Page 42 of Devil’s Night (The Shadows of Darkness Universe #3)

Chapter thirty

Stolen Moments

Katya

T he blood on his lips isn’t wine.

It clings thick and dark, painting the corner of his mouth with a crimson sheen that doesn't belong in any glass.

My fingers tremble as they brush it away, the warmth of it sticking to my skin like a silent warning.

It tastes like iron and secrets, the kind of taste that seeps into your bones and never washes clean.

The ballroom hums with laughter and clinking glasses just beyond the corridor, but in this stolen moment, we are suspended in something colder, heavier.

"Echo, what the fuck are you doing?" I whisper, my voice a broken thread as I wipe the blood disguised as drink from his lips. His eyes are dull, soulless in a way I’ve never seen before. Not even during the interrogations. Not even in the basement.

"Your father promised," he murmurs, tone low and distant, as if speaking through a haze. "So long as I did this, he wouldn’t drag you in."

I don’t wait. My grip finds his wrist and I yank him down the hallway, our footsteps muffled by ancient rugs and stained indulgence.

The guest room door creaks as I shove him inside, slamming it closed behind us.

The ornate lamp glows dimly on the wall, casting soft shadows across the fine furniture. ..a luxury prison.

"Drag me into what?" I demand, my heartbeat thundering beneath the surface of my skin.

He leans against the wall like he’s seconds from collapse, the sharp planes of his face illuminated just enough to show the madness creeping in. "This," he breathes. "This night. The drinks they pass. The evil that feeds them."

My mouth goes dry. I want to scream, to hit him, to shake the truth out of him. "What was in that drink, Echo?" The words shake loose from my throat, ragged.

He doesn’t move. His silence confirms what I already fear.

"I think you know," he says finally, and something inside me shatters.

Revulsion coils in my gut. “You need to call Roman,” I hiss, urgency rising like bile. “You need to-”

Before I can finish, he grabs me. Slams me back into the wall with more need than violence, his breath hot against my face. He’s trembling. Desperate.

"Roman won’t keep you safe," he growls, voice raw. "No one will. No one but me."

I glare at him, breathing hard, trying to decide if this is madness or love or both twisted into something unrecognizable.

"The drink," I snap, struggling against his grip. "What was in it."

He leans in closer. His lips nearly graze mine.

"Let’s just say your family doesn’t mind bleeding the youth."

Revulsion turns to nausea. I shove him back, staggering as cold realization washes over me.

"Jesus Christ," I whisper. "Why would you come here? Why wouldn’t you run?"

His laugh is bitter, hollow. “Because you needed to see it. All of it. Me. This night. Them. You needed to look me in the eyes and tell me you still stand with them.”

He reaches for me again, not with anger, but with something molten and needy. His hands run down my sides, gripping with just enough pressure to ground me.

"I can’t take down an empire without you," he murmurs, voice sliding over my skin like smoke. "And I sure as hell can’t do it from the outside looking in."

My breath catches as his mouth hovers near the base of my neck.

"You want to take down my family?" I whisper, lost in the heat radiating between us.

His eyes meet mine, glassy but intense. "Don’t you?"

Silence stretches between us, thick with truth I haven’t wanted to face.

"Then what will I have left?" The question isn’t just for him, it’s for the girl I used to be.

His answer is simple. Devastating.

"Me."

That's all it takes.

He pulls me toward the bed, and I go willingly, heart pounding, pulse thrumming beneath my skin like war drums. The second we hit the mattress, everything else disappears. No logic. No betrayal. No blood. Just him. Just us. A tangle of limbs and fury and hunger.

His lips crush mine with reckless hunger, tongue pushing past my teeth like he owns the space, like he’s staking a claim. His fingers tear at the black dress like it’s a lie, a mask, something that needs to be ripped away until there’s nothing left but bare skin and truth.

He groans into my mouth, a sound low and guttural, the kind that makes heat curl in my belly. His hands grip my thighs hard enough to leave marks, dragging me to the edge of the bed like he doesn’t just want me, he needs me. Desperately. Violently.

“Here?” I whisper, breathless.

“In your father’s house,” he growls, voice thick with something darker than lust. “Where he can hear you beg for me.”

His mouth is everywhere, neck, collarbone, chest, lower, burning a trail that makes my spine arch and my thighs fall open without thought. His stubble scrapes my skin, his tongue soothing it after like a damn apology he never means to keep.

