Page 4 of Darkest Craving

Wolfgang picks it up with a slow, deliberate movement, then circles me, leaving a trail of faint sandalwood in his wake.

The cologne lingers all around me, extending its tendrils out to envelop my body.

It catches me in its haze like a web I can’t escape before squeezing until my lungs expel all the oxygen and rely on it for survival. On this man’s scent.

“May I?” Wolfgang’s voice—lovely and carnal—tickles the shell of my ear.

Every sound in the room dulls under the weight of his proximity. I turn my head slightly—just enough to glance back at him.

His gaze meets mine. Steady. Intimate. Unflinching.

There’s no smile. No smirk. Just the unbearable intensity of a man who doesn’t ask questions unless he already knows the answer. A man who doesn’t wait for permission.

My breath hitches. Something hot and electric coils at the base of my spine.

And then—I move.

Not because I want to obey. Not because I’ve decided. But because he's looking at me like that. Because he expects it. Because some dark, terrifying part of me wants to be seen like this.

My fingers reach up, and I slowly gather my hair, dragging it over one shoulder. The back of my neck tingles as I expose it to the open air—to him.

I don’t look away. But his gaze lowers to my naked skin. It lingers there for a moment too long to be adventitious, showing me just how easy it would be to kill me if he wanted to. Then he wraps the jewelry around my neck, tight, fixed above my pulsing veins.

The stones are cold against my skin, and my first instinct is to take the necklace off, despite allowing him to put it on me. My hands reach for the clasp… but stop midway. The last thing I want to do right now is displease him.

When he’s gone, a cowardly voice says in my head. I’ll take it off when he’s gone.

“Aren’t you a precious little thing,” he drawls, coming back around to face me, tilting my chin up. Back to drowning me in his gaze. “Now, what do you say?”

Not a single voice from the crowd dares to intervene. Not my sister, nor my mother, and definitely not my father. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I square my shoulders and try to play it cool as best I can.

Keeping my outstretched hand on the stones, I say, “Thank you. It’s beautiful… You didn’t have to.”

A low hum of approval rumbles from his chest. I get the feeling he’s not responding to what I said, but to something else, something only he can see in his mind when he examines me so closely.

“Truly, a lovely gift,” my mother chirps from the distance. Wolfgang’s eyes don’t leave mine. “C-can we fix you a drink, perhaps? Lina,” she calls for one server, “Get Mr. Rykov some whiskey on the rocks—”

“That won’t be necessary,” he says, my chin dropping an inch when he retracts his hand. “I’m here to collect what’s mine.”

Anya’s whimper reaches my ears. “D-dad?” she calls out.

I turn my face to see him, and Dad has never looked smaller than he does right now.

He chuckles, his nerves obvious in the way he grips his cigar. “We expected you weeks ago, like we discussed. When you didn’t come, we assumed you’d changed your mind.”

“Only an arrogant vermin like yourself would think the Pakhan still tolerates you after what you’ve done. I’m here now. And no, I didn’t change my mind.”

My sister’s lip quivers as she looks at Dad with teary eyes. “Daddy, please…”

The sound seems to twist something in our father’s heart because his casual pretense dies, replaced by a grave expression where his brows draw together.

“Anything else. Take anything else you want, but leave my Anya alone. Please.”

“Ah, begging me already?” A hum of amusement vibrates from Wolfgang’s chest. “Keep going. I quite enjoy it.”

I look around at the crowd and see my father’s friends looking at him.

Pitying him. Anger surges in me at the humiliation Wolfgang is so obviously determined to show in front of everyone.

He wants my father to suffer, and he wants the entire world to know who’s causing the suffering.

That’s what you get for betraying the Pakhan ’s trust.

Slowly, so painfully slow, my father lowers himself to his knees, never leaving Wolfgang’s stare. I can’t believe he’s doing it.

“Please, I am begging you—”

Wolfgang lifts a finger into the air, reducing Dad to silence in the awkward position. Then, taking his phone out of the pocket of his slacks, he seamlessly dials a number that almost immediately picks up.

“You were right,” he says into the microphone. “He’s on his knees right now.”

I’m standing so close to him I can hear the other person on the other line.

“Of course he is. You owe me ten bucks.”

Ten bucks. He did this for ten bucks, when he’s a goddamn billionaire.

My hands clench into fists, nostrils flared at the humiliation he inflicts on my entire family. Making a mockery of us in front of everyone we know. In front of people who will laugh about this later, when this shitshow is over. Fire licks at my veins as I imagine the things they’re going to say.

The call ends as abruptly as it started. Wolfgang pockets his phone, then crosses his arms at his chest before bringing a hand to his chin. To those lush, sculpted lips, as if he’s considering what to do next. It’s all a pretense, by the looks of it.

He already knows exactly what he wants, and the shadows swimming in those cognac-colored irises prove it. I want to pry my eyes away from him, but he drags my gaze back when he speaks again.

“Very well, then. Anya stays.”

The entire room seems to sigh with relief. But not me. It can’t be that easy—whatever else he’s about to ask for in return will be much worse.

And when he turns to me, the look on his face confirms it.

“Say goodbye to your family, Victoria. We’re leaving.”

I can physically feel the blood draining from my face.

The room spins, a white haze webbing my vision, turning everyone around me into eerie ghosts. Into silhouettes I no longer recognize. I step back, and as if on cue, Wolfgang takes my hand.

The scars and calluses of his skin feel foreign to my body, and like an anchor, it’s enough to stop my mind from drifting. His touch sizzles, burns , takes control of me like a malevolent spell I can’t revoke.

This can’t be happening. It can’t. It can’t.

“My apologies for the short notice, love,” he murmurs. “But you’re coming home with me tonight.”