Page 82 of Eternal

“You’re so fucking mad right now,” he says, his voice almost a mockery, teasing as he trails his fingertips along the waistband of my pants.

His gaze never leaves mine, flickering between anger and something soft.

“I get it. You’re pissed I lied to you. But guess what, Azra?

” His fingers dig into the skin of my thighs, pulling me closer against him, “You’re also lying to yourself. ”

His lips brush over mine briefly before pulling back, “Why didn’t you aim for my heart, huh?

Or my throat?” His voice drops lower, “I asked you this once, but you didn’t answer.

Why? Why leave me here, breathing, with just a knife in my side?

” He grins, but there’s frustration behind it.

“You know what that makes me, don’t you? ”

I turn my head, my chest tightening with rage.

“You didn’t want me dead. You couldn’t finish it. You wanted to leave me like this. Weak. Still breathing. Still needing you.”

His mouth moves down my jaw, brushing against my skin, and I can’t control the shiver that runs through me. “But you didn’t kill me, Azra. Why? Why didn’t you end it?”

“Because I wanted you to suffer,” I spit out, my words thick with fury and regret. “I wanted you to know what it feels like to be helpless. To be vulnerable.”

He chuckles, a dark, bitter sound that sends a thrill down my spine, even though I fucking hate it.

His hands are everywhere on me, gripping my body, forcing me to stay where I am.

His mouth finds my neck, teeth scraping lightly as he mutters against my skin, “I’ve never failed a mission.

Not once. But I’m failing you, Azra,” His lips curl into a smile, his lips staying just over the pulse in my throat.

“And you? You want to fail me too, don’t you?

You should be proud because it’s working. ”

I grip the sheets, barely able to form words, but everything in me screams for him to stop, even as my body betrays me, pressing closer, searching for the heat of him.

His hand slides under my shirt, moving over my skin, heating me, igniting every nerve.

“You can scream at me,” he whispered, lips brushing my ear.

“Hate me, tell me I’m nothing. But you know the truth, you need me just as much as I need you.

We don’t walk away, we never will. You could stab me in the gut and I’d still crawl back to you, partner . ”

I grit my teeth, and I hate myself for the way my heart races. I should want him gone, dead at my feet, but I can’t deny the way I just want to cry it all out. Because he still wants to be here.

“You’re insane,” I whisper, barely a breath, but it only makes him laugh, low, seductive.

His mouth crashes back to mine in a kiss that is so full of rage and hunger it almost hurts.

He doesn’t care about the blood, doesn’t care about the mission anymore, not when he’s inside my head, inside my heart, fucking me the way I never expected with just his warmth.

“No,” he growls against my lips, biting down gently. “We’re both fucking insane.”

My hands tremble as I touch the wound, my wound, the one I left on him.

His skin is burning beneath my fingertips, fever-hot and slick with blood.

The fabric of his shirt is ruined, soaked through, but he doesn’t move away, he stays still, watching me explore, like my touch is enough for him to cover the pain of this injury.

“I stabbed you,” I whisper, the words taste foreign in my mouth, like they don’t belong to me.

His hand comes up, slow and deliberate, and covers mine, he presses it against his wound, the same way he always does when he touches me, gentle, careful, a liar’s hands, warm and familiar.

I want to cry… How can he be soft with me when all he’s ever done is lie? When all of this was never real?

But for the first time, I’m not floating outside of myself, for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m watching someone else’s body being touched.

I feel this. I feel him, and I don’t want him to stop.

“Damir…” My voice is barely a breath.

His thumb traces the inside of my wrist, the way he always does, like I’m something delicate, like I’m something precious. “You want me to kiss you?” he asks, as if he read my mind. I nod, unable to speak, because if I do, I’ll break.

His forehead presses to mine. “I can kiss you now that I can finally call you by your name.”

His lips brush against mine, soft, searching, and I shudder.

“I love your name,” he whispers against my mouth, like a secret, like a prayer.

I kiss him back, sow, desperate, aching.

I don’t know what’s worse, the way I want him, or the way I hate myself for it.

My fingers curl into his shirt, pressing against the open wound. He grunts but doesn’t pull away, if anything, he holds me tighter, like he’d rather bleed out in my arms than let me go.

“You lied for so long,” I breathe against his lips.

“I know.” His hands slid up my back, pulling me closer. “I know, Azra. ”

He says my name again, and I think that might be the worst part, because I like it. I like the way it sounds in his mouth. I like the way it feels when he says it like that, like it means something.

And then I kiss him again, because if I stop, I might start crying, and I don’t want to cry, not for him, not for us.

His body is heavy against mine, the warmth of him seeping into my bones, making me forget. Forget that he lied, that I should hate him, that every touch should feel like a threat, not this, this slow breaking down, this terrible, unbearable craving.

I kiss him harder, like I can drown in this moment, in him, just for a little longer. His hands are on me, sliding up my back, fingers tangling in my hair like he’s scared I’ll disappear.

Maybe he should be.

His breath is ragged when he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine. “ Stay ,” he murmurs.

I close my eyes. “I can’t.”

He exhales, shaking his head. “ Azra… ”

I reach behind me, fingers fumbling for the small vial near my bed. I keep it there for emergencies, for moments like this, moments when I need to disappear.

His lips brush my jaw, his breath warm, his voice raw. “Let me take care of you, partner .”

Something inside me cracks as I press the needle against his skin. A soft prick, barely anything at all. He tenses, his hand grips my waist. “Azra…”

“I can’t stay,” I whisper, my fingers stroke his face as his eyelids flutter. “I need to leave. I have a mission too.”

His breathing slows, his grip on me weakens, he’s fighting it, but it’s already too late.

His lips part like he wants to say something, but the sedative drags him under, pulling him into sleep before he can finish.

I watch him for a second, just a second, then I get up.

The air feels colder without him against me, without his warmth, his hands. I push the thought away as I grab my bag, my journal, the blanket he once draped over me when he thought I was asleep.

I look at him one last time, his face is peaceful, his breathing steady.

If he wants to end me, he’ll have to wait.

And then I leave.

I move through my apartment in silence, the only sound is the rustling of clothes as I shove them into a bag. Every few seconds, my eyes flicker back to the bed. To him, there, still breathing, still alive.

I should leave him like this, I shouldn’t care, but I do and I hate myself for it.

I pull out my phone with one hand while my other reaches for the medical kit in the bathroom.

The line rings.

Once. Twice. Then a voice, “Voron.”

I exhale. “Sorry for calling.” My voice is steady, even if my hands aren’t. “I hope Viktor reached out to you.” I glance toward the bed again, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. He looks different like this. Weaker. “I have information that might help.”

There’s a slight pause and a subtle shift, like he’s already making calculations. “It’s about them, isn’t it?” The way he says it, calm, certain, like he already knows… makes something coil tight in my stomach.

“Yes.”

No hesitation. “I’ll arrange a jet for you in the morning.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “I’ll be there.”

“Good.” A pause, and then, “I look forward to meeting you.”

The call ends and I toss the phone onto the counter and turn back to Damir.

I should leave now, walk out and never look back, but instead, I kneel beside the bed and open the medical kit. The bandage is soaked through, I peel it back carefully, watching the slow ooze of blood from the wound I put there.

My fingers hesitate before pressing a fresh gauze against his skin.

His breath stirs, but he doesn’t wake. I finish wrapping the wound and straighten up, staring down at him.

His hand is near mine.

I could touch him. I could ? —

I swallow hard and take a step back.

“All men do is lie,” I murmur.

Then I grab the bag and walk out the door without looking back.