Page 13 of Lord of the Dark (Drawn into Darkness #1)

Fiona Robertson

I had no idea what time it was when I woke.

It took me a moment to orient myself before it dawned on me where I was—what had happened that night.

The room was still pitch black, moonlight spilling through the tall windows into the bedroom.

A thousand bolts of lightning struck deep in my gut as Carter suddenly flashed through my mind.

He had to be home by now, wondering where I was.

Alessandro lay on his side, his back turned to me, shoulders relaxed, breath steady and even.

In the dim light, his body looked almost peaceful—as if nothing could disturb his calm.

And yet, it was this same body that had stripped me of control just hours before.

He lay sprawled on the carpet, the blanket loosely draped over his hips.

Moonlight traced every line of his form—powerful, beautiful, dangerous.

I felt my fingers twitch, the urge rising to touch him, to pull the blanket over his shoulders, to shield him from the cold.

But I stayed where I was.

He was still a threat, even now. As if the slightest contact would awaken something in him that was better left sleeping.

I had to get out of here.

Fast.

Before he opened his eyes.

Before he made me feel, once again, like I no longer knew which side I was on.

Before I stayed—willingly.

I moved as slowly and quietly as possible, careful not to wake him.

Raw panic seized me at the thought of Carter.

And guilt—so massive, so suffocating, I feared it might choke me alive.

In the dark, I scrambled to gather my things—my dress, my shoes, my knife—all scattered as if the remnants of the night had been deliberately strewn across the room.

A night that had shifted my life into an entirely new light.

I hurried down the hall, down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible while my heart pounded violently in my chest.

The shock of what I’d done weighed on me like a boulder.

My breath came ragged as I tried to smooth myself back into some semblance of order, as if a straightened zipper or smoothed fabric could undo what had happened.

Carter.

The name echoed relentlessly in my skull.

I had betrayed him—and the image of his face, his smile, the trust in his eyes, burned into my thoughts like a brand.

The party had long since ended.

When I finally slid into the car, the cool night air streaming through the half-open window, I closed my eyes for a moment and gripped the steering wheel hard.

Alessandro—his closeness, what had happened between us, his unrestrained intensity, the way he looked at me—spun through my head in a chaotic whirl.

The night with him had unleashed something in me I’d never felt before—something dark, forbidden, searing itself into my mind.

It wasn’t just desire, not just fleeting lust.

It was obsession, raw and overwhelming, a dizzying rush of power, submission, and a hunger that promised everything and cost even more.

Yet that same rush had crossed a line, and now, as I drove through the empty streets, the weight of my choice pressed down on me as if I’d lost something irreplaceable.

Guilt burned like an open wound in my chest, tearing me apart from the inside. A gnawing ache that refused to let go, dragging me back to reality. I had cheated on Carter—Carter, who had given me his heart without conditions.

The city lights flashed past, their harsh reflections on the windows suddenly like silent accusers.

Every traffic light, every street that brought me closer to our apartment tightened the suffocating dread spreading inside me.

Why had I done it? Why had I let a single moment change everything?

When I finally reached our building and slid the key into the lock, my hand felt numb, as if my own body was trying to stop me.

I stepped inside quietly, creeping through the dark as if the sound of my footsteps alone would betray me.

The silence pressed down, every breath too loud, too damning.

I rushed to the bathroom, turned on the water, and stepped under the shower.

The scalding spray hit me, running over my skin as if it could wash away everything I’d done tonight.

As if it could scrub out the guilt, the betrayal that had seeped into my bones. My hands slid over my arms, my stomach, my neck—I could still feel him everywhere. His touch was an echo on my skin, indelible, as if he’d branded himself into me. I scrubbed at my shoulders, dragged my hands over my breasts, trying to erase the pressure of his fingers, but the harder I washed, the more certain I became—I would never be clean of him.

A tremor ran through me.

My fingers dug into my skin as the water kept pouring down.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my breathing, but my chest felt too tight.

It wasn’t just what I’d done.

It was how much I’d wanted it.

A hot sting burned behind my eyes as I braced my hands against the shower wall, holding myself up for a moment.

I had cheated on Carter.

I had destroyed everything we’d built in a single moment of weakness.

A choked gasp escaped me, my breathing turning uneven.

I forced myself to reach for the soap again, to keep moving, to lose myself in motion as if it could save me. My body began to shake, a burning pressure building in my chest until the first tear spilled over—hot down my cheek, mixing with the water before vanishing silently down the drain.

Even after I turned off the water and dried myself, I didn’t feel clean—just exhausted and hollow.

The fire in my chest hadn’t gone out.

The guilt clung, too deep for even the hottest water to scour away.

It was absurd to just walk back into the bedroom and pretend nothing had happened.

As if Carter wasn’t lying there unaware while I’d been with another man.

As if the weight of this night didn’t now stand between us like an invisible wall.

My throat tightened.

My feet moved almost on their own as I walked down the hall—away from our bed, away from the lie I’d created tonight.

In the living room, I pulled a blanket over myself and sank onto the couch.

I couldn’t climb into our bed, couldn’t lie beside him and pretend I was the same woman I’d been yesterday.

Because I wasn’t.

