The Annihilator (Dark Verse, #5)

by RuNyx

“You’re a liar.” “I am,” he agreed without a pause. “But I don’t lie to you.”

Surprised at her own sarcastic thought, she pulled up short, shaking her head. Sarcasm wasn’t familiar to her, but it felt nice.

“What are you watching?” “A romantic movie.” The answer, coming from him of all people, felt so ridiculous that a bubble of laughter left her throat, the sound strangled halfway as she recognized it. Her hand went to her neck, her eyes flying to him, only for her body to freeze as she saw the intensity of his gaze on her. “I... laughed,” she murmured, still stunned. “Do it again.” “What?” “I want to hear it again.” It was ridiculous. “I can’t do it again.”

“What are you doing?” “Making you laugh again.” With that, he began to prod the side of her ribs in quick motions that made her squeal and struggle to get away from him, sensations buzzing on her skin. He was tickling her. The feared Shadow Man was tickling her.

“They broke me.” The words left her, and his thumb came to her quivering lower lip, steadying it, his intense eyes on hers. “And they will pay.”

Maybe she would never be whole. But maybe, one day she wouldn't be as broken either. And that alone gave her some hope. One thing at a time.

Even in his absence, he had ensured that she would be looked after. And she had missed him. She had missed his heated, crazy eyes and his little notes and his roses and his quiet, solid presence.

She knew from the time she'd spent observing him that he liked watching drama and romantic movies because the emotions fascinated him, and thrillers because he liked knowing answers before anyone onscreen did.

His gaze roved over her, checking her physically to see everything was right, finding her in his t-shirt. For a moment, she saw something like satisfaction cross his eyes before his face went neutral again.

His nose found her nose, brushing it once in a gesture so soft she wanted him to do it again immediately.

His thumb pillowed her lower lip, his eyes intense on hers, his body pressed against hers, everything about him fierce and powerful and so dark she wanted it all for herself.

Knowing he had seen her be used and discarded, and knowing he still wanted her, it made something in her chest go tight in a way her heart bloomed. He had seen her at her worst, witnessed as they broke her, found her in the jaws of death, and somehow, he’d still found her worth saving.

"I'm yours." It was sinking in, truly sinking in, how much his she was. A man didn't witness what he did every day for her for no reason. He might not feel emotions as he said, but there was something solid, tangible, unbreakable between them, and they both knew it. His nose brushed hers again. "All mine."

Waking up to the view of the beautiful mountains on one side and the sea on the other thrilled her every day. As did finding a fresh red rose and little notes on her bedside table. Notes that elicited different reactions in her. The ‘I got the piercings for you’ made her breathless. The ‘Did you know you snore?’ made her frown. The ‘I liked the dress you wore yesterday’ made her cheeks warm. And so on and so forth. Little notes, every single day.

She didn’t need a good man telling her he loved her; she needed a dark devil to tell her she was his.

Who the hell was she kidding? She knew he was the man for her, had known for many years.

And maybe she was foolish—she more than likely was—but the desire to have him, to hold him, to hug him was a constant hunger under her skin. She wanted to belong.

“My beautiful girl,” the voice kept whispering, seductive in its call, alluring in its lure to reel her back in. “So soft, so vulnerable, so hurt. You hurt, don’t you?”

“I will set the whole world on fire before I let anything hurt you again.” The dark promise full of violence made the black hole take a step back.

“Give me your eyes, flamma. I want to see the fire in them. Show them to me.” The two forces warred within her, the black hole pulling her to oblivion and the devil holding her tight, refusing to let go.

“Because you’re mine!” She slammed her hands on the table, standing up. “You’re the only person, the only thing in this entire world that is mine!” Her chest heaving, she glared at him. “My killer, my stalker, my lover. The thought of sharing your obsession makes me sick to my stomach. You have power over me. Is that what you wanted to hear? That your claim makes me an idiot because my stupid fucking heart believes you? Is that it?”

“Your heart isn’t stupid.” His words, again quiet, made her look at him. “Soft, yes. Stupid, no. I think it’s quite smart to believe me when your mind doesn’t.”

"I've not kissed anyone too, not by choice." Her confession fell between them and she saw him look at her mouth. "Then, when you choose, it'll be mine."

“I wanted to make a nice meal for us.” Her eyes lowered. His hand came to her jaw, bringing her face back up. “Make us a meal whenever you want. You’re gifted at this.” “You like it?” She didn’t know why she needed his approval, why it mattered, it just did.

