Page 2 of Sinful Lord

A cold sting pricks my skin as the air shifts again. I can’t hear the approaching footsteps, but I can feel them. They’re as heavy as the weight pressing down against my pounding chest.

The blinds flap again, obscuring my view.

“Who… Who are you?” I whisper, remembering all the warnings my brother and uncle peppered me with after they explained the danger we were in.

I’d brushed them all off.

I was naïve.

Now, I’m in trouble.

Deep trouble.

Still, I was raised by killers. By hard men and even harder women. Instinctively, my clenched fingers unfurl and my hand blindly searches the wall for something to defend myself with.

But even that instinct withers when the drapes die down again. They fall back into place, and in the darkness up ahead, I spot the giant shadow.

It’s even closer now.

I freeze into place as a chill of terror descends upon me.

And then, the shadow steps into a slice of pale moonlight, and the ice cracks.

Ahead, just feet away, stands the intruder, so tall that I can barely see the top of him. He’s split down the middle, half covered in darkness, half in moonlight.

“You…” I croak.

The beautiful monster smiles, his thick lips lifting a pair of heavy cheekbones.

“Hush, princess,” he says, raising a finger to his mouth. “You mustn’t scream… yet.”

Beneath his strong brow shimmers a single icy-blue eye. Silver shards sparkle behind its glare.

My breath catches in my throat. My body refuses to move.

But my eyes aren’t so restricted. They wander down the monster’s hauntingly gorgeous face to the thick neck covered in sharp tattoos. They make his head look like it’s planted on a spike or floating in the darkness, bodyless.

But he isn’t bodyless.

Because below his ink-marked throat, I can see a tight black t-shirt. It’s been partially ripped, revealing a hard, inked-up chest. Steam seems to rise from his skin. His broad shoulders stretch out forever. Another tear in his shirt appears near his abdomen. A hard layer of armored muscle protects his gently heaving ribs.

He softly pants, each breath undercut by a low growl.

“What… what are you doing here?” I quietly beg.

Turning his head, the monster reaches into the endless darkness behind him. The ground trembles.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

Even in a whisper, his voice is so deep it rattles my bones.

My lowered gaze drifts back up again as he pulls something forward. Something even more massive than him.

A small gasp escapes my clenched throat.

“… My painting.”

I know that canvas, and the art splashed across it.