Page 52 of Nocturne

“Don’t leave me,” I plead.

I see something intense and primal pass in his eyes, but I’m too desperate and scared to focus on it. Instead, I try to keep my bottom lip from wobbling so that I don’t end up crying into his shirt like I did in Nocturne.

“I don’t want to be alone. Not today,” my voice does break at the end.

He looks down at me while I wait with a bated breath for his reply. A moment later, he turns away, brushing his nose with his thumb before he shakes his head. He then turns back to me, removes his coat when I shiver slightly at a heavy gust of wind and drapes my body with it.

“Behave,” he warns before he motions me to follow him.

I think, for the first time today, I smile genuinely as I thank him.

He probably doesn’t know what he has done, but I’d forever be thankful for what he is doing for me today.

Fourteen

Zagan

Noir Vaultis no place for the weak, nor is it for the merely wealthy.

This casino? It's a den of monsters, hungry for blood, cloaked in the skins of rich men and powerful leaders. Their claws stay sheathed when they’re out in the world, but here, they indulge freely in their vices, bartering power for secrets, for leverage over one another.

After a certain point, money isn’t the thing that makes a man powerful anymore. It’s information. Leverage. Favours owed to you and only you. That’s what separates the men who make it from the men who end up dead.

Noir Vault’s exclusivity has a price: entry isn’t for the faint-hearted. Every guest knows the rules because they know they’re being watched by someone worse than themselves. The thought keeps them in line.

There’s no space for innocence here—nothing pure, nothing fragile. Which is why she sticks out like a sore fucking thumb.

She's sitting on a barstool, cupping a hot drink the bartender must have served her. Her cheeks are pink, and the tip of her nose, too. Her big, innocent eyes watch Eero as he fills her in with whatever story he’s dredged up, and she listens, actually listens.

I never see that. It’s rare enough to find Eero socialising, but for him to voluntarily stick around and talk? That's damn near impossible. This time, he offered before I could even give him a reason. Maybe he thought he was doing me a favour by babysitting her.

It’s good.

Better for me.

Because when Ara’s around, I’m distracted, off-balance. She’s the only woman who’s ever tested my control like this, the only one who has me fighting urges I thought I’d killed long ago.

Once, I prided myself on discipline. I wasn’t the type of man who had to dip his cock into any woman in reach. That’s for my soldiers, the ones who can’t control the monster in them. Me? I don’t play those games. I fuck to get it out of my system and then show them to the door.

I hate it when people touch me. Close proximity alone is enough to set me on edge and make me want to snap necks and get rid of every hand in sight. I’m hardly what they would call a gentleman.

But Ara? Ara is different. I don’t only want to fuck her into oblivion; I want to consume her. I want her on my bed, moaning beneath me, her skin under my teeth while I rut into her. I want to see that blush spread down her throat, over those tantalising curves. I want to hear her gasp, cry out, scream, her voice hoarse as she falls apart, as I mark her.

The thought makes me pause.

Where are these thoughts coming from? And why the hell can’t I ignore them?

I take a slow sip of whiskey, letting the burn distract me.

I’ve got business with Dark Accord members in a few minutes, and I need my head on straight. But I can’t focus, not when she’s out there. Even inside the warmth of the casino, she still hasn’t taken off my coat.

I watched her earlier, her nose dipping to the collar, inhaling. I thought I was imagining it, but she shook her head again, like she’d caught herself. Her little mannerisms amuse me, against my better judgment. She’s downright adorable, a fawn trapped among jackals.

Adorable. I never thought I’d have something like that in my dictionary or would ever even find a use for it.

I can see the patrons eyeing her from their tables, trying to figure her out. Women come here, sure, but they’re here because they know how to play the game. It’s obvious Ara doesn’t belong, and it’s just as obvious she’s got their attention.

They won’t approach her, though, not with Eero at her side. My executioner may seem to be having his fun, but even the densest men here know he’s as dangerous as they come. It’s a rare man who’d risk crossing Eero.

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