Page 16 of Nemesync
Miranda caught sight of me as I entered the place. She knew me well, and when she saw how pale I was, she just led me toward the table where June was sitting. I settled in, and my phone vibrated in my bag.
Unknown Number
You’re welcome for the chocolate. But staring at our surroundings insistently is still inappropriate. – Volkov
A chill ran down my spine.
How did he get my number?
‘No need. I already have it.’ That’s what Nikolai had told me. How did Elijah have my number? After all, in this world, finding phone numbers was a standard affair for those entwined in the underground world.
But why did he have it even before I spoke to Nikolai the night in the cemetery?
Elijah Volkov... Interesting.
5
ELIJAH
She steps into the café, and I can finally pull away. This is the first time I’ve seen her up close since this relentless obsession took root within me. I feel it, this thing crawling in the back of my head, urging me to possess her entirely.
So vulnerable.
She is so beautiful, long, ebony hair, porcelain skin, doll-like face, and large amber eyes burning under my skin. Her gaze was all fire and flames, and I couldn’t stop thinking about them.
Her aura is ablaze, it’s fucking bordering on insolence. She’s confident, unapologetic and unrestrained.
Her father’s most feared soldier.
The woman who reads souls—why was I so proud of her for that?
There’s no doubt about her intellectual prowess; I’ve trailed her to university, attended her presentations on criminal psychology—she’s fucking brilliant and deadly.
Forbidden too.
But she’s my obsession and there’s nothing good about obsessions, nothing healthy nor logical. What’s dangerous is that I can’t stop watching her, hiding like a creep every timeshe’s alone. Making sure she’s safe enough and killing anyone who approaches her.
It might be considered stalking, but who cares? Is it really stalking if I just went there to look at her? Maybe but I prefer to call it surveillance.
I find a twisted amusement in the irony in that woman.
She’s exactly what her father envisioned her to be: strong and smart. But she’s not herself. I can sense it.
The time has come, and now that I know who to pursue, she’ll be useful before I possibly end her too, because nothing survives after catching my attention.
Certainly not my addiction.
She’s fierce, with immense potential, but she needs refinement, training. If she wants to succeed, she’ll have to work for it and earn it.
Zanae believed no one else knew the horrors those bastards inflicted upon her that night. She’s right, because we didn’t know how horrible it was.
She doesn’t remember me, nor Niko, nor Ben. But I remember her face, the pain, the trauma.
I remember the rage and fury I felt when I found her alone, her head resting on that other woman’s thighs. No one else was there.
I remember the feeling of her rigid body in my arms—her eyes lost in oblivion, drowning in blood, tears, and darkness.
My heart almost gave out.
