IRYNA
I hated him.
The words looped through my mind like a venomous mantra, sharp and unrelenting, carving deeper with every pas hims. I hated the way his voice wrapped around me—cool, unyielding, as if my entire existence was just a minor inconvenience in his eternal scheme. I hated the way his gaze lingered, possessive and ancient, like I was a relic he'd unearthed and now claimed as his own. And goodness, I hated—hated—the way my traitorous heart had responded to him, fluttering alive under his touch when it should have withered and died.
Pacing the room felt like the only rebellion I had left. My bare feet slapped against the cold floor, each step a small act of defiance. Behind me, Dark lounged against the wall, all shadows and effortless arrogance, his crimson hair catching the dim light like spilled blood. He watched me with those ocean-blue eyes, endless and unreadable, as if my fury was nothing more than an amusing diversion.
"You can stop glaring at the walls," he drawled, his tone laced with lazy amusement. "They won't magically part for you."
I ignored him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, I pivoted toward the window, where the world outside mocked me with its normalcy. Cars zipped by on distant streets. People hurried along sidewalks, umbrellas up against a light drizzle. Life went on, oblivious. Which meant we were still tethered to the human realm—somehow. My jaw clenched. If the front door was a trap, I'd find another way.
Without sparing him a glance, I strode into the hallway. He didn't move to stop me. Of course not. His confidence was a weapon in itself, the kind that whispered you can't escape me without him needing to say a word. It only fueled the fire in my veins.
The corridor stretched unnaturally long, too quiet, too pristine, like a dream designed to disorient. I flung open doors at random—a sleek kitchen with gleaming utensils that looked too sharp, cabinets stocked with food I had no intention of touching. I yanked open a drawer, my fingers brushing the cool handle of a knife. Temptation flickered, hot and reckless, but I slammed it shut. No. I wasn't there yet.
Further down, a glass door caught my eye, leading to a small, enclosed garden. Hope surged, bitter and desperate. I shoved it open, cool air rushing over my skin like a promise. I stepped out. Nothing happened. My pulse thundered in my ears. Another step. Then another.
I could feel his presence trailing me, a shadow at my back, but he didn't intervene. The arrogance of it boiled my blood—he was so sure I'd fail that he let me try.
Five steps. Ten. Fifteen.
A dull ache bloomed beneath my ribs, subtle at first, like a warning I could brush aside. I kept walking, the garden path crunching under my feet.
Twenty steps.
The ache sharpened into a blade's edge. My breath hitched, but I pushed on.
Thirty.
Pain detonated—searing, vicious, like talons sinking into my heart and twisting. I gasped, hand flying to my chest. "What—"
Another wave crashed through me, stronger, ripping at something deep inside. My heartbeat faltered, erratic and wild. No. I'd survived days without him—days of freedom, of pretending none of this was real. So why now? Why did a few dozen steps feel like my body was betraying me all over again?
I forced one more step. The agony intensified, white-hot and merciless. My knees buckled, and I crumpled to the ground, palms scraping the rough stone. A sob clawed its way up my throat, but I swallowed it down. I wouldn't call for him. I wouldn't beg. I'd rather die here, alone, than prove him right.
The pain twisted deeper, squeezing my lungs until every breath was a battle. My vision blurred, the world tilting. Still, I didn't turn. Didn't reach. My body shook violently, sweat beading on my skin despite the cool air.
Footsteps approached—slow, deliberate, inevitable.
"You are remarkably stubborn," his voice said, calm as ever, laced with that infuriating hint of approval.
"Go away," I rasped, teeth gritted against the fire in my chest.
Another surge hit, and I curled tighter, gasping.
"You will rupture your heart if you continue this," he murmured, closer now.
"Good," I choked out.
Silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Then, "No," he said softly. "It would be... inconvenient."
I tried to push myself up, arms trembling like leaves in a storm. They gave out, and I collapsed fully, the stone cold against my cheek. The pain was a monster now, relentless, tearing me apart from the inside.
His hands gripped my shoulders suddenly, pinning me flat to the ground. I thrashed instinctively. "Let me go!"
"Stop moving."
"I don't want your help!" My nails raked his arms, desperate to shove him off.
He didn't flinch. His hold tightened just enough to immobilize me, his body heat seeping through my clothes like a brand. He leaned down, his breath warm against my ear. "Do you want to die here, without your family ever finding your body?"
The words struck like lightning. My mother's face flashed in my mind—her worried eyes, her gentle hands. The thought of them searching, never knowing... it shattered something inside me. My body went still, resistance crumbling. Slowly, reluctantly, I sagged against the stone.
His arms wrapped around me then, pulling me up and into his chest in one fluid motion. He held me tightly, his embrace unyielding, like iron wrapped in velvet. For a split second, I thought I felt it—a faint tremor running through him, his muscles quivering just enough to make me question if it was real or my imagination. But the pain still raged in my chest, stealing my focus, making every breath a labored rasp.
Tears spilled hot down my cheeks. "Make it stop," I whispered, my voice breaking. My fingers clutched his shirt weakly. "Please... make it stop."
His hand slid to my chin, tilting my face up. Our eyes met—his darkened with something raw, almost feral. Then his mouth descended on mine.
Not the brutal possession from before. This kiss was different—slow, deliberate, achingly soft. His lips brushed mine like a whisper, warm and coaxing, tasting faintly of salt and shadow. He didn't demand; he explored, his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth with gentle insistence until I parted for him. A soft sigh escaped me as he deepened it, his hand cradling the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair. Heat bloomed where our lips met, spreading through my veins like liquid fire, chasing away the agony inch by inch.
I didn't struggle. I couldn't. My body was spent, but more than that—it craved this. I kissed him back, tentative at first, then desperate, my tongue tangling with his in a slow, sensual dance that made my pulse thunder. His taste flooded me—dark and intoxicating, like forbidden wine. My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him flush against me, skin to skin, as if proximity alone could stitch me back together. A low groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating through me, and his free hand slid to my waist, fingers splaying possessively, pressing me tighter against the hard planes of his body.
He lifted me effortlessly, still kissing, his mouth never leaving mine as he carried me back inside. The world blurred around us—the hallway, the door—but I barely noticed. His kisses grew more fervent, more urgent, his tongue stroking mine with a rhythm that sent sparks racing down my spine. By the time my back hit the mattress, I was lost in it, arching into him as his weight settled over me, one thigh nudging between mine. His lips trailed fire along my jaw, nipping softly, then down to my neck. He sucked gently at the pulse point there, teeth grazing just enough to send a shiver through me, heat pooling low in my belly.
Reality snapped back like a whip.
My eyes flew open. "What are you—"
My hand swung before I could think. The slap connected with a sharp crack, my palm stinging from the impact. His head jerked to the side. The room went deadly silent.
Slowly—agonizingly slowly—he turned back to face me. And for the first time since I'd met him... He looked utterly surprised.