“You're mine,” he rasps against my stomach, before biting down just below my navel. “Always have been.”

His fingers slide beneath the thin scrap of lace between my legs, tearing it aside like it’s offensive, like it shouldn’t be there at all.

His thumb presses against my most sensitive spot, slow and brutal.

I cry out, trying to keep quiet, but he catches the sound in a kiss, devouring it like it feeds him.

“You think your father would approve of this?” he murmurs, fingers sinking into me without warning, making my body jerk, breath hitching.

“Echo-”

“You should be afraid,” he whispers, dragging his mouth back up to my ear. “But you’re not, are you?”

“No,” I pant, hips moving against his hand like I’m chasing salvation in the very man sent to destroy me.

He smirks against my throat, then flips me over like I weigh nothing. His belt clinks open behind me, pants hitting the floor, the blunt heat of him pressing against my entrance as he fists my hair and yanks my head back just enough for his lips to brush mine.

“Good,” he mutters. “Because I’m going to ruin you in every room of this house until your father knows exactly who you belong to.”

And then he thrusts, deep, punishing and raw.

Every thought leaves my mind. All I know is this: the way his body feels inside mine, the stretch, the sting, the fullness that makes my toes curl and my eyes roll back.

He fucks me like he’s trying to bury himself in my bones, like the act itself is a brand, one that says mine, mine, mine with every ragged breath. The headboard slams against the wall. The bed creaks. And still, he doesn’t stop.

“You’ll scream for me,” he promises through gritted teeth. “And when you do, you better hope your father’s listening.”

And I do.

God help me, I do.

His grip tightens on my hips as his thrusts turn feral, deep, fast, devastating. Each snap of his body into mine punches a moan from my throat, my spine arching as I shatter all over again beneath him.

He groans my name like it’s the only word he knows, slamming into me one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside me, hot and thick, pulse after pulse, like he’s emptying everything he is into me.

We collapse together in a tangle of limbs and sweat, his chest pressed to my back, his breath hot against my neck. My thighs are shaking. My skin is slick. My body aches in the best, filthiest kind of way.

But Echo doesn’t let go.

His hand wraps around my throat, gently at first, just enough to make me aware of who’s in control. Of what I’ve given him. Of what he’s taken.

“You think I’m done with you?” he murmurs, his voice still thick with lust. “That was just the first round, Butterfly.”

I whimper, trying to turn, but he pins me flat on the bed, his body stretched out over mine like a second skin. His fingers trail down between my legs, slow and cruel, gathering the mess he left inside me. My breath catches as he presses his soaked fingers between my lips.

“Taste it,” he growls. “Taste what I’ve done to you.”

My mouth opens automatically, tongue curling around his fingers. I moan, obscene and shameless, and that sound, it snaps something in him. His free hand fists my hair, yanking my head back so I’m staring up at him, jaw slack, drool on my chin.

“You’re fucking perfect like this,” he says, voice low and reverent. “Ruined. Owned. Mine.”

I’m dizzy, high off him, drunk on the power he holds over my body.

But he’s still hard.

Still hungry.

He rolls me onto my back and pushes my knees up, wide and trembling. My legs are coated in slick, my thighs marked with the bruises from his grip. He positions himself between them like a man ready to pray and then desecrate.

“This pussy,” he murmurs, dragging his cock through the mess of me. “This is the only altar I worship at.”

And then he’s inside again.

Deeper.

Slower.

Possessive.

He watches every inch disappear into me like he’s engraving the sight into his memory, one thrust at a time. His thumb circles my clit lazily, teasing, never giving me enough. My back arches. My nails claw at the sheets. I’m unraveling all over again.

“You’ll never let another man touch you again,” he says, like it’s a fact, not a threat. “You’ll be full of me every day. Dripping for me in every room of this house until your father realizes there’s nothing left of his little girl.”

“You’re sick,” I pant, eyes fluttering.

He smiles, dark and wicked. “I love you.”

That breaks me.

The word I hadn’t expected. The one that hits harder than any thrust or bruise.

He leans down, kissing the tears off my cheeks like they belong to him too.

“I love you,” he says again. “And I’ll show you every fucking day until you believe it.”

He doesn’t slow. Doesn’t stop. His rhythm turns rough again, savage and all-consuming as he fucks the confession deeper into my bones.

I shatter beneath him, again and again, until I’m crying out, my legs twitching, my throat raw from screaming his name.