“Thank you so much.” He turned around within her embrace, taking a hold of her face in his hands, his dual eyes blazing on hers. “For you, anything.”

He brushed their noses together in the lightest of kisses, the sensation burning through her entire body. Lyla could not remember being embraced by anyone, had no memory of feeling as safe as she did right then. “Hold me, please.” His hands tightened around her and he pulled her in, her face going into his chest, her nose filled with his distinctive, masculine scent, her body full of the warmth of his. He held her close, and listening to his heartbeats, feeling everything she was feeling, she could almost believe he felt it too.

There was no fucking way he was ever going to let go of her. He had long left obsession and entered into a whole new territory, one he didn’t even recognize because it was more. More obsessive. More intensive. More possessive. More.

If he'd been ready to burn the world for her before, it was nothing compared to the destruction he would cause now.

The bundle in her arms cried at being jostled. She cried with him. For the nine months that she had carried him in her young womb, the beautiful product of a ghastly, horrific act, she had vowed to herself that she would get him out.

And she had vowed that no matter what happened, her child would not grow up in the hell she had. Somehow, someway, she would get him out or die trying.

He held her son in the crook of his arms, his head tilted to the side as he stared at her with something close to fascination. “I promise. He will be safe.”

“What’s your name, flamma?” he asked her softly, and she looked up at him, surprised at the word he'd used, not knowing what he meant. “Lyla.” “Endless night.”

“Be safe, little Xander," she murmured against his soft cheeks. "Be strong. Be loved, my beautiful baby.”

This man, as dark and dangerous and defective as he was, was hers.

Drunk on the dream, the emotions from the last few days, hell the last few years, she tilted her head to look at him in the moonlight—her dark devil who owned her soul.

“If we do this,” he said quietly against her mouth, “I will be your last everything. You choose this, you choose everything I am, every twisted, deranged, obsessed part of me. You choose this, and I will never fucking let you go. Do you understand?” Her eyes fluttered close. “I do.” Before the last word was out from her lips, his mouth slashed down over hers.

“Trust me still?” he asked, and she gulped before she gave a nod. His lips twitched. “Do as I say and you’ll get a gift.” God, she loved it when he said that.

“Good girl.” Something within her preened under the praise.

After a lifetime of looking at cracked ceilings and peeling paint while pieces of her were ripped from her, he had given her a ceiling of beautiful stars and slowly put the pieces back together again. He had touched her soul.

"You know, it was your determination to save him that night that fascinated me. The way you trusted me to take him even though I could see it was killing you. It intrigued me."

Taking a sip of her tea, she looked up at him from under her lashes, seeing the sunlight playing in his gold-green eye and glinting off his black one. Both eyes representing both men—Blackthorne and Shadow Man within him.

“You’re the only one who knows my name, flamma,” he spoke, his words brushing her lips. “The only one who knows me as the devil I truly am. And seeing you here, willing and trusting, is the only time I come close to feeling something.”

An inch away after kissing her, he spoke against her mouth. “If there was any love in this world of mine, Lyla, it would be you.”

“I am darkness.” He kissed her softly. “I live it, I breathe it, I am it. There is no redemption, no emotion, nothing for me. Nothing but you. You’re the moon to my dark night, flamma. You’re the only thing in this black sky that can thrive when I swallow everything else whole. The stars don’t exist in this space. Just you and I. You need me to glow and I need you to exist. It’s simple as that.”

“Come here.” She let her jittery legs dangle down, opening her arms up to him. He shook his head. “That wasn’t for me.” It was for her. After being taken and taken and taken from, she was being given. Fuck, he was undoing her.

“If you ever choose another, make sure you kill me first. Because I—” he bent to whisper against her lips “—will annihilate the fucking world before I let you go.”

Her sounds had different flavors of sweetness too—and nothing had been more delicious than every time he took her to the stars and back.

He’d made it his life’s mission to replace her horrors with happiness, the demons in her past with the devil in her present. He wanted her to remain happy.

He wasn’t just addicted to her now; he was addicted to her when she was happy, her laughter a new sound to add to the list of his obsessions.

They were perfect, she and him— her soul full of emotion and light and his of void and dark. And somehow, even with his void and his dark, she didn’t lose her innate ability to emote, to shine, to warm.