Dangerous Beginnings (The Beginnings Duet #1)

Death of Love

Chapter 39

Death of Love

Isabella

The room is draped in shadows, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon. We stand on the edge of something we can’t name, suspended between what is and what could be. The air hums with anticipation, the kind that makes every breath feel like a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

I stand by the floor-to-ceiling window, the cool glass beneath my fingertips grounding me as I gaze out at the sprawling forest. Yet, the view before me is just a blur, my thoughts entirely consumed by the man standing behind me. I can feel his presence, a potent force that pulls at something deep within me, something I have been trying—and failing—to keep at bay.

He hasn’t said a word, but the silence is more telling than any conversation we could have had. It is the kind of silence that thrums with unspoken emotions, with words that hover just out of reach. I don’t dare turn around, afraid that one look will shatter the fragile barrier I have built between us. But the longer the silence stretches, the more it feels like a vice tightening around my chest. The air between us is charged, heavy with the weight of all the things we have left unsaid, and I know that if I don’t break it soon, I will drown in it. “I can feel you thinking,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, yet loud in the stillness of the room.

There is a pause, and then his voice, low and velvet-smooth, comes from behind me. “And what do you think I’m thinking?”

I close my eyes, the rich timbre of his voice sending a shiver down my spine. “That you’re trying to decide what to do with me – with us.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, I think I have guessed wrong. But then, I feel the warmth of his breath against the back of my neck, and I know he has moved closer. “And if I am?” he asks, his voice a murmur, close enough that I can feel the vibration of his words against my skin.

My breath hitches, and I fight to keep my voice steady. “I think… if you were going to leave, you would have done it already.”

There is a soft, almost imperceptible sound—like the ghost of a laugh, or maybe a sigh. “You’re right,” he says finally, his voice tinged with something I can’t quite place. “But maybe I should. Maybe that’s the only way to keep this from… spiraling out of control.”

His words are like a punch to the gut, but I force myself to turn around, to meet his gaze. When I do, the intensity in his eyes makes my breath catch. They are dark, almost black in the dim light, and they hold a storm of emotions—desire, frustration, fear… and something else. Something that makes my heart skip a beat.

I force myself to turn around, meeting his gaze with a mixture of resolve and dread. His eyes are dark, almost void-like, and they hold a chilling intensity that makes my skin prickle.

“What’s going through your mind?” I ask, my voice steady despite the fear that clings to the edges of my words.

There’s a pause, thick with an oppressive silence. His gaze remains fixed on me, his face a mask of controlled fury. “You think you know what this is,” he says, his voice a low growl that vibrates through the stillness of the room. “But you don’t.”

I shiver, not from the cold, but from the sheer weight of his presence. “Then tell me,” I challenge, trying to meet his stare with defiance. “Tell me what you’re hiding.”

“You tell me what you are hiding, Isabella.” Suddenly the conversation takes a turn.

He inches closer, the space between us vanishing until I can feel the warmth radiating off him, a silent storm simmering beneath his composed exterior. His eyes search mine, and with an unsettling gentleness, he reaches out, his thumb brushing softly across my cheek, lingering over a dark bruise. The tenderness of his touch clashes with the fury in his gaze, making my pulse race.

A flicker of raw intensity flashes in his eyes, something dark and vengeful. He exhales slowly, his voice barely above a whisper yet seething with an unyielding promise. “I’m going to kill the person who did this to you, Isabella. It’s going to be slow, and I am going to make it very painful.” His fingers graze the bruise again, almost reverently. “Please,” he says, his voice tightening, “give me the name of who has done these things to you.”

The weight of his words, spoken so quietly, makes my breath catch. I shiver under his touch, caught in a mixture of fear, arousal, and something dangerously close to relief.

I hesitate, the weight of my secret pressing down on me, filling the silence between us. He watches me, his eyes intense, patient, and unyielding, as if he already knows and is just waiting for me to say it out loud.

His thumb lingers on the bruise, his gaze darkening further as his jaw clenches. “Isabella,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “Don’t keep this from me. Tell me who did this to you.”

My chest tightens, and I try to look away, but his fingers hold my chin gently, guiding me back to meet his gaze. The tenderness in his touch is jarring compared to the fury simmering in his eyes, and it unravels me.

“It’s…it’s my stepfather,” I finally breathe, the words falling out like a confession. My voice trembles, barely holding together. Saying it out loud feels like tearing open a wound, exposing something I’ve buried for so long.

For a moment, there’s only silence. His thumb freezes on my cheek, his face hardening, his gaze flickering with a dangerous fire. I can see the rage building in him, dark and consuming, like a storm on the verge of breaking. His fingers press a little harder against my cheek, his breathing deepening as he struggles to control himself.

His eyes flicker with something raw. For a moment, he just looks at me, his expression unreadable, but his eyes tell a different story. They are filled with a heat that makes my pulse race, with a longing that mirrors my own, with empathy.

And then, as if some invisible barrier between us finally shatters, he reaches out, his thumb brushes over my lower lip, sending a jolt of electricity through me, and I can’t stop the soft gasp that escapes me. He watches me intently, his gaze flicking to my lips, and I can see the struggle in his eyes—the battle between what he wants and what he thinks he should do.

But then, as if some internal dam has finally broken, he makes his decision. His hand slides to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair, and before I can fully process what is happening, his lips are on mine. The kiss is slow at first, a gentle exploration as if he is savoring the taste of something forbidden. But it doesn’t stay that way for long. The softness gives way to something deeper, more urgent, as the tension that has been building between us for so long finally erupts. I feel like I am being swept away by a tidal wave of emotions—desire, relief, fear, and something else, something that feels dangerously close to hope. His hands tighten in my hair, pulling me closer, and I respond with equal fervor, my arms wrapping around his neck as I kiss him back with everything I have. I’m sure now that I’m in fact the Devil’s favorite.

There is no room for hesitation and no space for second- guessing. The world outside ceases to exist; the only thing that matters is the heat of his body against mine, the taste of his lips, the way he makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

When we finally break apart, we are both breathing heavily, our foreheads resting against each other’s as we try to catch our breath. My heart is racing, my mind spinning, but all I can think about is the way his hands feel on my skin, the way his lips have claimed mine.

There is a flicker in his eyes, a shadow that passes too quickly to pin down but leaves me with a gnawing sense of unease. His gaze, once so intense and focused, now seems distant, as if he is looking through me rather than at me. The heat of the moment has cooled, and with it comes an unsettling chill. I search his face for some sign of the vulnerability I have just seen, but it is gone. In its place is a guarded mask, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he is weighing something heavy in his mind.

And the next words that come out of his mouth are laden with an icy finality. “I warned you about me.’