Page 3 of Darkest Craving

VICTORIA

Present Day

“ O h, yes, Anya is already going to the hotel offices with her father. And this one…” my mother squeezes my shoulders in a rare gesture of affection. “Now that she’s graduating soon, she wants to leave us—go to Europe and become a professor!”

A riding instructor, but she refuses to call it for what it is. Especially in front of others.

I press my lips into a thin line, making eye contact with Alexei, one of my father’s contractors. Based on the forced smile he offers in response, it’s pretty clear he isn’t interested in frivolous conversation. Too bad Mom spotted him in the crowd before Dad did.

An arm wraps around mine, and I turn my head to see Anya by my side.

“Excuse me, could I borrow my sister for a moment? I promise I’ll bring her back.”

Mom’s smile widens as she waves a hand in the air. “Yes, yes, you girls go. Have fun. And save me some of that meringue, will you? People seem to love it.”

“Of course.” Anya nods, pulling me away.

We make our way to the other side of the living room, passing by the strangers at my twenty-second birthday party.

An array of desserts decorate the buffet, all in different shapes and flavors, surrounding a lush chocolate cake with nothing written on it.

Anya nonchalantly swipes a piece of raspberry meringue from the table and stuffs it in her mouth.

Rolling her eyes, she lets out a clipped moan.

“I’m not saving her anything . This is divine. Try one?”

I tilt my head, watching her with a knowing smirk. “Is this why you pulled me away? For the meringues?”

“I was doing you a favor. You looked like you were in pain over there.”

“Yeah, well…” I sigh. “You know Alexei. He’s not much of a chatter.”

I cross my arms and turn my body, facing the crowd—a crowd filled with our parents’ acquaintances.

A group of men, including my father, stand in a circle, smoking cigars and talking in their low, ragged voices over each other.

The women, in pairs or groups of three, scatter around them, occasionally picking up champagne glasses from passing servers.

I don’t think they even know it’s someone’s birthday. Let alone mine.

Normally, I’d be upset about the situation, since this party clearly has nothing to do with me.

But for the first time in weeks, Mom isn’t smoking like a dragon with a nicotine addiction, and Dad is laughing with his associates.

I didn’t think I’d see my family at peace again after the news they dropped on us a few weeks ago.

But that’s just the thing…

Nothing of what Mom said that day at the dining table ended up coming true. Wolfgang Rykov never came to claim Anya as his bride.

Weeks went by, and eventually, business resumed as usual… as if they completely forgave my father’s “mistake,” whatever that was. I try not to worry about it, but how could I not? We’re still living with danger hanging over our heads, and it seems I’m the only one unable to shake it off.

And Wolfgang… Wolfgang …

Those amber eyes still show up in my dreams. Always haunting, always demanding something of me, as if the brief conversation we had somehow bound us forever.

His presence lingers at the back of my mind, and it scares me.

I shouldn’t be thinking about him. What I found out about him tells me as much.

Even though there are no public records of him being convicted of anything, the way people talk about him only says one thing. He’s a killer. A monster with no remorse. And likely, a psychopath. I secretly asked some of Father’s goons, and that’s the impression I got.

They’ve heard of him, of course. Turns out he’s an important figure in the business world, owning a long line of companies both here, in Alemont City, and across the East Coast. How he and his family got that fortune… I didn’t need to ask.

Whatever they do, men like Wolfgang don’t get caught.

They make calculated moves and tie up loose ends before they become liabilities.

Their influence looms over the country like a spider web, and once one gets caught up in it like we did, it’s practically impossible to escape.

No matter how much my parents choose to deny it.

“Seems like they’re having fun,” I say, jerking my head toward Mom and Dad. “They look happy.”

Anya scoffs. “About time. I was getting sick of the constant tension.”

So was I.

But now, our parents carry themselves in a way I haven’t seen them do since our trip to Italy, back when they started making their fortune.

When they were still normal people… when we would still argue over things like who picked what movie to watch on Friday night.

It feels like a lifetime ago. I’ll never not miss it.

My sister looks back at me. “And you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Are you happy?”

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. Am I? I should be. I’ll be leaving soon—I’m only three months away from living by myself in Europe and making a life for myself. So why am I not shouting it from the rooftops?

