Page 48 of The Darkness is Calling

And, my God, seeing them up close, they hold the most beautiful shades of gray, threaded with brown, while the other, with that brown corner, looks like a small gate of hope in a world ruled by death and darkness.

“Are you comfortable, dusha moya?” His voice is low and rough, but one corner of his mouth is slightly raised.

I am not his “soul”, but this is not the moment to ask where such a dose of irony is coming from this early in the morning.

I immediately pull away from his body and try to apologize for such an intrusion, which has undoubtedly colored my cheeks.

“Holy fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

While I apologize, mortified that I climbed all over him in my sleep, I try to sit up. But his hand tightens and presses me back against him, even closer to his chest.

I feel his fingers on my back, holding me in place without much effort, without forcing me, only making it clear that he does not want me to leave.

And I don’t.

I keep looking at his face as he turns it toward the ceiling and closes his eyes.

“Five more minutes,” he asks in that rough voice I have no power against.

I am lost.

I know he is not asleep, because neither am I. But a sense of calm still takes hold of me, and unable to resist, I close my eyes too, savoring this forbidden moment as much as I can.

This closeness is almost intimate, even though there is nothing indecent about it, aside from an erection I am sure he has every morning like any normal man.

Who am I to refuse something like this with the man who has been haunting my dreams for two nights now?

My dreams are my secret from him.

This moment is the secret I share with him.

I don’t know exactly how long we stay like that, but I am almost certain no more and no less than five minutes pass before he turns his head toward me, brushes his nose through my hair, then whispers like an attentive lover. “I have to go.”

Something sparks to life inside me, and I can’t make sense of this unfamiliar emotion.

I don’t know whether there is disappointment in his voice, but my heart wants that to be the feeling carried by those words.

I release him immediately, sitting straight up.

“I know I sometimes sleep strangely, but I didn’t expect to go that far...”

I try to excuse myself, watching him get out of bed, but he turns toward me with a neutral expression.

“It didn’t bother me.”

“But it was inappropriate,” I say quickly. “I shouldn’t have touched you. If anyone finds out...”

“Ekaterina.” One word cuts my rambling into sudden silence. “I didn’t think I needed to explain to you that whatever happens in this house does not go beyond the front door. Anyone who talks knows he is dead the next moment. The same applies to what happens in this room and to the strange way you sleep.”

He pauses, and I think the smile I believed was a product of my imagination earlier now confirms itself as entirely real.

And devastatingly beautiful.

“And believe me, dusha moya, you don’t fall into the category of people who sleep strangely,” he says, almost playful. “You look like someone doing yoga in her dreams...”

But that faint smile disappears very slowly, replaced by a threatening, hungry look.

“...or something else.”