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Until Maksim broke her. Slowly, bit by bit, until that light in her eyes dimmed once and for all.
I thought Nikoletta’s mother was the love of my life.
Now—I have a terrible feeling I was wrong. I wanted her with everything I had, but that was the want of a man in his early twenties. A man who, despite the abuse he suffered, didn’t have one damn clue how dark this world could really be.
Twenty-six years have passed since she fell for my best friend—turned enemy. Never in all the years of watching them together did I feel an ounce of possession which takes hold of me now that I’m near Nikoletta again.
I want to punish all who desire her. The need to mark her as mine is a force sweeping through me. I want to spar with her in a way that’s loud and vicious but would be so satisfying when she succumbs.
Every bond born of a godfather and goddaughter withers away with the awareness growing between us. How appropriate that it dies in the confines of this fucking crypt. Fear—a feeling so unfamiliar—flourishes here. Not for me, but for her, for what will happen between us and the damage it will cause to her.
No—less than twenty-four hours and Nikolaj will be here. I won’t let it get any further than it already has. Once he has her, I’m gone.
The sound of water sloshing has me whipping around. Fucking hell, she’s standing there, shivering, water sluicing over her skin, every inch of her bared to me.
“A towel, Kostya.”
I mutter a curse and stalk over to the shelf just out of reach. “Here.” I hold it out without looking at her, but I don’t need to see her face to know what she’s thinking. Her amused laugh, the kind of knowing laughter women possess, it’s a part of her now and it is aimed at me.
“It’s just a body, Konstantin. You’ve seen them before.”
“Child, do not test me.”
“I’m not a child.”
This would all be a hell of a lot easier if she were. “You’re acting like one.”
With the towel tucked securely around her, she shakes back her wet hair and laughs. “No, Kostya. That’s you. You’re unbalanced. I kind of like this side of you.”
The way she reads me steals every thought from my head. So instead of saying anything, all that comes out is a grunt.
She reaches out and settles her palm on my back. Next thing I feel is her forehead leaning against my spine and her jagged exhale. “Everything feels right when you’re with me. It always has, but it’s different now.”
“It can’t be different, Pcholka,” I bite out, my throat thick.
“You’re mad, but it’s not at me. Maybe at yourself.” She pulls away then and I can finally take a deep breath, just to have her steal it away with the words that follow.
“My father sent me away and you just stood by and let him do it. How could you let him do that?”
Little shit. Like I had any choice in the matter. She’s not mine. Stalking to the door, I grab her bag and toss it at her feet. “You got yourself sent away. You hanging out with that stupid girl who liked to write all that fucking nonsense in that fucking journal about me. That's why you were sent away—because of the influences around you.”
“The journal was mine.”
The roaring in my ears crashes over me like a turbulent sea. No. This is not—no. She’s—no. Just no. I can’t form a single fucking coherent thought and if I can’t even work this revelation out in my own head, we’re not going to hash this out here. Out loud. With nowhere to retreat.
“We’re done talking about this.” Every word from those lips leads to a dangerous level of awareness neither of us can afford.
“No. We’re not.” Clutching the towel between her breasts, she takes a step toward me. “It was mine, Kostya. I wrote those words.”
My fucking body is already reacting. Blood charges through me with every step. Despite averting my gaze, my eyes defy me and swing right back to her. “No. You have a crush. Nothing more.”
“And what do you have? I felt you tonight. You were hard. You wanted—”
“No! I will not hear it.”
“You will! You may have me locked in hiding in this crypt, but I will not hide from you for one more minute. Do you hear me? I never wanted to.”
“What are you saying?”
