Page 41 of Dark Promise

“Oh, I will,” I promise, scooping up another handful of snow.

But before I can throw it, Nikolai closes the distance between us, catching me off guard. His hands come down on my waist again, and this time, he lifts me effortlessly off the ground, spinning me around.

“Cheater!” I squeal, half-laughing, half-protesting as he sets me down, my feet sinking into the snow.

He leans in, his breath warm against my ear despite the cold. “Cheaters always win, Sabina.”

I turn to face him, my laughter fading as our eyes meet. His expression is unguarded, his usual mask of control slipping justenough for me to see the man beneath it. The playful smirk lingers, but there’s something deeper there, something that sends a ripple of heat through me despite the freezing air.

“You’re impossible,” I whisper, my voice soft, almost lost in the wind.

“And you’re infuriating,” he murmurs back, his lips curving into a faint smile. “But I wouldn’t change a thing.”

For a moment, the world seems to still. The snow falls in gentle flurries around us, the wind quieting as if even nature is holding its breath. And in that moment, standing there in the cold with his hands on my waist, I realize just how dangerous this man is—not because of his power or his darkness, but because of the way he makes me feel. Like I could fall for him completely, without reservation.

But reality always intrudes. The wind picks up again, biting through the layers of clothing. Nikolai steps back, his expression shifting.

“Let’s get you inside before you freeze,” he says, his tone light, but the moment lingers like an unfinished sentence.

By evening, the storm grows louder, battering the cabin with renewed fury. Inside, the air changes, subtle at first. The laughter fades, replaced by something quieter, heavier. I feel it in the way Nikolai watches me, his gaze lingering too long, his movements slower, more deliberate.

The fire crackles in the hearth, the shadows flickering over the room, and I’m suddenly too aware of every breath, every inch of space between us—or how little of it there is.

I catch his eye from across the room, and my pulse quickens. There’s something in the way he looks at me, something unrelenting, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. His expression is unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze pins me in place, making it impossible to look away.

The air feels heavier now, charged with something I can’t quite name. My heart pounds against my ribs as the silence between us deepens, stretching taut like a thread about to snap. Nikolai doesn’t move, but his presence presses against me, demanding, consuming.

I swallow hard, my breath shaky as I realize what’s coming.

The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the generator and the crackling of the fire in the stove. The soft golden glow bathes Nikolai in light, casting shadows across his cheekbones, making him look more like a predator than a man. My heart pounds as I sit on the edge of the bed, unable to look away from him. He stands at the foot of the bed, his pale blue eyes locked onto mine, his body still and controlled, but the intensity radiating from him is anything but calm.

“Stand up,” he says, his voice low and commanding, the sound sliding over my skin like velvet.

I hesitate for only a heartbeat before I rise to my feet. My breaths are shallow, my pulse a steady drumbeat in my ears. His gaze doesn’t waver, doesn’t soften, and the weight of it makes my skin flush, makes me feel bare even though I’m still fully clothed.

“Take off your shirt,” he murmurs, his voice a quiet dare.

I blink at him, the heat rising in my cheeks.

“What if I say no?” I ask, the challenge in my voice shaky but there.

His lips curl into a slow, wicked smile. “You won’t.”

And he’s right. Because the tension in the room is electric, the air charged with a shimmer of lust and need I don’t want to resist. My hands tremble slightly as I reach for the hem of my sweatshirt, pulling it over my head and letting it fall to the floor. I stand there, my breasts bared to his hungry gaze, the firelight painting my skin in shades of gold and shadow.

“Good girl,” he says, the words a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine.

Something about the way he says it—low, deliberate, possessive—makes my knees weak. He steps closer, his movements slow, deliberate, until he’s just inches away. His hand lifts, and his fingers trace the line of my jaw, down the column of my throat, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“Do you trust me, Sabina?” he asks, his voice a soft growl.

“Yes,” I whisper, the word tumbling out before I can stop it. Because I do. I shouldn’t, but I do.

His hand moves to my wrist, his grip firm but not rough, as he lifts my arm and guides it behind my back. His other hand captures my other wrist, pinning them both with ease. The position forces my chest forward, the air leaving my lungs in a shaky exhale as I feel the press of his body, the hard, unyielding strength of him.

“Tell me your fantasy,” he says, his breath warm against my ear. “I want to hear you say it.”

I swallow hard, my body trembling with a mixture of anticipation and nerves.

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