Page 22 of Lord of the Dark

He grinned, took her hand, and brushed a kiss against her knuckles—a gesture from another era that felt almost surreal in this setting. Then his ice-blue eyes slid to me. "Fiona."

I met his gaze evenly, betraying nothing, though the atmosphere was sinking under my skin. There was something in the air here—more than alcohol and heat. A subterranean, dark tension lurking in every corner of the estate.

"I was almost worried you'd decided against coming tonight."

"You don't know me well, Delany," I replied with an ambiguous smile. "I rarely miss parties of such... quality."

"I should hope not." His gaze lingered a beat too long. "We'll see each other again," he added before turning away, leaving us with a loaded grin.

Around us, life whirled—glowing cocktails, glittering dresses, bare skin dancing in the light. The bass thrummed through the air, vibrating in my bones. I let myself drift into the crowd, my hips adjusting to the rhythm as my fingers traced the cool surface of my glass.

Rachel was already lost in a dance with a stranger, her movements fluid, almost hypnotic. Tom stood apart, smirking at the spectacle—an observer in a world not quite his own.

For a moment, I closed my eyes, surrendering to the electric pulse of the night. The bass pulsed in my marrow; the heat ofdancing bodies mingled with the heavy sweetness of expensive perfume and liquor. It could have been a moment of pure abandon—

Then I felt it. A prickle.

It started deep in my nape, a pull spreading down my spine. My body knew before my mind could place it. An icy whisper threading through the thick, warm night. The air shifted. Just moments ago, it had been heavy with music and carefree laughter—now it was charged with something invisible but undeniable. Anticipation coiled tight in my gut.

I was being watched.

Every muscle tensed, as if my skin had sensed him before my mind could locate him. Slowly, I opened my eyes, letting my gaze skim over the crowd—past glowing glasses, unfamiliar faces, bodies jerking in the strobe lights. Everything was in motion—but I was searching for the stillness between. The shadow that wasn’t dancing. The gaze that wasn’t searching, because it had already found.

He was here. I’d known it all along.

But now—he was getting closer.

I felt it in the goosebumps prickling my arms, in the electric heat draping over my nape like a smothering veil. He had to be watching me—somewhere between the glittering lights and the noise. Yet I couldn’t see him.

My grip on the glass tightened slightly more than necessary. I took a sip, the cool liquid burning momentarily on my tongue before searing down my throat. I relaxed my shoulders, let my head tilt faintly to the side as if surrendering to the rhythm. But my gaze kept searching.

The neon beams flickered, as if an invisible current had surged through the wires. Then—abrupt darkness. A collective murmur rippled through the crowd, followed by scattered shouts of surprise. The first laugh rang out—half-mocking, half-amused."Party over already?"

"Shit, my drink!" A hissed curse, then the bright shatter of glass on tile. But it was all background noise. Because suddenly, I saw him. A shadow. A silhouette that didn’t move. He wasn’t part of the scenery—he was the contrast. The stillness in the heart of excess. My gaze barely grazed him, yet it was enough to fracture something deep inside me.

Russo stood there as if he’d done nothing but watch me all along. And I felt it. That silent claim. That unshakable certainty in his stance—that I was no longer free. A figure apart from the gyrating, laughing crowd. The darkness swallowed everything—except him.

My pulse roared. He waited, letting me feel his presence like a predator who knew his prey was aware of the threat. A familiar tingle crawled down my spine, as if someone had dragged a match over my skin. But if he thought I’d stand there, docile, waiting for him to make his move—he was dead wrong. A rebellious impulse surged in me. The urge to provoke him, to force him out of hiding. If Russo wanted to watch, he’d see what happened when hesitation went too far.

My eyes scanned the crowd for an opening, a distraction—

Then the power returned, and with it, the light.

I spotted Delany. Decisively, I strode toward him and seized his wrist. His body stiffened briefly, startled by my sudden touch, but then he yielded, letting me pull him into the throng.

"Fiona," he purred as I led him through the dancers. "I’d hoped you’d come to me eventually."

I turned, pressed my palms to his shoulders, let my hips sway with the music. His fingers skimmed my waist—confident, a man who believed he held the reins. But Delany was just a means to an end, a pawn in my game of provocation.

Every brush of his hands, every forced contact was calculated—a performance for the night’s true spectator: Russo. My bodytensed under Delany’s touch, not from desire, but from the cold awareness of being watched by my real adversary.

My gaze flickered past Delany’s shoulder, searching the crowd. But Russo was nowhere. Where was he?

Before I could process the unease coiling in my gut, a hand gripped my arm. "There you are!" Rachel pushed through the crowd, grinning. "I was at the bar getting you a drink, but you’re occupied—" She shot a pointed look at Delany, who smirked.

"Fiona’s a coveted dance partner," he remarked, fingers still possessive at my waist.

Rachel laughed—then her eyes darted over my shoulder, widening. A soft "Ohhh!" escaped her before she jerked her chin toward the shadows. "Wait… is that Russo?"

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