Page 55 of His Darkest Obsession
I lift my hand away from her neck, and her hand follows until it rests just in front of my face. Then, I press my lips to her knuckles. "Consider them dead men walking."
A storm of emotions flicker across her face, and she’s never looked more beautiful than this exact moment. Nothing but raw honesty in her hatred and anger. No pretense. No games.
Just pure, undiluted wrath.
"And is there anything else that you might want,printsessa?” I start, my voice soft now.
Indigo's expression shifts. The question seems to surprise her, as if she never considered having options beyond their deaths. She stares at our intertwined hands by my lips and her breathing quickens.
Her teeth catch her bottom lip. Her hazel eyes look away briefly. Almost as if she’s not sure if she dares to say what she truly wants.
Finally, her eyes meet mine again, and a new harsh determination burns behind them.
"I want to look them in the eyes when you take their lives."
I exhale, and realize I’d been holding my breath in anticipation of her answer. And of all the things she could’ve said, thiscertainly wasn't the one I expected. Most people want the comfort of distance. They want the satisfaction of knowing that justice—even if it’s vigilante justice—was served without needing to witness the messy details.
Not Indigo.
She wants to watch. To bear witness. To make sure they know exactly why they're dying.
She wants them tohurt.
My wife is full of surprises.
"You're sure?" I ask, needing her certainty. "Watching a man die isn't something you can unsee."
"I am sure." Her voice doesn't waver. "I want them to know that they’re going to die because of me."
I nod slowly. She wants closure.
"Then you will," I promise, bringing our joined hands to my lips once more. "When I find them—and I will find them—you'll be there. You'll look into their eyes as they realize who you are and why they're dying."
She blinks, and finally, the tear that hangs at the edge of her lashes rolls down her cheek. It draws a long clear line down her face, but her eyes remain just as fierce as before. Because this is the first real promise of justice she's heard since her parents were taken from her.
"Consider it my wedding gift to you," I add. "Every bride deserves something special on her wedding day."
Her lips part slightly, but she says nothing. The unexpected kindness—if arranging murder can be considered kind—has caught her off-guard.
"Thank you," she whispers.
Simple words, but heavy with meaning. Perhaps the first genuine gratitude she's offered since I brought her here.
I release Indigo's hands, noticing how she hesitates before letting go. The spark of vengeance in her eyes transforms her, and makes her dangerous in a way that awakens something primal within me.
I reach for her face and wipe away the tear that now collects at the point of her chin, letting my thumb brush her bottom lip before I pull away. She freezes at the unexpected tenderness and her eyes widen. The soft light of the room swims in those hazel-green depths.
She's still processing everything. The wedding, what happened in her bedroom, these promises of vengeance. And now this unexpected gentleness.
"Mybritvochka," I say softly.
Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What does that mean?"
"Little blade," I translate, seeing her surprise.
"I thought I was yourprintsessa," she says.
"You still are." I lean back in my chair. "But you are also far more dangerous than any princess."
