Page 77 of The Darkness is Calling
How can a man – whose greatest pleasure in life is watching blood spill – kiss me like this? A man who kills people and makes them suffer simply because he enjoys their screams of pain.
I know his reputation too well not to understand who I am dealing with. I grew up among men like him, but I know he is far worse than most of them.
And yet now, beside me, he is completely different.
As for the things he said while he was deep inside me, I can only believe they were the words of a man drunk on the pleasure we were both feeling in those moments.
He couldn’t have been serious about my wedding.
We both know the consequences of canceling it. Or at least I know mine, because I don’t think he would be too affected.
“I want you in my bed,” he says, calm and serious.
“Technically, this is your bed too.”
“You know what I mean.”
“If you want to sleep with me, you’ll do it here.”
“I don’t sleep in another bed unless I am away in another city on business and sleeping at a hotel.”
I pull away from him just enough to look into those mismatched eyes, the ones I know will haunt my nights and thoughts for the rest of my life.
“Meaning you don’t sleep with anyone else unless you’re at a hotel?”
A crease appears between his brows.
“I have never slept with anyone else in the same bed. Except you.”
“I can’t believe that...” I whisper, making him press his lips in a thin line, displeased by my disbelief.
“I never lie, dusha moya. I’ve told you that before. Lies are used by weak and frightened people, and I am neither. I became who I am so I would have enough power to always tell the truth to anyone. Especially you. I’m responsible for everything I do and everything I say, so don’t ever imagine my words are spoken out of impulse.”
I freeze at his entire declaration and blink a few times, trying to find my words.
“And then... what you said earlier, about the wedding...”
“You will break the engagement.”
His voice is loaded with the power he possesses.
I pull away from him, agitated and confused, sitting up while he calmly rises onto one elbow, watching me impassively.
“That decision is not yours, Artem.”
He lifts one beautifully shaped brow, as black as the tousled hair that makes him look much younger.
“The hell it isn’t.”
“No. You can’t impose this on me, and you can’t interfere in this.”
“Ekaterina. I can, and I will. In both cases.”
“You’re insane.”
“Debatable. There is no doctor alive who could support your theory.”
I stare at him, wide-eyed, completely distracted from the main subject of our conversation.