Anya quirks a brow, so I force a smile. “You know I am. Finally, I’ll get some peace and quiet.”

“Hmm. I think you’ll miss me and the chaos in this house.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be telling me all about it while I—”

The double doors to the living room barge open.

An army of goons walks inside, flooding the crowd and drawing screams from all around me.

The women shrink back, clutching at their husbands’ arms, their eyes darting toward the only exit as the men reach for their guns.

Except… none are being taken out. As if they know exactly who’s coming and they wouldn’t dare put up a fight.

The goons spread through the room in what looks like a practiced formation, creating an empty corridor in the middle. I watch in utter horror, waiting for someone to do something and save us all.

And then… silence.

Pure, undiluted silence, only speared by the rhythm of shoes clacking against the wooden floor. And with the sound, a tall, bloodthirsty shadow stretches out to the opposite side of the room, welcoming a silhouette I hoped I’d never see again.

“A party. How lovely,” Wolfgang Rykov says with his hands folded patiently behind him. “Though it seems the Pakhan ’s invitation has been… misplaced.”

So hungry, so dominant is that figure in the dark, far from where the golden sun dares to shine.

And that voice… that cadence… it rings low, lethal, promising destruction with every word—a stark contrast to the rushed cadence of my racing heart.

It sears along my nerve endings, keeping my body wired, alert.

A subtle shift in his posture—a tilt of his head—brings a sun ray over his eyes. The same eyes that watched me that day, colored like a candle flame, like desert sand burning in torrid heat. I want to exhale, but the air is trapped in my lungs.

I can’t breathe.

“An oversight, I’m sure,” he adds, a smile in his voice that has nothing warm in it.

Standing in that same spot, he scans the room with icy indifference. Only when the sun moves a little, more of him appears in the dying light. And he looks more intimidating than when I last saw him.

A plain black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his veiny forearms reveals all the tattoos I didn’t get to see that day.

The ink is dark—some faded, like they’re old memories, some bright, as if he’s never done inflicting pain on himself.

There are symbols, and then there’s something long, thick, like endless roots coiling around his skin and stretching up his neck.

In a way, it makes him look omniscient, like he’s seen things the rest of us haven’t.

Taut muscles hug his arms, the contrast between his effortless elegance and restrained violence woven into every inch of him.

Cautiously, I lift my gaze inch by inch, and suck in a breath when I realize his gaze is now on me. Only on me.

A flicker of electricity starts somewhere in my chest, traveling down to my shaking fingertips. I don’t realize my lips are parted until I close them to swallow the bitter taste suddenly on my tongue.

“You’ll have to forgive us,” my father says, nervousness seeping out of every word. “We didn’t think this would be worth your time. It’s just a small gathering for our daughter—”

A step forward makes a few more people shrink back. Wolfgang’s brows rise in slight amusement before continuing his trail, each step taking him closer, closer, closer…

The crowd moves around him, and his goons watch them like hawks, anticipating when or who will be stupid enough to strike first.

What is he doing? Why is he heading straight toward me?

Wolfgang’s penetrative gaze welcomes me, and suddenly I’m drowning in the sunset of him. He’s all I see, all I experience for what feels like an eternity, trapped in an hourglass that never runs out of sand.

“Happy birthday, love,” he says, the final word pouring down my skin like warm chocolate. Like molten sin.

“T-thank you.”

His hand rises next to my face, and my eyes instantly snap to the motion, giving away my restlessness. Still, I don’t move away. Not a single inch. I’m frozen in place.

His calloused fingers brush the skin on my temple, gently gripping a rebel strand of platinum-blond hair and tucking it behind my ear.

He lingers—just for a few seconds, but enough to show me he seems fascinated by the movement.

The image of him trembles with my pupils, confusion coiling around me at the intimate gesture.

“Afraid of me?”

“Yes,” I hush out.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Honesty is a rare trait these days. It looks pretty on you.”

His hand finally retracts, only so he can extend it out to the side. Almost immediately, one of his goons approaches with a flat box.

The lid is lifted, and blood-colored gemstones come into view. Five rubies cut in an emerald shape, linked by a string of clear diamonds.