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It’s as if he’s obsessed with me… and not in an entirely healthy way.
He holds my gaze for a few beats longer, then leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. The gesture should feel tender, paternal even, but instead, it’s an imprint, a brand. His lips linger on my skin for a couple of seconds too long, his grip on my chin tightening to hold me in place. You’re mine, that kiss says, and when he finally pulls back, the same message is repeated in his eyes, then echoed in his touch as he picks up the sponge and resumes washing me, his hands traveling over my body with a platonic restraint that only emphasizes the hunger he’s keeping so carefully leashed.
He thinks that hunger is dangerous, I realize. Too dangerous to give in to while I’m weak and hurt.
With effort, I push the thought away and close my eyes, letting myself simply enjoy the moment. Tomorrow, I’ll worry about the future and what Nikolai’s obsession with me means—what the cost of his care and protection may turn out to be. Tonight, I’ll just revel in the fact that I’m his prized possession.
That I’m as safe in the devil’s arms as anyone can be.
7
Nikolai
It’s two o’clock in the morning and I’m still wide awake, staring at the dark ceiling above my bed. Partially, it’s because my body is still on Dushanbe time, but mostly, I’m just too wired, my thoughts cycling between my plans for Bransford and the adrenaline-spiking recollections of yesterday. The latter are especially intrusive, filling my chest with all sorts of violent emotions.
Chloe ran from me. I almost lost her. Another few minutes and—
Fuck. Enough is enough.
I jackknife off the bed and stride to the closet to pull on my running shorts. I already ran this evening. As soon as I finished bathing Chloe and tucked her in for the night, I laced up my sneakers and headed out. But I need another run. That or a nice, hard sparring with Pavel or the guards. Or better yet, a run and a sparring, since I need to work off some serious sexual frustration as well.
Touching Chloe’s wet, naked body without fucking her had required all of my willpower and then some.
Before exiting the room, I pull up a video feed of Chloe on my phone. I had Pavel install a small camera on the TV above her bed while I was bathing her, so I’d be able to keep an eye on her without coming into her bedroom and disturbing her sleep.
As expected, my phone screen shows her tucked under the covers in the darkness, with only the sound of her even breathing filling the silence. Unlike me, she’s sleeping peacefully, and I’m glad. She needs good rest in order to recover—which is why I have to keep my hands off her, no matter how much it kills me.
I’m stronger than the savage beast inside me.
At least I hope I am.
Leaving the phone in my room, I head downstairs, and my chest expands as soon as I step outside. The night is dark and cool, the mountain air crisp and pure.
I set off for the woods, running down the mountain and into the forest, as is my custom. But this time, instead of returning to the house after I’ve worked off most of my restless energy, I head to the north side of the compound, to the guards’ bunker.
I’m not surprised to find Pavel there, playing cards with Arkash and Burev by a campfire. Like me, he must be wound too tight to sleep, even with Lyudmila by his side.
Seeing me, he jumps to his feet, and so do the others. “All good,” I say, motioning for them to relax. “Just need a workout is all.”
“You got it,” Pavel says, eyes gleaming with eagerness. “Knives or not?”
“Knives, of course.”
The guards provide the weapons, and for the next forty minutes, my mind is blissfully free of all except the primitive goal of survival, of avoiding getting sliced into pieces by Pavel’s ruthlessly wielded blade. Twice, I’m nearly disemboweled; three times, I narrowly miss having my jugular sliced through. Pavel pulls no punches, and by the time I finally get the sharp edge of my blade against his throat, we’re both covered in stinging nicks and cuts.
Panting, I step back and return the knife to Arkash, who claps me on the shoulder in congratulations. None of the guards are good enough to go up against Pavel with a blade and win, but then again, none of them have been trained by him since they were my son’s age.
Leaving them to their duties, Pavel and I head back to the house together. At first, we’re both too tired to talk much—the fight was as draining as I hoped it would be—but when the house appears within view, Pavel says quietly, “You really should forgive her, you know.”
