Page 25 of Darkest Oblivion
The exertion stole the last of my breath.
My lungs tightened, the cabin tilting, black spots dancing in my vision. I swayed, fighting it, but gravity betrayed me—I crumpled forward.
Strong arms caught me before I hit the floor.
My cheek pressed against his chest, the scent of smoke and sandalwood wrapping around me, unwanted yet dizzying.
My body betrayed me, limp in his embrace, while the steady thrum of his heartbeat anchored me against the void.
He didn’t release me.
His hand cradled the back of my head, his lips brushing my hair as he murmured in Italian, words I couldn’t understand but felt like a vow.
The last thing I heard before darkness claimed me was his whisper, low and certain, meant for me alone:
“You’re mine—whether you fight or fall.”
I woke disoriented, my body heavy, my mind fogged from the asthma attack and exhaustion.
Silk sheets tangled around my legs, cool against my clammy skin, the air scented faintly of lavender and sea salt.
Blinking against the sunlight, I sat up, my heart slamming when I realized—thank God—I was still in my emerald dress, untouched.
But this wasn’t New York.
Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a turquoise sea, sunlight glinting on waves that crashed against a private stretch of sand.
Beyond, olive groves rolled toward the horizon, the hills impossibly green.
My stomach dropped.
Italy?
“No,” I whispered, scrambling out of bed, my bare feet hitting marble so cold it stung.
I pressed my palms to the glass, my breath fogging it, desperate for some illusion I was wrong.
But the Mediterranean stretched endless before me, beautiful and merciless. My prison had a view.
I spun, searching—my phone, my clutch, anything. The inhaler sat neatly on the nightstand, placed there deliberately. My phone was gone. My freedom, gone.
“Someone tell me I’m not in Italy,” I choked to the empty suite, the words ricocheting back at me.
I bolted for the door, yanking the gilded handle. Locked.
My fists pounded until they ached. “Let me out!”
Silence mocked me.
Chapter 7
PENELOPE
Then I heard a creak.
I froze, my heart hammering, my ears straining.
The locked door.
