Page 33 of Dark Promise

The bluntness of his answer hits like a slap, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. My pulse stutters, and I can feel my composure slipping.

“Your turn,” he says, his tone neutral, like we’re discussing the weather.

I scramble for something—anything—to turn the attention away from me, away from the way his honesty unsettles me. Suddenly, I wish I had never suggested this game.

“What were you dreaming about last night?” he asks, his voice low and smooth, dragging my focus back to him.

My cheeks flush instantly. “What?”

“You were dreaming,” he says, leaning forward slightly, his voice a silky taunt. “Moaning.”

My skin prickles, heat rising from the base of my spine to the tips of my ears. “Batman,” I blurt before I can stop myself.

Nikolai blinks, caught off guard for the first time. “Excuse me?”

“I had a dream about a guy dressed as Batman.” The words tumble out like an avalanche, unstoppable.

For a moment, there’s silence, his expression unreadable. And then he chuckles—a deep, rumbling sound that wraps around me like smoke, suffocating and enticing all at once.

“Batman,” he repeats, his tone dripping with amusement. “Fascinating.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, but the words lack conviction.

“Let me guess,” he presses, his voice dropping to a dangerous rasp. “He tied you up. Blindfolded you. Took his time.”

My breath hitches, my body reacting to the suggestion before my brain can scream at it to stop. His eyes glint with something predatory, something knowing.

“Or,” he murmurs, his gaze locking onto mine, “am I projecting?”

The fire crackles, casting shadows across his sharp features, and suddenly, the pieces slide into place. My breath catches as the realization slams into me like a freight train.

Holy shit.Batman.

The man at the party—the one who caught me, who called megoddess, who drank vodka and kissed me like he owned me—it wasn’t a stranger.

It was Nikolai.

My chest tightens, the world tilting beneath me as my mind races to catch up. This is why his touch feels familiar, why his presence feels like a trap I can’t escape. The pieces had been there all along, but now they’re glaringly, unmistakably clear.

“You,” I whisper, the word escaping my lips like a curse.

His smirk falters for the briefest of moments, his pale blue eyes narrowing slightly. He knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“Care to elaborate, goddess?” he asks, his voice calm, but there’s a tension in his tone that wasn’t there before.

I stand abruptly. My heart is pounding, my hands trembling, but I refuse to back down. I step closer, my eyes blazing with fury.

“You were him,” I say, my voice trembling, layered with disbelief and anger, and something far more dangerous. “The man at the party. The one who caught me when I fell.”

The man who made me feel seen, heard, understood. The man who made my pulse race. Who has haunted my dreams.

He doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t even blink. Instead, he rises from the couch with a deliberate calm that feels like a storm brewing on the horizon, his presence filling the room until there is no air left to breathe.

“Sabina,” he says, my name a dark, velvet command that makes my pulse stutter.

My fists clench at my sides, a thousand emotions clawing at my chest. Fury, betrayal, and the faintest whisper of longing. A part of me had already known, of course—some deep, treacherous instinct had recognized the way he called me goddess, the way his touch felt both foreign and familiar. But to have it confirmed, to stand here and face the truth...

“You knew,” I whisper, the accusation trembling on my lips. “You knew who I was, and you didn’t say a word.”

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