Page 72 of Devil’s Reign

“Why did you get a tattoo of your last name? Isn’t that a little conceited?” I smile back at him, but his expression stays hard, his jaw clenched tight.

I frown. Maybe I just poked at a touchy subject.

“I got it the night I got made,” he says finally, his voice clipped.

I consider steering the conversation somewhere lighter, but the urge to understand him wins out. He already knows everything about me. It suddenly feels unfair that I still know so little about him.

Who is this man I fell for? What makes him tick? What shaped him into the person he is? So I push.

“How old were you when it happened?”

He sighs. “I was eighteen.”

“So young,” I stroke the tribal lines that hide those older letters, and he stiffens. For a moment, I think he might pull his arm away, but he doesn’t.

“Not so young. Aleksei got made at sixteen.”

A wave of pity for the stoic pakhan hits me. He was just a baby. But I keep the thought to myself. Something tells me Vanya wouldn’t appreciate hearing it.

“Was it your father?” I ask softly. “Did he make you get the tattoo of your last name?”

“The water’s getting cold,” he says abruptly, and before I can respond, he lifts me out of the tub and sets me on the bathmat. Then he climbs out himself in a quick, restless motion. He grabs a towel, wraps it around my body, and walks out of the bathroom dripping wet.

“Wait!”

I snatch another towel off the rack and hurry after him, careful not to slip on the tile. I reach the bedroom just in time to see him stepping into his closet and tugging on a pair of sweatpants over his wet body. My heart hammers, and without thinking, I drop the towel I grabbed for him and plant myself in the closet doorway, blocking him, trapping him inside.

“Don’t you think it’s unfair that you know everything about me while I know so little about you?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest.

When his eyes flick to mine, they are cold and guarded. But the moment they settle on me, they soften the slightest bit. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Uh, yes, it is. This… this thing between us is already vastly unbalanced. You have all the power, all the information. You know everything there is to know about me, yet I barely know you. And I clearly hold no sway over you.”

His eyes soften the rest of the way, the coldness dissipating. “You mean our relationship?”

“Are we in a relationship?” I throw back at him.

He walks towards me and palms my cheek. “If this isn’t a relationship, then what is it?”

“A situationship?”

Surprisingly, he chuckles. “You’re stuck with me, Milani. I don’t think that’s what a situationship is.” It’s not exactly a declaration of love, but it makes my heart stutter. “And you’re wrong about something else,” he adds.

“What?” I can only manage a whisper with the way my blood is rushing in my ears.

“You hold sway over me.” His thumb brushes lightly against my cheek. “The day you discover just how much power you have over me… well—” He trails off, shaking his head.

He says it so casually, like he didn't just knock the sense clean out of me.

I hold sway over him? I have power over him? Impossible.

“Then tell me what I want to know.”

His fingers twitch on my cheek before dropping. I think he might step back, but instead he just grabs me underneath my armpits and physically lifts me out of the doorway so he can pass.

He’s going to leave.

My heart pangs as I watch him walk away—but he only goes to the bed. He pulls back the cover, slides beneath them, then looks at me as if surprised I’m still standing by the closet.