Page 38 of A Touch of Dark
Apparently, I don’t.
“So, how does the injection work?” My throat goes dry as I eye the syringe still tucked into his free hand. The liquid catches what little light there is, giving off a faint shimmer. “You said it lasts for an hour.”
“Typically. But one may perceive even a minute of being immobilized as an eternity.”
He’s not even being clever with the threats anymore. They spring from him like knives, conveying the one thing he seems hesitant to say directly.You can’t handle this.
“So why do it?” I ask. “Someone doesn’t have to be frozen for you to touch them.”
He laughs again and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“If you have to ask, then you don’t really understand my art as you claim to,sí?”
His words have me eyeing my painting again. Oh. As implied, the answer is in plain sight. There was no physical reason for his method. No, his motives are purely psychological. Every stroke captured the model’s desperation. Her fear.
“Shouldn’t you do this in your studio?” I ask. He doesn’t have a briefcase with him, or canvas, or any other supplies.
“No,” he says, his face illuminated by another flash of lightning. Thunder crashes, and the light in the room grows dimmer, swallowed by roving storm clouds.
I stiffen, ready for the fear. Visions of the forest. Simon. Anything but him.
Damien won’t be banished so easily. He remains, tilting his syringe for my benefit. “This is merely for you to get a taste of just what you’re requesting. I don’t tailor my methods for anyone.”
“And I’m not asking you to.” Though why is that, exactly? I couldn’t say.
My toes curl into the carpet as if to hinder every slow, careful step I take toward him. I stop just beyond his reach. If he comes for me, I can react. Or so I tell myself. “How do I know you won’t kill me?”
“You don’t.” His voice falls flat.
“Fine, then.” I tilt my chin and desperately try to combat the tremor in my voice. “What if you rape me while I’m like this?”
“Oh, but it wouldn’t be rape, would it? In case you’ve forgotten my terms, you submit to me for however long you’re under the drug’s influence.”
He sounds too damn smug. As if he’s well aware of my pounding heartbeat. He wants to scare me—and he has.
“So…I’d have to trust you,” I say, much more for my benefit than to score a reaction from him. But that word. It makes his upper lip pull back from his teeth.
“You’dsubmit.”
“And everyone does this?” I shouldn’t sound so hollow. So calm. Not when I can barely coax any air to go into my lungs.
He says nothing, letting me piece the answer together on my own. I’m not sure how long we stand there in silence before he finally taps the tip of his cane against the floor. “Goodnight, Ms. Thorne—”
“So we’ll do it here, then?” I inch toward the couch. That strip of expensive leather and padding has never seemed so menacing. Damien’s presence can turn everyday objects into new and unusual weapons of torture. I’ve walked this path a million times and never felt this sharp, aching thrill. “Or the bed?”
But I’m already sitting down, painfully aware of him behind me. He has yet to move away from the door. Maybe he won’t. A sharp hiss is my only warning that once again I’ve foiled his expectations. For good or bad?
I’ll worry about the answer later.
Minutes trickle by. Far too long. I’m freezing, still wearing only my towel. I should change. I start to rise and nearly jump out of my skin as a sharp thud shatters the silence, too close to be thunder.
“Sit,” Damien commands.
From the corner of my eye, I see him lift his cane, the source of the sound. My legs fold like lawn chairs, depositing me right back down.
“S-should I get dressed?” I ask him.
“No.” Slow, steady footsteps bring him to me.
