Page 143 of Black Castle

Then his shadow disappears as he leans back into his chair, head thrown against the headrest, his eyes snapping shut.

She doesn’t question it when, instead of driving her to the apartment right after he picks her up from school like he always does, he takes the road leading to her house.

“I need to attend something outside town,” he answers as if reading the unspoken question on her lips.

Relief washes over her. A reprieve, a brief moment without him breathing down her neck, manipulating her thoughts, twisting her world into something unrecognizable.

There used to be a man she adored and a monster who lived inside him. But it’s been so long since she was in the company of that kind man that every memory of him has faded away. Because all she sees is the illusion of what was never there. There has been just a predator spinning a web, feigning tenderness until she was too entangled to escape.

There’s no such thing as Zev Raskovic and Lucan Raskovic.

Zev is Lucan and Lucan is Zev.

It’s been four days, and the image of James Fadden still haunts her, replaying in her mind like a horror film on an endless loop. But it’s not just the butchering that has stolen her sanity, keeping her awake at night. It’s not the agonized screams, Zev’s triumphant grin as he watched a video of himself destroying another man.

It was the moment she felt something other than horror. A flicker of something dark. A pulse of twisted exhilaration buried deep in her chest, so miniscule she might have ignored it. But she knows it’s there. And it terrifies her. Because if Zev is determined to drag that darkness to the surface, what happens when she can no longer fight it?

The car pulls into her driveway. Zev leans in, lips brushing against hers with a gentleness that feels like a contradiction. “Be a good girl, hmm?” He leaves featherlight kisses on her jaw, breathing her in as if he can’t get enough. “Be here when I get back.”

She nods, her body betraying her with a shiver when his lips return to hers, capturing them in a short but heated kiss, demanding, marking, possessive, sending electric jolts to the tip of her toes.

“Go,” he orders, his voice husky, layered with yearning as if restraining himself from taking more.

She steps out, and the car doesn’t move until she has reached the doorstep, pushed open the door, and disappeared inside. Only then does the roar of the engine rip through the quiet street, the tires screeching as they reverse out of the driveway.

“When do I get to meet him?” Carla’s voice startles her.

Vivienne’s eyes snap open. Carla is near the kitchen, whisking tea, half shrouded in the shadow. When she steps into the dim light provided by the hallway, there’s something in her eyes, something judgemental.

“I said, when will I get to meet him?”

Vivienne scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Trust me, you don’t wanna.”

She pushes off the door, murmuring, “Good day, by the way,” as she heads to her room.

Carla is known for being really opinionated, and can be quite rude. How many minutes will she spend alive in the company of a crazy, temperamental man?

After lunch, Vivienne attempts to read for a while. She hasn’t been performing well academically lately. She was struggling a little before, but the death of James Fadden plunged her into a state of guilt and despair that depression began to crawl in.

She hadn’t seen the full extent of what Zev did until the news aired. The image of Fadden—nailed to his own bedroom wall, missing arm, severed achilles tendon, splintered fingers, barely breathing—burned itself into her memory.

Schoolwork has become impossible. Her grades are slipping. But she tries so hard because she needs to have enough credit to graduate. Otherwise, she might stay behind another year.

A geography textbook and notebook sits on her table, pen clenched between her fingers, when her phone rings.

Ian.

Maybe she should ignore it. Maybe she should remember what kind of man Zev is when Ian says he needs to see her, that it is urgent.

Maybe she should choose a goodbye over the phone instead of choosing a final one over his safety.

But she doesn’t. And it’s the worst decision she has ever made.

Goodbye words turned into goodbye kisses. And goodbye kisses turned into something more.

Maybe Ian took advantage of her vulnerability. Maybe he just really missed her. Or maybe she was just too stupid. Fifteen minutes of goodbyes turned into thirty minutes of tangled sheets.

Now arriving home, something is off. She senses it before she even makes it to the porch, before she pushes open the door that is already left ajar, and before she sees Carla’s treasured Bible on the floor.

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