Page 162 of The Harbinger

Where had she come from, and why was she the thorn I couldn’t part ways with? What about her distinguished her from the rest, and why did it affect me so much?

My fingers ached to touch her, having resisted further in the shower and after bandaging her arm. I’d be hard-pressed to admit regret. I should’ve called Sergei, but instead, I’d taken my anger out on Ivan for nearly letting my most prized possession get away.

But I was no better if I thought about it. I’d ignored her need for a doctor to satiate the thirst for revenge.

Asmodeus would be so proud.

And even now.

I’d slaked my lust, ignoring her cries of pain as I shot bolts of electricity across her skin, her wound bleeding. I’d buried myself deep inside, planting little pieces of myself as I went.

She was forevermine.

Bound inblood.

Wouldtheysee that tonight? Would they see the darkness I’d left behind, tainting what little light she had left? What would Ruslan say?

Did I care?

She stirred in her sleep, the gentle movement of her arms pulling beneath her body as if searching for something. With a soft groan, she rotated and settled onto her stomach, the black silk sheet twisted around her waist, leaving her mark on full display.

A series of freckles—moles—formed the perfect pentagram.

“I can feel you staring at me.” Her chest rose with a deep breath as she turned her head my way, her heavy lids still closed.

“What does that feel like?”

“Burning on my neck. Like someone put fire too close to my skin.”

I scooted further down onto the bed and tossed an arm over her back, my fingers tracing her shoulder blades, then to the mark Ina spoke about.

“Maybe it’s your paranoia?”

A smile pulled at her lips, creating a small wrinkle at the corners of her mouth I wanted to kiss. “Were you watching me?”

“Maybe.”

“Well then,” she said, turning on her side with a groan, then winced as she lay on her bandaged arm. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I tucked my arm under my head. “Hmm.”

She took in a deep breath and shifted. “I have something to tell you.”

My thumb traced over her shoulder to her elbow, then gripped her hand and brought it to my lips. “With that lead-up, it better be good.” I kissed her cut-up palms, my tongue swiping over each nick and scrape.

“I think… I think I might be nineteen. At least, that was the calculation I made when this memory I had came up.” She stumbled over her words as my lips froze over her hand. “It’s better than being underage and finding out after… all of this…” She flitted her hand into the air. “You know?”

I inhaled her luscious honey scent, my lips still pressed to her hand. I had a feeling she was young, but nineteen? That would make her fifteen years my junior, a significant gap indeed. Yet, my parents’ union was not much different, only a mere decade separating them, and theirs was an arranged marriage created by the church.

“Will you say something?”

“There’s… nothing to say.”

“You aren’t bothered by—”

“It’d be a little too late, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

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