was curled up on the edge of the sofa, his forearms raised tight in front of his face to block her assault.

"Nolan? What are you doing in my living room!" she shrieked.

"What the fuck, Anya? You could have knocked me out!" Nolan yelled, lowering his arms and staring at the weapon.

Anya dropped the baseball bat. It hit the floor with a loud, metallic clatter. "I am so sorry! I didn't know! I was listening to the news about some decapitated John Doe, and then some weird noises followed in my bedroom!"

Nolan sat upright and rubbed his chest, whining under his breath. "Well, you almost lost it, woman."

"I said I'm sorry." Anya crossed her arms over her chest, her guilt quickly turning into suspicion. Her brows furrowed deeply. "And how did you get in here anyway?"

"I knocked. You didn't open. I tried the doorknob. It was unlocked." Nolan mumbled, refusing to meet her gaze.

Anya scowled at him. "And then what, you decided to just walk in? I know you are my boss, and forgive me for saying this, but what is wrong with you? A normal person would actually wait until someone opens the door for them. They wait to be invited in."

She cast a wary glance around the living room, her senses still on high alert.

"What?" Nolan asked, picking up on her nervous energy.

"I swear I heard a loud thud."

Nolan shook his head. "You clearly need to get some sleep, Anya." He gestured toward the laptop and the scattered stack of paper resting on the coffee table.

"I could not sleep. But do not worry about me. How about you? What are you doing in my living room at such ungodly hours?" Anya demanded, pointing a finger at the clock on the wall.

Nolan chuckled, a bitter, hollow sound. "How am I supposed to sleep after that call? I figured I might just have to start interviewing candidates for your position tonight."

Anya scowled at his dark humor. "Well, I have made up my mind. There is nothing you can say that will change it."

Nolan stood up from the sofa. "Oh! So I need a drink then."

He strolled casually into her kitchen. Anya grunted in sheer frustration and followed him.

"Kind of early for a drink, isn't it? I only have a couple of beers in the fridge, and they are not even mine. I am not a big drinker. You should know that already."

Nolan yanked the fridge door open and grabbed a brown glass bottle. "That is right. I know you, and you know me. And I do not want you to fucking resign."

Anya watched his sloppy movements. His coordination was off. He leaned heavily against the kitchen counter. "Did you drink before coming here?"

Her boss walked past her, returned to the sofa, and dropped onto the cushions. He twisted the cap off, took a long swig of the beer, and slammed the bottle down onto the glass table. "I did. I just had to when you called and told me you want to quit on me."

Anya glared at the bottle. His erratic behavior made her skin crawl. She reached for her forgotten cup of chamomile tea and downed the rest of the cold liquid in one gulp. "You know what? You are overreacting, Nolan."

Nolan shifted his weight on the sofa, sliding much closer to her. Her stomach churned at the intense, heavy sideways glance he threw her way.

"Am I really, Anya? You are one of my closest friends from college. I am sorry, but I cannot help it. I feel terrible that you have suddenly decided to leave the company. It pisses me off to know that I have no idea why." Nolan leaned in, locking his dark eyes onto hers. "Is it me? Have I been too hard on you lately?"

Her eyes unconsciously drifted downward. They landed directly on his lap.

The thick, heavy bulge of his cock strained hard against the fabric of his tailored trousers.

Anya’s breath hitched in her throat. A sudden rush of heat pooled between her thighs. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting a wave of intense arousal. She remembered her shameful, erotic dreams about Nolan. Fantasies where her boss would push her down onto a mattress, parting her thighs and sinking his massive, rock-hard dick deep into her cunt. She remembered the phantom sensation of him stretching her wide open, the deep, animalistic growl vibrating in his chest as he thrust inside her.

She snapped her eyes open, disgusted with her own lack of control. She shook her head.

"No. It is not you. You know what, I am actually tired, and you are a bit tipsy. I obviously still have to work later. So why don't we talk about this tomorrow?" she said, her voice tight and breathless.

"Why don't you tell me now? Did something happen at the office?" Nolan pressed, refusing to let it go.

Anya cringed. The explicit image of Dare fucking that woman on the desk hijacked her brain once again.

"Anya?" Nolan asked softly. His gaze dropped, tracing the exposed line of her collarbone above the silk nightgown.

She pursed her lips into a thin line. Nolan really needed to leave right now. She had spent years keeping her boundaries firm, burying any unprofessional desires. She had zero intention of doing something stupid to ruin their friendship or their working relationship, regardless of how heavy the tension felt in the room.

She shot up from the couch and marched over to the front door, pulling it open. "Later. Let's talk about it later at the office."

Nolan let out a long breath, finally taking the hint. He stood up and walked toward the exit. "Okay. Well, I just really came by to speak to you and convince you to change your mind. Please just think about it, okay?"

Anya gave him a stiff nod. "Good night."

"You too."

"Take care."

"I will." Nolan stepped out into the hallway. He turned around and flashed her a small, lingering smile. "Sweet dreams."