Page 26 of Lord of the Dark

But I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. A quick, calculated smile flashed across my face before I slipped effortlessly into a role, every feature of mine controlled with dramatic precision. My breathing quickened, turned ragged and audible as I let my voice crack as if on the verge of tears. "N-not at all... Christian, please—" I whimpered, feigning terror. My eyes widened in false fear, my body flinching back as if desperate to escape Russo’s mere presence. "—help me. This psycho is threatening me..."

A cold, spiteful smile curled in my gaze, fueled by the cruel satisfaction of exposing him.

For a moment, he looked stunned. He straightened slightly, his eyes opening just enough for me to see the surprise in them. But also something else—a flicker of admiration. His gaze glittered as he recognized the cunning in my play, the devious performance. It was as if he’d discovered a new side of me—one that not only shocked him but thrilled him even more.

Delany took another step forward, chin raised boldly. "Hey, Alex... I think that’s enough, yeah? She said she wants you to back off."

Russo remained motionless at first, like a statue, utterly unfazed by Delany's threats as if they were nothing more than a casual suggestion.

But Delany didn't back down, his patience wearing thin. "Let her go. Now." Though Russo towered over him, Delany was well-built, his stance radiating the resolve of a man who saw no reason to be intimidated. "Russo, still don't get it?" His tone turned openly aggressive. "She wants you gone. Or do I need to rearrange your face?"

At that, Russo slowly straightened with deliberate, icy menace, rolling his eyes as if bored. He rose to his full, imposing height,his gaze flickering between Delany and me before finally locking onto Delany with a piercing, glacial stare. "Fuck off, Delany," he warned, his voice like the crackle of thin ice in winter air—a command that brooked no argument.

Delany squared his shoulders, holding his ground. "You fuck off, Russo."

Russo didn’t react to him. Not really. His head tilted slightly, his eyes finding mine instead. I recognized the unspoken warning: Don’t you dare move.

Delany lunged forward with sudden determination, his fist flashing toward Russo's face—but he was too slow. Far too slow. Russo snatched his wrist mid-air with lightning reflexes, clamping a hand around his head. Without visible effort, he slammed Delany sideways into the wall with brutal force—the sickening crack of skull meeting stone echoing through the night. Delany's body crumpled, unconscious, to the ground.

Dead silence.

My throat clenched shut, heart hammering wildly. I'd watched it all with naked horror, paralyzed, unable to breathe.

"Bitch," Russo muttered, amused, as if he'd just been treated to a particularly entertaining show, straightening his cuffs. "This is entirely your fault." His head tilted slightly, that dark amusement still glinting in his eyes.

I stayed silent. While his attention lingered on Delany's motionless form, I seized my chance. Slowly, near-invisibly, I slipped free of my heels. My pulse roared in my ears. Barefoot now. Ready.

Then—I moved.

With every fiber of my being, I whirled and sprinted in the opposite direction.

As I wove through the shadows, I knew Russo would follow. Part of me shuddered at the thought; another thrived on it. That same dark thrill I'd felt watching him disable Delany withterrifying precision. So ruthless. So cold. So fucking hot.

In these fleeting moments since Russo had crashed into my life, every shred of morality I'd once possessed seemed to fray. With every stride putting distance between us, adrenaline scorched through my veins. The very air vibrated, mirroring my turmoil. Was it truly fear of what Russo might do—or the arousal of seeing how far this dangerous game would push us both?

My lungs burned, breath ragged in the cold night. Behind me, the echo of his footsteps—relentless, rhythmic—assured me he wasn't far.

The garden sprawled ahead like a gothic labyrinth, overgrown foliage whispering in the pallid moonlight, casting ghostly shadows across my path. Every sense was razor-wire taut; every rustle sent jolts of dread through me. Beyond a dense hedge, a pale, stately structure rose against the star-streaked sky. A guesthouse—imposing white stone. I darted toward its rear as the party's music and laughter faded to a distant hum.

My fingers skated over the first door's cool surface—locked. Scheiße! Frustration and fear spiked as I raced to the next, hands trembling while I rattled the knobs in desperation.

Finally—a click. The sound sliced through the silence, time seeming to freeze. I slipped through the gap, eased the door shut behind me, and pressed my back to the icy wood. My heart pounded violently, a deafening drumbeat filling my ears. I barely dared to breathe, straining against the suffocating quiet. My own rapid breaths sounded obscenely loud.

I waited. Listened for footsteps, for any sign of him. The dark desire and terror he ignited in me swirled into a heady, toxic cocktail.

Moonlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the space in an eerie silver glow. I moved cautiously forward, trailing my fingers along the walls, the cool surface rough beneath my touch. Every creak of the floorboards echoed loudly.

I stepped into a spacious living room. The moonlight cast long shadows across minimalist furniture—a large, low coffee table surrounded by an elegant seating arrangement. Modern artwork adorned the walls, abstract shapes and cool tones amplifying the ghostly atmosphere. My gaze darted across the room, searching for hiding spots, but aside from the heavy dark curtains framing the windows, there was little cover. My breathing quickened as I retreated to the foyer, my heart pounding violently. Russo could already be here. The thought nearly froze me in place.

But the entryway stood empty, silent—no sign of him.

Steadying my breath, I crept up the stairs to the first floor. The hallway above was long and narrow, lined with doors standing like silent sentinels guarding the stillness. Each step I took felt unbearably loud, every movement an invitation to the darkness.

Gently, with painstaking care, I tested the first door—locked. The second and third doors refused to yield as well. Frustration coiled inside me as I realized every potential refuge was barred.

I returned to the gallery where the staircase opened onto the upper floor. Slowly, I approached the railing and looked down.

And then I saw him.

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