Page 84 of Lord of the Dark

"So, what do you think?" he asked, eyes bright. "Isn’t this amazing?"

"Yes, it’s beautiful," I said, though my tone lacked the enthusiasm it should have carried.

Carter didn’t seem to notice. He stood, drew back the curtains, and let the golden Roman afternoon flood the room. "Look at this," he said, stepping onto the terrace. "We have the perfect view of the city!"

I followed slowly, standing beside him as my gaze swept over the panorama. In the distance, the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica rose like the city’s beating heart, terracotta rooftops stretching to the horizon. It was breathtaking.

"I’ll get us drinks," Carter said, heading back inside. "We should toast—to us and this incredible trip!"

I nodded absently, lingering on the terrace. The warm breeze tugged at my hair, and for a moment, I closed my eyes, trying to lose myself in the hum of the city.

Carter returned with two glasses of champagne, handing me one. "To Rome," he said.

"To Rome," I echoed with a smile.

We clinked glasses, and I took a sip, the bubbles dancing on my tongue. Carter was affectionate, attentive—the same man who had shown me such patience these past weeks. We had rebuilt something between us, and for a moment, I wanted to believe everything was fine again.

But deep inside, the shadow remained. A gnawing emptiness I couldn’t shake. I wanted to love Carter the way he deserved, to give myself to him completely. And yet, I still felt—sometimes—that something was missing. Like a void I had to ignore with allmy strength, just to preserve the fragile normalcy we had fought so hard to reclaim.

"Let's explore the city," Carter suggested, setting his glass down on the table. "Rome is waiting for us."

I nodded and forced myself to rally. Maybe I could distract myself. Maybe I could leave this feeling of being torn behind if I just focused on the beauty of this city.

We set out to wander Rome’s narrow streets. The sun had sunk lower now, casting the city in golden light. The sounds of life were everywhere—street musicians playing, tourists laughing and snapping photos, locals lounging outside cafés, savoring the evening.

Carter held my hand, and I tried to match his steps, to share his excitement. The evening passed in an endless stream of impressions—the Colosseum, the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain. Carter was enthralled, unable to get enough of the city. But Rome’s beauty couldn’t soothe the restlessness inside me.

When we finally returned to our hotel, I felt exhausted—not just physically, but emotionally. The muted elegance of the room greeted us with the cool indifference of luxury hotels: neutral walls, softly padded silence, flawlessly folded pillows. Carter lay beside me on the bed, his movements careful, his eyes searching, hopeful. I knew this moment would come. This trip wasn’t just a vacation—it was his attempt to save us. He still believed in us. And that hurt more than anything.

He moved closer, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Fiona, you’re so beautiful, you know that?" he whispered, his voice warm in a way that should have shaken me to my core. I forced a smile, feeling the movement of my lips without knowing if it reached my heart.

With tender certainty, he turned me onto my back, his hands gliding over my sides as if to frame me, preserve me. His lipsgrazed my forehead, my cheek—so gentle it almost hurt. Every look from him was a plea. For closeness. For love. For me.

But inside me, there was only emptiness. A deep, smothering fog pushing between us. I felt his touch, but my body remained silent. No echo, no tremor, no desire. Just the cold realization that I no longer belonged to him. Maybe I never really had.

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on him—on his gentle hands, his familiarity. On the man who had never hurt me. But what I felt instead wasn’t his skin against mine. It was a memory.

Of the man who had never spared me—and because of that, lived deeper inside me than anyone else.

I didn’t feel him as a thought.

But as a physical presence.

Suddenly, he was there. His shadow, his scent, his voice—filling the room, demanding, inescapable. I remembered his gaze, that dark fire in his eyes that asked no questions, only took. And his hands—hard, deliberate, uncompromising—how they had held me, forced me, claimed me until I barely recognized myself. He hadn’t treated me like something fragile. Not like a creature to be protected.

But like an equal opponent—someone who should withstand him.

And grow stronger for it.

His tongue at my throat, his teeth at my shoulder, the ragged sound of his breath when I screamed because he had pushed me past a limit I never would have dared cross. He forced me to let go. To lose myself. And in that loss, I found something I had never felt with Carter: raw, untamed ecstasy.

I was the object of his lust.

I was part of his desire—his challenge, his addiction.

And the more I fought him, the harder he demanded.

Every grip, every thrust was a vow: You belong to me.

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