Page 60 of Dark Promise

“Thanks,” I say softly.

My fingertips skim over one of the gold cuffs on my wrists. My dress—a deep emerald green satin that clings to me in all the right places, the thigh-high slit revealing just enough skin to flirt with scandal—is perfectly accented by their rich glow.

I haven’t seen Nikolai since the night Cassio and Luca came for me. But he is a ghost haunting the edges of every thought.

Nadia nudges me, her gaze flicking to the stage. “They’re about to start. Go do your thing.”

I nod, grabbing my champagne flute as I weave through the crowd toward the podium. The microphone feels cold under my fingers as I adjust it, the spotlight bathing me in warmth. I take a deep breath, scanning the sea of faces, many familiar, some not.

“My family and I want to thank you all for being here tonight,” I begin. “As many of you know, this cause is close to my heart. Every dollar raised tonight will go to the shelter, helping animals like Charlie”—I gesture toward Nicole’s cat, who sits regally in her arms, his tiny party hat slightly askew—“find their forever homes.”

Laughter ripples through the crowd as an image of Charlie and his hat is projected on the massive screen behind me. I tell the story of how Nicole found Charlie on the streets, emaciated and scared, and how he’s now the undisputed king of their home. The slideshow shifts to photos of wide-eyed kittens and wagging tails, each image a plea wrapped in innocence. I encourage guests to visit the adjoining room, where some of the shelter’s animals are waiting to meet potential adopters.

The applause is warm and enthusiastic as I step off the stage. Nicole takes over, her enthusiasm and love for the animals carrying the energy forward. My job done, I head toward the bar for another glass of champagne, the adrenaline in my veins fading to something heavier.

And that’s when I feel it.

A shift in the air, like the atmosphere itself recognizes his presence before I do. My pulse quickens, and I turn instinctively, my gaze cutting through the crowd until I find him.

Nikolai is standing near the entrance, the soft glow of the chandeliers accenting his sharp cheekbones and the unruly dark strands curling at his temples. His tuxedo, midnight black and perfectly tailored, clings to his broad shoulders and lean frame like a second skin. The pale blue of his eyes is bright and stark against his dark lashes. His gaze locks on mine. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t move, but the intensity in his expression steals the breath from my lungs. He’s polished but primal, a wolf in the clothing of kings, and for an instant, the rest of the room ceases to exist.

My fingers brush over the cuffs on my wrists. His gaze flicks down, catching the movement, and something dark and possessive flashes in his eyes—a momentary crack in his otherwise unreadable expression.

“Sabina.” The voice startles me, pulling me back to reality. Douglas Scott, all British charm and polished manners, steps into my line of sight. “You look ravishing tonight.”

I force a smile, though it feels brittle. “Douglas. It’s been a while.”

Before he can respond, I feel Nikolai’s presence behind me. His hand brushes the small of my back, and my breath catches. The touch is subtle, the claim unmistakable.

“She’s taken,” Nikolai says, his voice low and lethal.

Douglas blinks, his easy confidence faltering. “I—”

“Go.” Nikolai’s tone leaves no room for argument.

Douglas mutters something under his breath before retreating, disappearing into the crowd without another word.

Nikolai steps in front of me, his hand still lingering at my back, the heat of his touch searing through the silk of my gown.

“Are you—” I start to ask.

“We’ll talk,” he says, his thumb brushing over the cuff on my wrist. “But not here.”

His fingers curl around mine, firm and insistent, and then he leads me away from the crowd. My heart pounds as the noise of the gala fades behind us.

And for the first time since the night I left him at the cabin, I feel fully alive. Not just alive—seen, claimed, and impossibly whole.

22

Nikolai

The ballroom hums with energy,the sound of clinking glasses and laughter mixing with the string quartet’s elegant strains. But all I can see is her. Sabina stands next to a petite blonde I know to be her best friend, though her companion is nothing more than a blur at the edge of my vision. Sabina commands the room in a way she doesn’t even realize—graceful, powerful, and utterly magnetic. The emerald green dress she wears clings to her every curve, the plunging neckline and daring slit revealing just enough to make my pulse thrum. The golden cuffs glinting on her wrists tighten a grip I already have on her, even from across the room.

She’s mine.

The thought isn’t born of possession but of truth, the kind that cuts deeper than I want to admit. I should walk away, let her continue her evening undisturbed. But the second I see another man lean in too close, his hand brushing her arm, something primal inside me snaps.

Now, she is beside me, and I can’t let her go.

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