And still, Echo isn’t satisfied.

He pulls out, slick and glistening, watching the mess leak out of me with a hunger that’s feral. Then he leans in close, his breath hot on my ear.

“Now,” he whispers. “Crawl.”

I blink. “What?”

“You heard me. Crawl, Katya.”

The sheets fall away as I move, humiliation and heat twisting together like a knife in my belly. I slide off the bed, limbs sore and shaky, knees meeting the cold hardwood floor. He follows behind me, slow and methodical, watching every sway of my hips like a predator.

“Crawl to the door,” he orders. “Open it.”

“Echo-”

“Do it.”

Heart racing, I reach the door, my body on full display, ass high in the air as I unlatch the lock and open it. The hall is empty, silent. But I know anyone could walk by. One of the house staff. A guard. My father.

Adrenaline pulses with the threat of being seen. My pulse spikes. My cunt clenches.

Echo leans down behind me, pressing the head of his cock to my entrance, teasing, not entering. Just letting it hover.

“You like this,” he breathes. “You like the risk. You like knowing you’re dripping my cum down your thighs while crawling through your father’s house like a pet.”

“I shouldn’t,” I whisper.

“But you do. ”

He slides inside, achingly slow, stretching me open again with the thick drag of him.

I bite down a moan, fingers curling into the floor, trying to stay upright as he begins to fuck me right there in the doorway, deep, deliberate thrusts meant to make me squirm and whimper.

His hand slides up my spine, then wraps around my throat, holding me still as his cock fills me again and again.

“I want them to see,” he growls. “I want someone to walk by. I want your father to walk by and hear the sounds you make when you’re mine.”

“You’re insane,” I gasp.

“I’m in love,” he snarls, biting down on my shoulder. “There’s a difference.”

My vision blurs, eyes glassy, body unraveling again as pleasure builds to unbearable heights. I don’t even know how many times I’ve cum. I don’t care. My body belongs to him now, wrecked, wet, ruined in ways no one can undo.

He slams into me one final time and stills, pulsing deep, emptying himself inside me again like he needs me full of him. Like it’s not just sex, it’s a message. A war declaration.

And then, with a dark smirk, he grabs a silk tie from his pants on the floor and wraps it around my throat, tight enough to feel, loose enough to breathe.

“Breakfast,” he says, tugging the makeshift collar like a leash. “You’re going to sit across from your father with my cum dripping out of you and your throat marked by me. You’ll smile. You’ll sip your tea. And every time you shift in that little chair, you’ll remember exactly who you belong to.”

My knees buckle, and still, I nod.

Because I’m already his.

And maybe I always was.

I’m a mess beneath him.

Wrecked.

Ruined.

Worshipped.

And still, he lingers inside me, cock twitching with the last pulses of his release, his body draped over mine like a shadow I’ll never outrun. He doesn’t speak at first. Just stares at me, like I’m some holy thing he defiled and now prays to.

His hand still wrapped in my hair, he pulls me back from the open doorway, guiding me through the shadows like something he owns. My knees nearly buckle with every step, slick and sore, but he doesn’t stop, just walks me backward until the backs of my thighs hit the mattress.

“Up,” he commands, voice rough.

I climb onto the bed, trembling, every inch of me raw and open. He follows, crawling over me like a storm, eyes locked on mine as he presses me down into the sheets.

His thumb brushes my swollen lip. His other hand cups the side of my face with a gentleness that doesn’t belong in this house, in this room, in the aftermath of what he’s just done.

“You feel that?” he murmurs.

I nod.

“Good. Because I never want you to forget it.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, then my temple, then the hollow beneath my ear where his teeth bit down minutes ago. “Every breath you take, every step you stumble through tomorrow, I want you to feel me. Still inside you. Still claiming you.”

My eyes flutter closed. I don’t have words. Just heat. Just ache. Just the faintest glimmer of something terrifying in my chest that might, might , be love.

He lays beside me, pulling me into him, one hand still gripping the silk tie around my throat like a leash he refuses to drop. His lips brush my hairline. His breath tickles my skin.

And then he speaks, soft, dangerous, and certain.

“Tonight,” he whispers, voice like smoke, “I claim you.”

He pulls me tighter, palm resting possessively on my belly like he’s already planted something there, an idea, a future, a war.

“Tomorrow,” he finishes, “we bring down the empire… hand in hand.”