Page 20 of The Darkness is Calling

But I quickly shake off the forbidden fantasy.

Fuck...

The fact that I cannot have something I crave so badly is turning me into a spoiled, sullen child. So I let out a heavy breath and continue my thought.

“And second, I need a toy.”

Yar and Sasha exchange a tense look, understanding exactly what I mean.

“We have an idiot at the warehouse who tried to steal a few weapons from the last shipment,” Yar informs me, watching me closely.

My inner voices purr.

It isn’t exactly what they want, but it should be enough to calm me down.

“Perfect. I’m going to sharpen my knife.”

Chapter 5

Ekaterina

I haven’t played since my father was murdered by someone who, apparently, turned their attention toward me afterward.

The man who supported my passion and wanted me to have a quiet, happy life is gone, cut down by a storm of bullets fired by someone who wanted to make sure he did not survive.

I didn’t even have time to mourn him, because I was thrown into a vortex I could no longer control. I woke up trapped once again in the world I had left behind, taking orders from people I thought were no longer part of my life.

I left Moscow many years ago to put distance between myself and that world.

And here I am, right in the middle of it again. I want to run. To leave everything and

everyone behind, but the only way I can do that is through music.

The moment my fingers touch the keys, I lose myself in a magical world.

Music becomes the air I breathe, and the piano is my only connection to the real world, until even that disappears and becomes part of me. It feels as if I can see the sounds floating in colored waves around me, offering me the most beautiful moments of the day.

Except, near the end of the piece, surrounded by light, a shadow in dark shades of gray and brown shatters my dream, distorting the beautifully tinted rays around me before turning them into black smoke.

I suddenly stop, striking the keys with all my fingers in a chorus of hideous notes that would horrify any composer.

But the image does not disappear. It takes shape behind my closed eyelids, becoming the man with mismatched eyes, that I met earlier.

My melody is not ruined by a fresh image from the last half hour. Instead, it brings an old, almost forgotten memory to the surface, from the Christmas party I attended a few months ago.

I immediately feel my cheeks warm, and I don’t understand why I am having such a naive reaction to such an ordinary memory.

It was the first time I had seen him, and I had no idea who he was. Even though I saw him speaking with my brother, I felt it was better not to show even the slightest curiosity toward the man who, that night, looked like the most beautiful monster I had ever seen.

Dark.

Impeccable.

Dangerous.

His flawless image made you realize that everything about him was attractive. The way he moved among people, or spoke to them, was fascinating.

Masculine.