Page 87 of Claimed By the Damned

Madness glints in his eyes, a sick, unwavering certainty. He lifts his hand, slow, deliberate.

His fingers graze my jaw, featherlight but feeling like a brand. My skin crawls, vile heat twisting low in my belly. I force myself to stay still, not flinch, not give him the satisfaction. There is nowhere to go but I press back against the door, wishing I could melt through it and vanish. The knot of dread coils deeper inside.

His palm settles over my stomach.

Air whooshes from my lungs as my body instinctively recoils.

“Did you really think you could keep this from me?” Kolya murmurs, his voice almost tender—a mockery of comfort. “That I wouldn’t know?”

A violent shudder racks my frame. My throat closes, strangling the words. But I have to say it. Make him understand.

"It’s not yours."

Silence.

Terrifying, suffocating silence.

Then—something shifts in him. The smooth mask of patience cracks, splintering like glass. Raw, unfiltered rage bleeds into his eyes. He is suddenly monstrous.

His fingers curl against my stomach, the grip tightening, possessive, digging in until it bruises.

"Lies," he snarls, the word slashing through the silence like a blade.

I suck in a harsh breath, my pulse hammering against my ribs. My muscles tense, escape plans flashing—none viable. Nowhere to run.

He truly believes the baby is his. No matter what I say, he will never accept the truth.

Panic squeezes my throat, cutting off my air.

I swallow hard, voice barely a whisper. "You won’t win."

Kolya tilts his head, considering me, lips curling into something not quite a smile. He leans closer, his breath warm and sickeningly intimate against my skin, lips brushing my ear.

“Oh, my Pet, I already have.”

The car starts moving, pulling away from the alley.My world narrows to the heavy weight of Kolya's hand on my stomach and one sickening thought: No one knows I'm gone."

I don't ask where we're going. The dread settling in my bones tells me everything.

Kolya is taking mehome.

And this time, he'll make sure I can never leave.

The car slows as we approach the massive estate; bile rises in my throat, hot and acidic. The wrought-iron gates loom ahead, intricate swirls and spikes catching the dim light. As they creak open, a sound like a coffin lid sealing shut, dread seeps through me, cold and suffocating.

My prison.

I had spent years trapped inside these walls, suffocated by the illusion of luxury. Now, as the SUV rolls up the long, winding driveway, it feels even more sinister.

The mansion rises against the evening sky, an oppressive block of black marble that seems to swallow the light. Sharp-edged and imposing, its polished surface reflects no warmth. Tall, narrow windows barred with ornate wrought iron give it the look of a luxurious prison, while imposing columns cast long shadows over the manicured lawn. A stark, chilling contrast to the sprawling, comfortable house I just left, where sunlight streamed through open windows and the air, even in tense times, hummed with the undercurrent of shared life, of their protective warmth.

It feels dead inside; a mausoleum built to showcase power, devoid of life. The moment the car stops, the door swings open. Kolya steps out first, adjusting his suit as if this is merely another evening. I hesitate, fingers trembling as I clutch my dress fabric. I don’t want to step out.

But I have no choice.

Kolya’s grip on my arm is firm, deceptively gentle as he helps me out. His touch makes my skin crawl.

"Welcome home, my wife," he murmurs, his voice a caress that makes my skin crawl.

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