Page 56 of The Darkness is Calling

I drag my tongue over the bloodstain, then bring it back over her lip, making her share with me the blend of our blood.

As my hand lowers and closes around her slender throat, I drive the knife into the wall behind her and push her back until she is pressed against the cold surface.

Her thighs clench, and I know that small, involuntary gesture pushes me beyond the limit.

“Moya.” There’s no doubt in my voice, looking deep into her eyes.

And I kiss her.

An explosion of starving voices screams inside my head, celebrating the fulfillment of what they have demanded from me since Christmas. I barely hear them, because in my ears there is only the echo of the gasp that escapes her chest when my tongue passes through every last trace of restraint she has left.

With my body pressed completely against hers, I lose myself in desire. She is so warm and small that I could shatter her in a heartbeat.

Only one voice remains strong, the one telling me to tighten my fingers, controlling my hand and forcing me to obey.

I feel the air entering her lungs with increasing difficulty. I feel how my kiss steals the final breath leaving through the lips I devour with the hunger of a man who has been starving for an eternity.

Her fingers grip the flesh of my arms, and a gasp escapes her chest. I recognize the pain in that small sound, and the thought pulls my mind to the hand gripping her throat, to the cut that is probably still bleeding, to her soft skin and the light in her eyes, which I don’t think I’m ready to lose yet.

I want to kill her, but at the same time, I don’t want to lose a single chance to taste those delicious gasps again.

Even the voice that kept ordering me to kill her goes quiet, as if it’s considering the situation too.

We’re caught in a stalemate, until her small fists hit my arms and her moan twists into something even more painful.

My fingers loosen and I begin to caress the fine skin, while my other hand slowly slides down her waist, feeling each rib like something delicate.

Her body relaxes, though she is still trembling in my arms.

My hunger takes another shape, and this time, the starving kiss turns slower and more sensual. Eager only to savor her properly, without rush, without the pressure of my voices, now fed by this new kind of food.

I am not a fan of kissing, and the women I fuck are barely ever touched by me in such an intimate way.

But Ekaterina’s lips are so soft and feel too good for me to stop.

A new obsession ignites fiercely inside my head, because the voice – that, until now, demanded I strangle her until her lips turned blue – is now whispering for me not to stop tasting them, only so I can keep them forever red and swollen from my touch.

A cold shiver slips down my back, reminding me of the frigid reality of the situation we are in.

Not even half an hour has passed since I assured Yaroslav the wedding would happen, and here I am, seducing the bride.

I find the strength inside myself to stop everything, especially the impulse to carry her into the bedroom and savor her soft body. But I can’t do it gently or carefully. I tear myself away, like a bandage I know will hurt.

Because now, after I have tasted her, I don’t know if I can live without having this again.

But I have to. Otherwise, my brothers’ lives will be put in danger.

Maybe hers too.

I take a step back, almost unsteady on my feet, because my body still wants her and tries to return to where it left.

Her taste still lingers on my lips as my gaze rises from her swollen mouth to those eyes watching me in confusion.

Her trembling fingers lift toward the throat reddened by my blood, hers, and by the pressure of my fingers.

“You make me lose control,” I whisper the pathetic excuse, one I have never felt the need to offer anyone.

Until now.