I stared into the darkness, but it offered no answers.

Only the relentless echo of the past hours, the weight of my own choices, the tearing conflict between what I'd experienced and what I'd built.

As the pale morning light slowly seeped through the curtains, I blinked, still caught between past and present.

My body felt heavy, as if the guilt was pressing me deeper into the couch.

Then I heard it.

"Fiona?"

Carter's voice was soft, sleep-roughened, full of familiarity.

It took me a moment to anchor myself back in reality, to remember where I was.

The night came crashing back—the scalding water on my skin, the desperate attempt to wash Alessandro off me.

But nothing could rinse him away.

Carter stepped closer, sinking onto the edge of the sofa and brushing a gentle hand over my shoulder.

His affectionate smile hit me like a punch.

I swallowed hard.

He knew nothing.

Nothing of the lie between us, nothing of the marks another man had left on my skin.

And as his eyes scanned me with all the tenderness he'd ever shown me, I knew I could never look at him the same way again, as if nothing had happened.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he murmured, kissing my forehead.

His gaze was warm, full of love, and I had to force a smile to keep my discomfort from showing.

"Sorry," I mumbled, sitting up and pressing my fingers to my temples.

"I think I overdid it last night."

He chuckled softly.

"That’s what happens when you go out with Rachel." His hand trailed over my back, and the gentle caress felt like a betrayal of every cell in my body—unbearable, almost painful, because I knew what I was hiding from him.

"Yeah… a few too many drinks," I added quickly, avoiding his eyes.

"I think I’ll stay here a little longer this morning.

Maybe go into the office later."

"Don’t worry, take your time." He stood and headed to the kitchen, and soon the familiar scent of coffee filled the apartment.

I leaned back, closed my eyes, and tried to ease the weight on my chest, but every thought that returned only deepened the guilt.

A moment later, Carter came back with a cup of coffee, set it on the table in front of me, and sat beside me.

He reached out, cupped my chin, and gently turned my face toward his.

"You’re still beautiful," he said with a smile, brushing his thumb over my cheek.

The compliment struck like a blow, and I forced myself to smile back.

"Thanks," I whispered, my heart twisting at the thought that he had no idea how deeply I’d betrayed him last night.

"Call me if you need anything," he said before standing and heading for the door.

"And don’t let Rachel talk you into so many drinks next time." He grinned, his face bright with genuine affection, and I barely managed a weak smile in return.

He gave me one last warm look and quietly closed the door behind him.

The moment the front door clicked shut, I let the mask drop.

I sat in the silence of the living room, which roared in my ears like an accusation.

Carter’s touch, his kind words, the soft smile on his lips—they all stabbed into my heart like knives.

He had no idea what I’d done last night, how I’d crossed the line between us and plunged into a world so intense, so consuming, it had devoured me whole.

The apartment suddenly felt unbearably quiet, and the familiar scent of Carter’s coffee only made the suffocating guilt worse.

I knew I’d betrayed him—but I’d also betrayed myself.

I reached for my phone on the coffee table and unlocked the screen.

A series of missed calls and messages flashed up—all from him.

My pulse quickened, and against my will, a shiver ran through me, proof that his hold on me hadn’t faded.

I opened the first message and read:

"Where are you?"

Just three words.

No explanations, no pleas.

Just a blunt, unadorned demand for an answer.

My pulse quickened as my thumb scrolled down.

A second message, nearly an hour later:

"Don't even think about ignoring me."

My stomach twisted.

My finger hovered over the last message—sent barely twenty minutes ago.

Another jolt shot through me, leaving me trembling inside.

"No matter how far you run—you won’t escape me."

For a moment, I clutched the phone, my gaze locked on those final words as they seared into my thoughts.

He was right—I couldn’t just disappear, not after last night.

It hadn’t been some reckless mistake, some drunken slip that lost meaning in the harsh light of day.

It had been a storm, unstoppable and all-consuming—and I had surrendered to it.

Completely.

I closed the messages and took a deep breath, but the ache in my chest remained.

My muscles tensed, as if he still had a hold on me even now, every memory of him a quiet pull, dragging me back toward him.

Every part of me screamed to reply.

One word, one reaction—just the certainty that what had happened between us wasn’t over.

But then I thought of Carter.

His warmth, his steadiness, the way he always understood me with just a look.

The night with Russo might have been scorching, all-consuming, but what I had with Carter was real.

Solid.

Safe.

And it was everything I’d ever wanted—or at least, everything I’d convinced myself I wanted.

I pressed my lips together, forcing the images from last night out of my mind—the heat, the tension, the way Russo had challenged me with every touch.

I had to bury this. For good.

My eyes skimmed over his messages one last time.

Then I deleted them.

A sharp pang shot through me as his name vanished from my screen, as if I could really erase everything that had happened.

As if I could shake off this craving, this dark, addictive echo.

Carter was the man I loved.

The man I couldn’t hurt.

I’d made a mistake—an unforgivable one—and I would do whatever it took to make it right.

My finger hovered over the call button.

One last conversation, one final brush of words before I cut Russo out of my life for good—it would be so easy to give in.

But I didn’t.

With a sharp exhale, I dropped the phone and leaned back.

The descent into darkness was over.