Page 62 of The Darkness is Calling

“Is this better?”

It is a thousand times better, but I don’t say that.

I only nod.

This whole thing is pure madness, and in just a few days, it has slipped completely out of control.

Trying to control at least some of the pain in my voice, I keep my voice low. “What the hell are we doing here, Artem?”

His voice is calm. “Sleeping.”

“Is that what we were doing in the bathroom?”

He sights.

“You have no idea how hard it is for me to control myself around you, dusha moya. But you saw how far I can go. And you don’t want to know what I wanted to do to you that Christmas night.”

“What do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer.

This time, I turn in his arms until I am facing him, looking directly into the eyes whose incredible color I can barely see in the dark.

“Tell me.”

I can see he hesitates, but he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and answers quietly.

“To fuck you. To kill you.”

“And would you really have done all that?”

“Yes.”

He does not even blink when he confesses all of it with devastating honesty.

My stomach tightens, and I become increasingly aware of the danger I was just a few minutes ago.

“Then why did you stop earlier?”

His fingers continue to caress my cheek, tracing my face with a tenderness that feels almost unreal.

Artem speaks about death and how he would have killed me without caring about the consequences or my life. But right now, his touch and his warm gaze are telling me the exact opposite.

Maybe this is the behavior of a true psychopath, one for whom even death is an act of affection.

And in my own madness, knowing what he can do to me, I still feel safe with him.

Something is wrong with me too, because instead of running from this man, I press my cheek against his warm palm while his eyes search mine.

“Because back then, I did not care whether you existed. Now things are different.”

“Because you are responsible for my safety until the wedding,” I conclude on my own, but he doesn’t answer.

Instead, he presses his lips to my forehead and whispers,

“It’s late. Let’s go to sleep.”

“You’re doing it again! Ending the conversation whenever you want. That isn’t fair,” I mutter, frustrated.