Page 18 of Lord of the Dark

I drew a deep breath and met her gaze.

"I don't, Rachel. But I feel like I absolutely need to discover what lies behind this."

Seven

Fiona Robertson

That morning I had risen early, before the sun climbed above the horizon of Miami Beach. It had become one of my routines, to clear my head—jogging along the promenade. The sand beneath my running shoes, the rush of the waves, and the cool breeze gave me the feeling that here, at least, I had control. It was the one moment of the day when no one wanted anything from me, no deadlines, no phone calls, no unspoken tensions. Just me, my body, and the steady rhythm of my steps on the boardwalk.

The streets were still empty, with only a few other joggers out as well. The sky was tinted a delicate orange as the sun slowly climbed over the Atlantic, the light reflecting off the shimmering waves. I loved this silence, the feeling of moving forward at my own pace. Running gave me the illusion that I could at least control my body, while the rest of my life seemed to spiral further out of control. My steps were even, rhythmic, and with every breath, I tried to sort through the thoughts swirling in my head.

I thought about Carter—about the conversation about our shared future that still wouldn’t let me go. His words had echoed in my mind, as if he had already mapped out our lives down to the smallest detail. Moving in together, marriage, buying a house, children—it seemed like he had it all planned, as if he were following a carefully scripted narrative written for the two of us.

But the more I thought about it, the tighter my throatconstricted. The idea of a shared life with Carter suddenly felt like an invisible chain around my neck. It was the logical next step, I knew that. I loved Carter—he was charming, caring, dependable, the man who had stood by me through the highs and lows of my life. So why did it feel so suffocating now? As if this step into a shared future was pushing me in a direction I didn’t truly want?

My chest tightened at the thought of how final all these decisions—marriage, a life together—seemed. It was as if there would be no more room for myself, as if none of my choices would belong solely to me anymore.

My pulse quickened, not just from exertion. A faint tingling, a sensation of being watched, prickled across my skin. I glanced quickly over my shoulder and saw only the empty boardwalk behind me, but the feeling lingered.

I tried to shake it off, blaming exhaustion and the emotional strain of the past few days. But then, abruptly, I heard the muffled sound of running shoes on sand, growing faster, closer. My heartbeat accelerated—not just from jogging, but because every nerve in my body tensed. I looked back again and this time saw a figure in a black tracksuit, hood pulled low over their face, rapidly closing in on me. When I picked up my pace, so did my pursuer. It was as if their steps grew louder, more deliberate, with each of my quickened breaths. An uneasy fear crawled up inside me, and the cool breeze that had earlier soothed my skin now seemed to freeze every nerve ending. In a moment of panic, I veered sharply off the main promenade and into one of the many narrow side alleys leading toward downtown.

As I sprinted frantically down the narrow alley, I realized my pursuer wasn’t just chasing me—he was toying with me. For a moment, it seemed I had gained some distance. I risked another glance over my shoulder and saw him slow down, almost as if granting me a reprieve. His movements, which had been fluidand menacing just moments before, now appeared relaxed. He jogged with his head slightly lowered, arms swinging loosely, as if this were just another morning run.

But the flicker of relief was short-lived. No sooner had I begun to catch my breath and find my rhythm than he abruptly changed tactics. With terrifying acceleration, he closed the gap between us with an ease that turned my blood to ice. It was as if he’d been waiting for me to show a moment of weakness. His footsteps grew louder now, deliberate, each one echoing ominously through the quiet alley. He let me feel how close he was, only to fall back slightly again—observing, studying my reactions to this cruel game of cat and mouse. The fear that had been a whisper at the nape of my neck now screamed inside my skull. It was as if he were hunting me like a lion, not just to catch his prey, but to break it first. Adrenaline surged wildly through my veins, my breathing turned ragged, and sweat trickled down my forehead, mingling with the cool morning air into a clammy film on my skin. The uncertainty of when he would decide to strike in full nearly drove me mad with terror.

When he accelerated again, it was so sudden I almost stumbled. He was so close now I could almost feel his breath on my neck. The intensity of his presence, the speed with which he erased the distance between us, left no doubt—this wasn’t just a game. It was a display of dominance, of my helplessness. He chased me, controlled every movement, and clearly relished the power he held over me.

Then—a strong hand seized my shoulder in an iron grip. Before I could gasp, it yanked me backward, forcing me to an abrupt halt. Another hand clamped firmly over my mouth before I could make a sound. My heart pounded in a frenzied, uncontrollable rhythm as my body locked in shock. A crushing force pinned me against the cold, rough wall. The brickwork dug into my skin, the unyielding stone as merciless as the grip that held me captive.His breath grazed my ear.

“You should be more careful… danger lurks everywhere, Fiona.”

The deep, dark voice sent terror through me, seizing my lungs. Fuck. It was Russo.

My first impulse was to fight back. He held me as if he could shatter me at any moment—and yet he didn’t. Something in me rebelled against the power he wielded so effortlessly, while another part surrendered to it with terrifying willingness. He pressed me harder against the wall, his body cutting off every escape route, as if to prove how pointless it was to even consider fleeing.

“What the hell—” I gasped out. His fingers loosened from my mouth only slowly.

“So reckless,” he murmured, like he was speaking to a foolish child. “Running alone through dark alleys—as if you were begging to be caught.”

“Who expects a damn stalker?” I hissed furiously before threatening, “I could report you—”

“Really? Tell me, what exactly will you say? That I saved you from your own stupidity?”

“So you’re my savior now? Then why does it feel so wrong?” A strange, irrational admiration for his roughness flickered in me. I didn’t want to admit it, but he was getting under my skin. And I wanted more. “What’s your move now, Russo? Gonna assault me in the dark?”

“Would you like that?” He pressed closer until his heat flooded my veins like an unbearable temptation. My pulse raced as his breath skimmed my cheek. “Why don’t you just say what you really want?” His voice was a dagger dipped in honeyed words.

“Let me go,” I managed only a pathetic, hoarse whisper.

“Say it like you mean it.”

I jerked toward him abruptly. My gaze locked onto his sharp-cut features—an unsettling, ominous beauty. The kind meant not to comfort, but to ruin. The rising sun cast jagged shadows across his face, sharpening the harsh angles of his cheekbones. The hood of his black sweatshirt hid his hair, drawing focus to his dark, fathomless eyes. His lips were so damn tempting. A promise of sin and seduction. I wanted him to kiss me. Wanted it so badly I was on the verge of lunging at him to take what my body ached for. But it was a lie. Like a flower laced with poison—so enchanting you’d reach for it, only to choke on it the next second.

Yet my thoughts were powerless against the throbbing hunger inside me. Unconsciously, my lips parted—just a fraction, barely noticeable. But it was enough for him. The corner of his mouth twitched in mocking amusement. My desire was nothing but entertainment to him.

Rage flared in me, hot and sharp, but as I tried to turn away, his fingers gripped my chin. He made sure I felt that he knew. That he saw right through me. That he decided when I got what I craved. And when I didn’t. Fingertips traced slow, burning patterns along my waist, branding my skin beneath. I opened my mouth to retort—but he didn’t allow it.

“Shhh…” The dark sound was quiet, barely there. Yet a deliberate command. So absolute that I obeyed like I was in a trance. A silent testament to his dominance—and my surrender.

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