Page 36 of Lord of the Dark

But then I thought of Carter.

His warmth, his steadiness, the way he always understood me with just a look. The night with Russo might have been scorching, all-consuming, but what I had with Carter was real. Solid. Safe. And it was everything I’d ever wanted—or at least, everything I’d convinced myself I wanted.

I pressed my lips together, forcing the images from last night out of my mind—the heat, the tension, the way Russo had challenged me with every touch. I had to bury this. For good.

My eyes skimmed over his messages one last time. Then I deleted them.

A sharp pang shot through me as his name vanished from my screen, as if I could really erase everything that had happened. As if I could shake off this craving, this dark, addictive echo.

Carter was the man I loved. The man I couldn’t hurt. I’d made a mistake—an unforgivable one—and I would do whatever it took to make it right.

My finger hovered over the call button. One last conversation, one final brush of words before I cut Russo out of my life for good—it would be so easy to give in.

But I didn’t. With a sharp exhale, I dropped the phone and leaned back.

The descent into darkness was over.

Twelve

Alessandro Russo

Ijolted awake as if something had yanked me from sleep. No sound, no light—just a bone-deep chill in my limbs and a dull ache throbbing along my spine. I was on the floor. Still. My neck stiff, my back screaming—but that wasn’t why my eyes flew open.

She was gone.

The space beside me was empty, the air still. No rustling, no footsteps, no trace of her warmth. Only the fleeting memory of her skin, the taste of her lips—and the pounding in my skull as I realized she had vanished. Just like that.

I slowly sat up, braced myself on my elbow against the cold weave of the carpet, and let my gaze wander. My neck cracked softly. The room was silent. Foreign. The guesthouse. Delany’s overdone, tastelessly staged hideaway for wealthy narcissists. On this carpet, I had taken her. But now, there was no sign of her left. No dress, no shoes, no note. Nothing that hinted at her.

The night flickered in my mind’s eye. Her moans, scraping against my nerve endings. The metallic clang of her knife hitting the floor. The scratches she left on my skin. My teeth in her flesh. And that look—so controlled yet utterly mad with lust. That was how she had gotten to me. With what she so carefully concealed, she had touched the part of me I otherwise kept sealed with iron discipline.

And now? Now she was gone.

"Fuck!" No woman had ever left without me knowing. Without my permission.

But Fiona didn’t care. My anger wasn’t an explosion. It was a cold current. I let myself fall back, stared at the ceiling. My heart beat far too calmly, far too steadily. As if my body hadn’t realized that everything had just shifted.

I reached for my phone. Unlocked it. Dialed her number. Once. Twice. Nothing. Of course not.

I closed my eyes for a moment, massaged the bridge of my nose. Saw her in my mind—dressing, quiet, quick. Disappearing without looking back. Without regret. Without explanation.

Maybe she was with him now. Back in her everyday life. Beside Vaughn, that fucking loser. Playing the good girl again. And actually believing she could just shake off what had happened between us. But that wasn’t how this worked. Not with me. Not with what she had torn open inside me. I clenched my jaw, dragged a hand through my hair. My skin still smelled like her. My muscles burned from her. My mind was already working.

She thought she could just leave. But she hadn’t considered that by doing so, she was doing the one thing that made me unstoppable. She made me hungry.

What I wanted, I got. And I wanted Fiona.

At any cost.

Morning training was usually the time when I could gather myself and order my thoughts. But as I ran through the cool air, feeling the rhythm of my heartbeat, my muscles straining with every stride, I couldn’t find my usual focus. Instead, her face kept surfacing in my mind—her smile, the way she had looked at me—and finally, the emptiness she had left behind. Even as I pushed the pace, trying to shove the thoughts away, they crept back relentlessly. I was distracted, unable to start the morning with the determination that usually came so naturally to me.

Later than usual, I sat in my first appointment, a meeting with my executives. But even the still-familiar streets at this hour and the steady hum of the engine provided no distraction. Again andagain, I caught myself glancing at my phone, hoping she would finally respond. The time that had passed without any reaction from her felt like weeks, even though it had only been a few hours. It wasn’t just desire driving me—it was that fascination, her singular personality that refused to be controlled. She had stepped out of my life as if I were just one of many, as if everything we had shared was interchangeable. That coldness made my blood boil.

I sat at the head of the long conference table and let my gaze glide over the faces in front of me. Normally, this moment was the epitome of my control—every movement, every slightest nuance I could observe and interpret. But today, my concentration refused to cooperate. No matter how hard I tried, my thoughts kept circling back to Fiona. The way she had looked at me, the fire in her eyes that had haunted me through the night and into the morning.

A law partner’s voice reached my ears only dimly, as if through a veil. Someone in the room was discussing strategic options for the upcoming quarter, but the usual interest I had for such details was absent today. My thoughts kept dragging me back—back to that night, how she moved in my lap, writhed beneath me, screamed my name in ecstasy. And to the audacity with which she had simply walked away. No message, no word. As if I were just a fleeting memory she erased the moment it became inconvenient. But to me, Fiona had long been more than a memory. She was like a splinter under my skin, one that had embedded itself far too deep, far too quickly. Damn it, I was fucked.

I took a deep breath, trying to maintain my composure.

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