The Darkness Within

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Through a window, the lands surrounding the house are beautiful. Up close, with an unobstructed view, they're nothing short of astounding.

Despite it being dark outside, the grounds are illuminated with lights coming from both the ground, trees, and even the occasional post. The bright white blanket of snow doesn't dull the alluring charm of the area. Though most plants are buried, outside of the occasional bush or tree, it's the stone statues littering the ground that truly draw attention.

The statues are all vastly different—some depicting inanimate objects, other plants and animals, and many in the shape of a person or group of people. I pass a rose as tall as I am, a mythical-looking Pegasus, statues of various Slavic gods, outlines of women and men in various positions, and even the occasional erotic scene between man and woman. There are also statues who look in the throw of death, pain, and madness.

"You look enchanted," Sergei remarks. I've felt his eyes on me for the last twenty minutes we've been walking on a paved pathway through his grounds, but he hasn't yet spoken. He's drinking me in as I drink in the fascinating beauty around me.

"You have good taste," I respond.

He takes the faint praise with a slight inclination of his head.

After several minutes of walking in silence, I decide to attempt to make conversation. If I intend on seducing him within the next few hours, I'm interested to know more about him—more specifically, the standards he holds himself and his men to.

"Why don't you condone sex trafficking?" When he mentioned that a few nights ago, it certainly surprised me. Sex trafficking is a booming business filled with money. I'd expect someone like Sergei—with very few morals—to leap on such opportunities.

That draws his brows together. "Why would I?"

I lift one shoulder. "It's a wealthy business."

He watches me closely for several seconds, his stride not faltering, seeming to assess me. "I'm a psychopath, not a rapist. Even I understand that a no is a no. Rapists are pricks too small minded to understand the importance of consent. Forcing a woman is a show of weakness, not strength."

There have only been a handful of times in my life I've been rendered silent. It's happened whenever a piece of information was too much, too foreign of a concept for me to process as quickly as everything else.

This is one of those times. Not because of Sergei's words—any true genius would agree with him. But because of the passion that he delivered them with, and the heat in his eyes. He's not acting right now—that sort of look can't be faked, as I know first-hand.

The only reason I can imagine that he'd have an...emotional reaction to discussing rape is if he has first-hand knowledge of it. That's certainly something I'll have to explore more, but at a later time.

I blurt the first thing that comes to mind, not thinking before I speak, which is really a first. "The night you punished me, you...touched me. Spanked me."

Sergei's eyes darken with lust at the memory, but his voice is cold. "Two things. First of all, if anyone else had attempted what you did, I'd have them tortured and killed. The fact that you got away with a sore ass should speak volumes. Second, when I realized how much the pain turned you on, how wet you were...well, I was tantalized. I couldn't resist." He stops walking, and pulls me close, holding me to his chest and staring down at me.

His next words are soft, but fall with the weight of a sharp blade. "You wanted me then, didn't you? Under your scathing distaste and dislike of me, you wanted more."