Page 37 of SINS & Riley
Da once told me my great-aunt Tildi diagnosed herself with rabies after being licked by a Pomeranian.
She also carried her will in her purse at all times, just in case a sneeze took her out.
“Seeing a doctor… makes me feel better.”
The silence stretches sharp enough to bleed.
“If you need a doctor, one will be provided. Private. Not that hack.”
“I should get to pick my own.”
He snorts. “If your illnesses are imaginary, Riley, does it matter?”
Touché, evil master. Well played.
“You won’t see that doctor again.”
Dread clamps over my chest. “Is that because he’s dead?”
A beat.
“Answer me.”
“He lives. So long as you don’t return to his office.”
My throat works as I force a nod. “I won’t see him again.”
At least, not in his office.
Fingers crossed he’s still alive and gets me my results.
He wipes a crumb from my lips, his thumb caressing my cheek.
He’s concerned.
I feel the strange need to comfort him. “I’m fine now,” I add, but it comes out defensive. Too defensive.
Another beat of silence.
When he finally speaks, it’s with quiet finality. “You’ll find there’s very little I don’t know about you.”
My stomach twists. I hate how true that feels.
Maybe because part of me is sure he’s right.
“Stop assuming you know me, Zver. You don’t.”
A sound curls from his chest. Not a chuckle, but a dark, possessive ripple. As if my fate was stitched to his the minute we met.
“I know you, Zapretnaya. The shadows you dread. The lies you feed. The taste of your fear when it’s soaked in lust—I crave it. Every beautiful broken edge of you is mine. I worship them all.”
Something fragile cracks inside me. No one’s ever claimed me like this.
Not even Dante.
Then, as if he’s plucked the thought straight out of my head, he asks, “Why do you visit him?”
“Who?”
