Page 41 of The Darkness is Calling

The brief conversation we had before I fell asleep relaxed and unsettled me in equal measure, even if, by the end, I was more confused than when we started and had more questions than I wanted. Still, it helped me glimpse a small side of him that seemed almost human – almost – one I feel I might be able to deal with during my stay in this house.

But I still have to spend two nights in his room.

And just like that, I am annoyed all over again.

Half an hour later, I go to the kitchen, where Yaroslav is eating breakfast in silence. Aside from a brief greeting, he says nothing, continuing to read something on his tablet.

Polina, a woman of about fifty-five, plump, but with a round, lovely face and the same kind of smile she always wears, prepares me an omelet after the short instructions I give her when she asks. But the table is filled with every kind of food you could imagine for breakfast.

From croissants with butter or chocolate, to five types of jam and syrups for pancakes or toast. A platter of cheeses and sliced meat sits beside them, and there is also a large bowl of fruit, including several I do not recognize. The table is richer than a buffet worthy of a five-star hotel.

At first, I suspect it is only for show, but after Sasha appears, his face rumpled and his hair a mess, I realize this is normal, judging by the natural reaction he has after greeting us cheerfully.

“You bought these weird fruits again?” he asks Polina, lifting a clementine between two fingers. “I told you they’re too sweet.”

“And I told you breakfast isn’t only for you. Your brother likes them, so stop complaining. He doesn’t complain when I make you a stack of pancakes.”

Yar, sitting beside him, snatches the clementine from his hand and starts peeling it without taking his eyes off the tablet.

“And bananas?” Sasha exclaims, rolling his eyes theatrically, exactly like a small, spoiled child.

“You know very well who likes them,” she replies, busying herself at the refrigerator.

But her hint does not escape me, and I assume she is referring to the big bad wolf missing from the table.

“I need sweets. I’m still growing, and I burn a lot of energy when I play,” the youngest grumbles, sulking.

Polina mutters something in Russian, probably in response to his statement, then says in a scolding voice. “You nagged me to make you croissants like the ones you ate in Paris,” she begins, grimacing as she speaks. “Well, have I ever been to Paris to know what you ate there? Look, I made them for you, and I haven’t seen you eat any these past few days. Thank God for those brutes from security, otherwise they would have dried out. But if you don’t eat them all today, I’ll beat you so hard I’ll burn all your energy myself.”

No matter how hard I try not to laugh, I barely manage to cover my mouth with the food in my hand, chewing something just so I don’t draw attention.

Yar continues to look absent from everything happening around him, methodically eating his favorite fruit.

“OK! OK!” The blond says, quickly taking a fluffy croissant that collapses appetizingly under the pressure of his fingers. “I’m eating. Stop scolding me. You’re always picking on me...”

“Because you are always loud and demanding,” she snaps back.

“Speaking of demands. Where’s Artem?”

My stomach tightens when the name is mentioned. I didn’t dare ask, even though I kept hoping someone would say something about where he was.

“What does Pakhan have to do with demands?” she asks, confused. “He isn’t demanding at all when it comes to food. Or at least not like you.”

“Not those kinds of demands. Culinary ones. He demands that I wake up early after spending the night in a club. Don’t tell me he’s sleeping.”

Well, with his question, his gaze shifts to me, assuming I know the answer.

In fact, I should, because I slept in his room. But embarrassment still colors my cheeks when I realize everyone in this room knows I spent the night in the bedroom of a man who is not my future husband.

More than that, I slept in his bed.

Beside him.

Fuck.

“Artem left early,” I hear Yaroslav’s deep voice, meant to break the tension I could already feel rising around me. “He’ll be back later.”

“Where did he go?” his brother asks, completely different from three seconds ago, his tone suddenly serious. “Alone?”