Page 79 of Shadows of the Past
Akim runs his hands violently through his hair, staring at his little sister as if she’s a complete stranger. Dried tear tracks stain his cheeks, but a new, terrifying flame burns in his eyes now. Because Vera was his friend, too. Because he understands exactly what Zoya's confession truly means and the depth of her betrayal, the destruction she wrought.
"Maksim," Akim says, his voice suddenly detached, hollowed out, "call Dr. Taserovich. Tell him I need an admission. Best psychiatric clinic he has access to."
"NO!" Zoya screams, the sound high-pitched, frantic. "NO, I'M NOT CRAZY! Can't you see I'm doing them a favor? I don't torture them, I don't cut them, they don't bleed!" Her shrieks escalate, raw and unhinged. Julia lunges, clapping a hand over Zoya’s mouth, but Zoya bites down hard, drawing blood.
"Zoya, that's enough!" I snarl, taking a step toward her. She can't escape, not really, but she's unstable, unpredictable, and I don't want to risk chasing her across the entire property.
After making the call, my voice clipped and impersonal as I relay Akim's request, I turn back to my friend. He’s slumped on the floor now, looking like a zombie, utterly vacant.
"Akim," I say, my voice rough. "We have to go." I wish I had words of comfort, something, anything, to offer. But this? Sending her away? It’s the kindest thing we can do for her now. If Ivan finds out what she’s been doing, how much money her actions have cost him over the years…he’ll kill her without a second thought.
My fingers tremble, itching for a blade. I want to make her bleed for Vera, for stealing her light, for shattering my soul with her petty jealousy. But a sliver of rationality cuts through the rage—Zoya isn't just a monster. She's another victim ofthis goddamn house, broken and twisted by the poison that permeates everything here.
Akim shudders, a full-body tremor, then slowly, mechanically, pushes himself to his feet. As he approaches Zoya, fresh tears well in his eyes, spilling silently down his cheeks.
"Please, Akim!" Zoya whispers, her voice suddenly small, childlike. And for a heartbreaking second, I see the girl she used to be five or six years ago—shy, awkward, the girl who baked us sticky buns, the girl everyone else ignored. The girl who somehow lost her grip on reality with every passing day spent surrounded by monsters.
"I love you, Z," Akim chokes out, his own voice thick with unshed tears. "And this is all my fault. I should have gotten you away from here. Hidden you from all this evil. But I was selfish." His voice breaks. "You're all I have left in this world, and I wanted you close. We'll get you help," he promises, his voice cracking. "We'll make you better, I swear." He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of her head.
Zoya shakes her head frantically, tears streaming down her face, but it's no longer her choice.
And as I watch my best friend lead his broken sister away, toward a future locked behind clinic walls, I want to scream at him that it's not just his fault. It's mine, too. We were so focused on saving others, on fighting the darkness, that we were blind to the poison creeping into her soul. We failed Zoya, letting the venom of this house corrupt her until there was nothing left of the girl we once knew.
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Chapter 29
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Julia
The soft clicking of keys pulls me from sleep. I blink, trying to focus on the glowing numbers of the bedside clock.4 a.m.What the hell is he doing awake at this hour?
We're leaving for Chicago later today. I know he needs rest, needs to recharge before whatever fresh hell awaits us there. But when I look toward his desk, there he is. Maksim. Shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose gray sweatpants, headphones clamped over his ears, his intense gaze fixed on the dual monitors casting an eerie blue glow across his face.
I slide out of bed, moving silently on bare feet, but it doesn't matter. He senses me before I even reach him, his fingers finding my thigh, a gentle touch that sends shivers up my spine as he pulls off the headphones.
"Did I wake you?" he murmurs, his voice low, laced with regret and something else, something I can't quite decipher in the predawn stillness.
"Didn't feel you next to me," I whisper back, settling onto his lap, facing him, my arms looping loosely around his neck. His hair is tousled, evidence he managed at least a few hours of sleep, but it's not enough. Not with the weight he carries. My fingers thread gently through the dark strands, trying to smooth the worry lines creasing his forehead.
"What has you so preoccupied at this hour?" I ask softly, leaning forward slightly, my eyes scanning the screens behind him, trying to make sense of the jumble of words and phrases. My brain feels sluggish, still half asleep, even though sunrise is usually my favorite part of the day. The information refuses to coalesce. Then, it hits me.
"Are you learning Spanish?" The question comes out breathlessly, my voice trembling slightly as I turn back to meet his gaze. The gray of his eyes seems lighter in the dim light, almost translucent, and I have to consciously draw air into my lungs to handle the sudden intensity of this moment.
"Started a few nights ago," he admits, a hint of something like shyness in his voice. Even in the near darkness, I can see a faint flush creep up his neck, staining his cheeks. "Don't really have a knack for languages," he adds, his gaze dropping for a fraction of a second, "but I want to understand you."
"But I don't speak Spanish with you," I whisper, leaning in, pressing soft kisses to his cheek, his jawline, needing the contact, the reassurance.
His hands slide down my back, settling possessively on my hips, pulling me closer until my chest brushes against the hard planes of his. The friction sends a jolt straight through me, and I know he feels the way my body instantly reacts, betraying my desperate need for him.
"You do sometimes," he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, rougher, as his mouth finds the sensitive skin of my neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve. "When you're close," he breathes against my skin, his tongue tracing the spot where his teeth had marked me before, "right before you come." His mouth moves higher, finding the shell of my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "When I'm between your legs," he continues, his voice a low growl, "and I bite you, just a little."
His tongue flicks out, tracing the curve of my earlobe, and I know he can feel the slick heat pooling between my legs, soaking through the thin fabric of my nightgown, proof of the havoc he wreaks on me with just his voice, his touch.
"Max," I gasp, my hands fisting in his hair, needing an anchor in the storm he’s unleashing inside me.
"And I want to understand everything," he says, his voice vibrating against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Every word, every sigh, every broken plea. I want it all. In any language. Just for me."
