Page 108 of Sinister

He tilts his head, his eyes fixed on mine. “Because you’re my person, Petra.”

“What?” I whisper, my heart fluttering madly at his words.

“You’re the only one who was made for me—and only me. I knew you were out there. I knew I would find you. So I waited. Why would I waste my time on anyone else, when I knew once I found you, I’d finally be happy? That I’d finally belong somewhere?”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” I protest. “What’s so special about me? I’m just a regular girl from a conservative church. I have no freedom, no voice. I’m a prisoner in my own life.”

“Maybe that’s what drew me to you,” he says gently. “Maybe I want to be the one who sets you free. The one who opens your cage and lets you fly—far beyond the horizon.”

He pauses, his voice low and reverent.

“And if you flew, I’d follow. I’d be tethered to you. Wherever you go, I’d go.”

I shake my head. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Not everything has to make sense, Petra,” he says. “But this, what’s happening between us, you feel it. Don’t you?”

He presses his hand over my heart, and I shiver.

“See?” he whispers, taking my hand and guiding it to his chest. “Our hearts . . . they beat together. Because we were made for each other. You for me, and me for you. That’s how it’s always been. Since the beginning of time.”

“You speak in such strange terms,” I murmur.

“Perhaps. But what’s strange now won’t always be strange. Why won’t you let yourself feel, instead of trying to analyze it away? What’s between us is pure feeling.”

“Maybe for you,” I say. “But how do you know what I’m feeling?”

He places a finger over my lips, quieting me.

“You want to tell me you feel nothing for me? When you risked everything to warn me about your father’s plan? When you came here tonight, alone, in the dark? You said it yourself—you were worried about me. Be honest, Petra. Am I not in your heart? Even just a little?”

“You are,” I whisper, the admission soft and hesitant. “But I don’t know if it’s right, Sin. I don’t know if we’re right.”

He hushes me again. “There is no right or wrong. There’s only you and me. And in this moment, tell me, how could this feel wrong?”

His hand rises to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing slow, reverent circles over my lower lip.

“You have to understand, we’re from different worlds,” I protest. “I’m from a conservative church. You . . . you’re part of something liberal, chaotic. Insane, even.”

“And yet, it’s that so-called insanity that brought me here. If I hadn’t accepted this job, would I have ever found you? Would I have met you?”

“No, but⁠—”

“No more buts, Petra. Just yes or no. Be honest. Do you like me?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Even though I shouldn’t. Because⁠—”

“Because of what?”

“Because all of this is madness. The rituals. The skin you gave me. None of this is normal.”

“Normal is subjective,” he says. “This is who I am, Petra. And maybe, just maybe, that madness is part of what draws you to me.” He leans closer, his eyes darkening with intensity. “Because I do what no other man would dare.”

“What . . . what do you mean?” I ask, my breath catching in my throat.

“I dare to take you for myself. I defy all laws—moral, human, divine. I am willing to do anything to make you mine.”

His words hit me like a wave. A deep, trembling flush blooms under my skin, curling low in my belly. The way he’s looking at me, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters, it unravels me.