Page 47 of Marked By His Touch
I need to find my moment. The room is a stage set for seduction, a carefully curated illusion of intimacy. Candlelight casts long, dancing shadows across the polished table, the sparkle of silver reflecting in the wine glasses. There’s a scent of fresh flowers in the air, a heady sweetness that lingers in my throat. I wonder if they're from Ms. Pennyfeather's flower shop?
Nikolai pulls out my chair, a gesture of chivalry that feels utterly out of place. He smiles, a warmth radiating from his eyes that contradicts the ruthlessness I've witnessed.
We sit across from each other. He pours me a glass of wine, a rich, velvety red. "Drink," he says, his voice a soft murmur. "Enjoy—moment."
“This feels—surreal,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. My gaze is fixed on the wine glass.
“Don’t you find—exciting?” he asks, leaning closer, his eyes intent, his gaze burning into me. “You and me here—dinner.”
“It's intense,” I reply, a single word that feels inadequate to encompass what I feel about all of this.
He nods slowly and glances towards the bed. “Intense. Is how I like it.”
His words make me shiver.
He pours himself a glass of wine; his movements are smooth. He takes a long sip, savoring the moment. Then, he turns his eyes on me, holding mine captive.
“Tell me about yourself, Anya,” he says. His eyes are a deep, mesmerizing brown. “Who are you—really?”
“What do you want to know?” I ask, trying to maintain a neutral expression, my mind racing, searching for a way to answer without revealing too much. Without losing focus.
He leans forward, his smile suggestive. “Tell me your past, your dreams, your—-desires.I have missed—much.”
What is he talking about? Missed much? He’s talking like he knows me.
I take a sip of wine, trying to buy some time to think. “I grew up in Port Haven,” I say, my voice carefully neutral. “My parents—we were happy. A normal life.”
“Normal,” he says, his lips curving into a slight smile. “What normal mean? What normal?”
“You know what normal is,” I say, my voice rising, a tremor of defiance in it. “It’s not this, it's not this life. It’s not being forced to do things I don’t want.”
He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that makes the hairs on my neck stand on end.He's enjoying this, enjoying my anger.
"You came here, remember? You strong,Anya," he says, his eyes gleaming. "You have fire in you. I find it—fascinating."
“Stop calling me Anya. My name isAva,” I hiss.
“So much—anger in you,” he chuckles. “I did not know this.”
"I want you to let the others go. This is your chance to end this, to make things right!"
He laughs again, a cruel, mocking sound. "You so naive, my love. So sweet, so innocent. You believe in justice, in fairness. But in this world, power is—only currency matters. And I have power. All power."
His rings clink against the wine glass as he empties it in one swift gulp. I notice how the veins in his neck throb near his serpent tattoo.He's excited—aroused. He's feeding off this, feeding off my fear.He wants to break me.
"Power doesn't make you right, Nikolai. It doesn't make you good. It doesn’t make you a king."
He leans back, his eyes glinting. "You think you play—what you Americans call it—moral high ground?"
"Maybe," I say, softening my voice, but only a little. "I know one thing—your power doesn't make you invincible. There are always those who fight back. And sometimes, those who fight back are the ones who win."
He smiles, his eyes narrowed, a flicker of amusement in their depths. "I like your spirit. I can see that is—strong."
He reaches for another bottle of wine, pouring me another glass. "Napitok, Anya.It means—drinkin Russian," he says, licking his lips, a suggestive gesture. "Let yourself relax—for one night."
“I don’t want your wine!”
I’ve forgotten my role for a moment. I bite my lip quickly and reel back, pick up the glass, and take a sip. Nikolai is playing with me, playing with my emotions.
